Summary: Wesley receives a visitor in the hospital. Fourth story in the "Residual Duties" timeline.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters portrayed here, they remain the property of their respective owners/creators.
Rating: PG-13, for themes.
Time Frame: A few days after "Forgiving," and some time after "Normal Again." (spoilers). Also, this story also assumes that the events in my prior stories "Residual Duties," "Disbelief," and "Silver Lining" all took place.
Archiving: Be my guest, but e-mail me ([email protected]) and let me know. . .I like to know where stuff I write ends up and I might want to see what else you've got.
Dedication: To Krissy, my most faithful muse, on the occasion of her birthday.
HEALING
I open the door, glance once more over my shoulder, then walk into the quiet hospital room, closing the door behind me. The room is dimly lit, but the bed and its single occupant are clearly visible.
Wesley was moved to this room only a few hours ago: his doctors have decided that he has made an adequate recovery from the throat slashing, massive blood loss, and near suffocation to justify releasing him from intensive care. He is still very pale, even by the standards of some of the people I meet on the job. I remember Cordelia's vivid description of how he almost died after taking a bullet for Gunn, and shiver when I think about how she will react to seeing him like this. She'll be pissed off when she finds out Angel has been holding out on her. Wonder if he'll give her the "some lies are necessary" speech? I could sell enough tickets to pay off the mortgage to watch THAT ass-kicking.
I pull up a chair and sit next to the bed, waiting. After a few minutes, Wesley stirs and his eyes flutter open. I feel a pang of guilt as I see him cringe, probably reacting to my black leather jacket, and smile softly as his eyes widen in recognition. His voice is still gone, but I see his lips move, clearly forming the name "Buffy." I nod and smile again, and he tries to speak, creating a nasty rattle that is really not fun to listen to. I reach out and squeeze his shoulder, then give him a rather blunt order: "Wesley, don't try to talk. Your voice is going to be on the disabled list long enough without making it worse by pushing it now."
He understands and nods once, and I realize that only the medication he is on keeps that simple movement from being excruciatingly painful. I amuse myself briefly by imagining beating Justine to a pulp: I'd be doing it right now if she had succeeded in killing Wesley, or if she hadn't come through and captured the bastard demon who created this whole mess. Having a conscience sucks sometimes.
Abruptly, Wesley turns away from me, and I can see his face twisting in shame. I sigh, having seen this coming. I lean forward and comment calmly, "You know, at the risk of seeming like an insensitive bitch, the opportunity to speak without being interrupted by a know-it-all Watcher is really too much to resist." I am pleased to see Wesley bristle in visible outrage before he stops and continues to stare at the opposite wall. I nod to myself, then add, "I'm not going to go away just because you don't want to hear this, Wesley. I know damned well that on some sick level you're sorry that Angel didn't kill you, but he didn't, and you're going to have to deal with what's happened. You made a mistake, you lied to your friends, and it caused them to be hurt, Wesley. I'm sorry, but there's no other way to say it."
Wesley tenses, then turns back to face me. The guilt is naked on his face, but he meets my eyes with a calm determination that makes me want to hug him, even as I feel terribly for him. There is acceptance in those eyes, and resignation. I frown, then continue, "You were played, Wesley. That demon, Sah-whatever, set you up and there was no way in hell you ever could have known it. You had every reason to believe what you did, and it would have been irresponsible for you not to have done something. Where you went wrong was not trusting your friends: even if you didn't want to tell Cordelia, you could have told Gunn, or Fred, or even Lorne and they would have helped you, Wesley. You're their leader, they trust you, and they sure as hell know that Angel could be dangerous if the wrong thing happened. You didn't trust them, and it almost cost you all everything."
Wesley looks away, shame on his face, and I lean in and continue, "Wes, I'm not telling you this to run you down. I'm telling you this because I've been where you are now, more than once, and you need to know that you can be forgiven for this. They're not really happy with you, but they're all glad you're alive, even Angel, though he's not going to say so any time soon. You're going to have to go back and earn their trust, and it won't be easy, because being betrayed by a friend hurts, Wesley, no matter how well meaning it is." I feel a pang of long-buried guilt, and I whisper, "Did you read Giles' diary about the time after Angel lost his soul?"
Wesley nods, and I swallow hard and continue, "Jenny Calendar had been watching Angel for her people, who cast the original curse on him. She didn't know what would happen, because her idiot uncle didn't tell her. I knew that, but I didn't care: she was the face of the enemy to me, and I cut a friend who had helped all of us for almost a year out of my life, and forced Giles to give up the woman he loved. Deep down, I knew I wasn't being fair to her, and I finally told her I wouldn't stand in the way if she wanted to be with Giles. Too late: Angelus killed her on the very night that she translated the curse that Willow ended up casting a couple of months later. My friend. . .Angel's friend, Giles' love, the one who gave Angel back to us-dead, because I couldn't forgive her soon enough."
Wesley blinks, and his eyes narrow in concern, seeing the tears begin to roll down my cheeks. I close my eyes for a moment, then take a deep breath and continue, "The scary thing is, Wesley, it's not like I learned my lesson then and never screwed up again. Have I mentioned all I've been up to since I saw you last?" I quietly tell him everything: the deeply screwed-up relationship with Spike, the crazy behavior while I was invisible, my neglect of Dawn, and finally my crazed murder attempt against my best friends and sister. When I am done, Wesley's eyes are moist, and my cheeks are really getting wet. I stand up, and pace a little to get my composure back. I sit down again, then look back over at Wesley, who is watching me closely. I sigh, then add, "Things are still kind of weird back there, and I really am not loving the thought of how they'll react when they hear about the whole mess with Spike. But I've got to do it, Wesley: I've just got to. Whether it's working with Angel and the others, or just on your own for a while until all of you have a chance to heal from what's happened, you're going to have to do it too. I know you, Wesley: you care too damned much about bad things happening to just sit around and mope for very long, or to cut and run." I stand up, and lean over and kiss him gently on the forehead before concluding, "If you need someone to talk to, or a place to stay for a while to get your head screwed on straight, you know who to call. Now I'm going to let you get some rest: give me a call when you're back home."
Wesley nods slightly, then drifts off to sleep. I smile, then walk back to the door and through it without slowing down. I'm walking away quickly without looking back when I hear a very familiar voice: "Buffy."
I turn around, and Angel is there, right where I left him in the chair by the doorway. I walk back over and ask quietly, "Yes, Angel?"
He stands up and glares down at me. I don't know why he bothers: if I let a little thing like some big guy giving me the evil eye make me nervous, I'd have died even more than I have, and stayed that way. I wait quietly, not bothering to return the glare in kind, and after a few moments he sighs and asks quietly, "Why did we have to come here for this, Buffy? You were talking to me the whole time you were in there."
I smile slightly and nod to acknowledge the point, then reply, "He needed to hear that he was wrong from someone who wasn't caught up in this, Angel, but he also needed to hear that he was going to be able to get past it, and that there was someone who would help him do it." I blink, and the look I give him is as cold as midnight in Siberia as I conclude, "And you needed to hear me tell him that I would be in his corner, no matter what happens here."
Angel's jaw tightens, and he snaps: "You're not the one he hurt this time. What gives you the right to grant him any kind of absolution? Oh, right, you've become the expert in taking in the semi-reformed."
I sigh: he's making this too easy. I look at him sadly and comment quietly, "Angel, I do have a pretty good idea of what's gone on here since Faith went up the river. Seems to me that you wouldn't even have had Connor in the first place if you hadn't risked letting Angelus loose for some hate sex with Darla." Angel flinched, then turned away, but I wasn't finished: "Oh, and locking a full room of people in with Darla and Dru and then firing Cordelia and the others? That was a great one, even by my standards of dumbass stunts. Want me to go on?"
Angel remains silent, and I change tacks: "But why bring those up, Angel? Why not just remember the self-righteous speech you gave me when I came to town looking for Faith, about saving souls and all that crap? Wesley thought he was saving you from doing something horrible: he would have died rather than let it happen, and it made him do stupid things. Yeah, he hid it from the others, but the last time I checked both of us have a pretty long track record of hiding stuff from our friends for 'their own good.' We've been damned lucky that our screw-ups haven't done more harm over the years: Wes just hasn't been as lucky. Come to think of it, he never has, even when he was in Sunnydale." Angel looks down, his expression ambivalent, and I walk up to him and squeeze his arm as I say in a softer tone, "Angel, he'd be dead right now if you really wanted him that way. Since you've decided not to kill him, try showing a little bit of god-damned compassion for someone who's been a friend to you for years. God knows we've needed some for ourselves when we were in similar spots."
Angel frowns, then looks back up at me. I shake my head in frustration and continue, "Angel, I can't sit here and be Wesley's bodyguard: I'm still trying to get my act together, and things keep happening back home. You've got all kinds of crazy stuff going on here, too, and I'm pretty sure from talking to Fred and Gunn that you can't read two-thirds of the crap that is in your files. Giles is back in England, and I don't think he's coming back. If you want to be able to do your job, you'd better get over this, and fast, or at least learn to put up with him being around."
I wait, and after a few moments Angel sighs, then responds, "It's hard, Buffy. After what I've already lived through, I never imagined that anything could be this hard for me." His expression softens, and he asks, "Buffy, I'm not going to do the jealous ex thing about Spike, but are you all right? Some of the things you talked about were disturbing, even by my old standards. You can't keep hiding it from the others."
"I know." I feel a bit of warmth, and for a moment I feel like I did in the old days, where Angel was the one I would turn to when I was feeling screwed-up. But I was never this screwed up back then, and both of us have changed too much. I sigh and add, "I'll deal with it: I just have to. As twisted as it is, I wouldn't have made it through the last six months without Spike. The scary part about it is that I really believe he's in love with me: it doesn't make it right, but it makes me feel a little better about what's happened. I'm just going to have to hold onto that feeling and let it help me get past it." I glance over at the closed hospital door, then conclude, "You might want to consider something similar when you're trying to figure out how to make things right with Wesley."
Angel doesn't reply, and I sigh again and turn away, walking for the exit. Without turning, I call out, "If I'm wrong, Angel, and Wesley turns up dead, you'd better have an airtight alibi or be gone when I come back." I pause, look over my shoulder, and add, "I love you. Fix this." I turn away again, and there is only silence behind me as I push through the double doors, heading back for home and my own complicated life, and praying for the two men I leave behind as I do.
As before, comments are welcome and desired.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters portrayed here, they remain the property of their respective owners/creators.
Rating: PG-13, for themes.
Time Frame: A few days after "Forgiving," and some time after "Normal Again." (spoilers). Also, this story also assumes that the events in my prior stories "Residual Duties," "Disbelief," and "Silver Lining" all took place.
Archiving: Be my guest, but e-mail me ([email protected]) and let me know. . .I like to know where stuff I write ends up and I might want to see what else you've got.
Dedication: To Krissy, my most faithful muse, on the occasion of her birthday.
HEALING
I open the door, glance once more over my shoulder, then walk into the quiet hospital room, closing the door behind me. The room is dimly lit, but the bed and its single occupant are clearly visible.
Wesley was moved to this room only a few hours ago: his doctors have decided that he has made an adequate recovery from the throat slashing, massive blood loss, and near suffocation to justify releasing him from intensive care. He is still very pale, even by the standards of some of the people I meet on the job. I remember Cordelia's vivid description of how he almost died after taking a bullet for Gunn, and shiver when I think about how she will react to seeing him like this. She'll be pissed off when she finds out Angel has been holding out on her. Wonder if he'll give her the "some lies are necessary" speech? I could sell enough tickets to pay off the mortgage to watch THAT ass-kicking.
I pull up a chair and sit next to the bed, waiting. After a few minutes, Wesley stirs and his eyes flutter open. I feel a pang of guilt as I see him cringe, probably reacting to my black leather jacket, and smile softly as his eyes widen in recognition. His voice is still gone, but I see his lips move, clearly forming the name "Buffy." I nod and smile again, and he tries to speak, creating a nasty rattle that is really not fun to listen to. I reach out and squeeze his shoulder, then give him a rather blunt order: "Wesley, don't try to talk. Your voice is going to be on the disabled list long enough without making it worse by pushing it now."
He understands and nods once, and I realize that only the medication he is on keeps that simple movement from being excruciatingly painful. I amuse myself briefly by imagining beating Justine to a pulp: I'd be doing it right now if she had succeeded in killing Wesley, or if she hadn't come through and captured the bastard demon who created this whole mess. Having a conscience sucks sometimes.
Abruptly, Wesley turns away from me, and I can see his face twisting in shame. I sigh, having seen this coming. I lean forward and comment calmly, "You know, at the risk of seeming like an insensitive bitch, the opportunity to speak without being interrupted by a know-it-all Watcher is really too much to resist." I am pleased to see Wesley bristle in visible outrage before he stops and continues to stare at the opposite wall. I nod to myself, then add, "I'm not going to go away just because you don't want to hear this, Wesley. I know damned well that on some sick level you're sorry that Angel didn't kill you, but he didn't, and you're going to have to deal with what's happened. You made a mistake, you lied to your friends, and it caused them to be hurt, Wesley. I'm sorry, but there's no other way to say it."
Wesley tenses, then turns back to face me. The guilt is naked on his face, but he meets my eyes with a calm determination that makes me want to hug him, even as I feel terribly for him. There is acceptance in those eyes, and resignation. I frown, then continue, "You were played, Wesley. That demon, Sah-whatever, set you up and there was no way in hell you ever could have known it. You had every reason to believe what you did, and it would have been irresponsible for you not to have done something. Where you went wrong was not trusting your friends: even if you didn't want to tell Cordelia, you could have told Gunn, or Fred, or even Lorne and they would have helped you, Wesley. You're their leader, they trust you, and they sure as hell know that Angel could be dangerous if the wrong thing happened. You didn't trust them, and it almost cost you all everything."
Wesley looks away, shame on his face, and I lean in and continue, "Wes, I'm not telling you this to run you down. I'm telling you this because I've been where you are now, more than once, and you need to know that you can be forgiven for this. They're not really happy with you, but they're all glad you're alive, even Angel, though he's not going to say so any time soon. You're going to have to go back and earn their trust, and it won't be easy, because being betrayed by a friend hurts, Wesley, no matter how well meaning it is." I feel a pang of long-buried guilt, and I whisper, "Did you read Giles' diary about the time after Angel lost his soul?"
Wesley nods, and I swallow hard and continue, "Jenny Calendar had been watching Angel for her people, who cast the original curse on him. She didn't know what would happen, because her idiot uncle didn't tell her. I knew that, but I didn't care: she was the face of the enemy to me, and I cut a friend who had helped all of us for almost a year out of my life, and forced Giles to give up the woman he loved. Deep down, I knew I wasn't being fair to her, and I finally told her I wouldn't stand in the way if she wanted to be with Giles. Too late: Angelus killed her on the very night that she translated the curse that Willow ended up casting a couple of months later. My friend. . .Angel's friend, Giles' love, the one who gave Angel back to us-dead, because I couldn't forgive her soon enough."
Wesley blinks, and his eyes narrow in concern, seeing the tears begin to roll down my cheeks. I close my eyes for a moment, then take a deep breath and continue, "The scary thing is, Wesley, it's not like I learned my lesson then and never screwed up again. Have I mentioned all I've been up to since I saw you last?" I quietly tell him everything: the deeply screwed-up relationship with Spike, the crazy behavior while I was invisible, my neglect of Dawn, and finally my crazed murder attempt against my best friends and sister. When I am done, Wesley's eyes are moist, and my cheeks are really getting wet. I stand up, and pace a little to get my composure back. I sit down again, then look back over at Wesley, who is watching me closely. I sigh, then add, "Things are still kind of weird back there, and I really am not loving the thought of how they'll react when they hear about the whole mess with Spike. But I've got to do it, Wesley: I've just got to. Whether it's working with Angel and the others, or just on your own for a while until all of you have a chance to heal from what's happened, you're going to have to do it too. I know you, Wesley: you care too damned much about bad things happening to just sit around and mope for very long, or to cut and run." I stand up, and lean over and kiss him gently on the forehead before concluding, "If you need someone to talk to, or a place to stay for a while to get your head screwed on straight, you know who to call. Now I'm going to let you get some rest: give me a call when you're back home."
Wesley nods slightly, then drifts off to sleep. I smile, then walk back to the door and through it without slowing down. I'm walking away quickly without looking back when I hear a very familiar voice: "Buffy."
I turn around, and Angel is there, right where I left him in the chair by the doorway. I walk back over and ask quietly, "Yes, Angel?"
He stands up and glares down at me. I don't know why he bothers: if I let a little thing like some big guy giving me the evil eye make me nervous, I'd have died even more than I have, and stayed that way. I wait quietly, not bothering to return the glare in kind, and after a few moments he sighs and asks quietly, "Why did we have to come here for this, Buffy? You were talking to me the whole time you were in there."
I smile slightly and nod to acknowledge the point, then reply, "He needed to hear that he was wrong from someone who wasn't caught up in this, Angel, but he also needed to hear that he was going to be able to get past it, and that there was someone who would help him do it." I blink, and the look I give him is as cold as midnight in Siberia as I conclude, "And you needed to hear me tell him that I would be in his corner, no matter what happens here."
Angel's jaw tightens, and he snaps: "You're not the one he hurt this time. What gives you the right to grant him any kind of absolution? Oh, right, you've become the expert in taking in the semi-reformed."
I sigh: he's making this too easy. I look at him sadly and comment quietly, "Angel, I do have a pretty good idea of what's gone on here since Faith went up the river. Seems to me that you wouldn't even have had Connor in the first place if you hadn't risked letting Angelus loose for some hate sex with Darla." Angel flinched, then turned away, but I wasn't finished: "Oh, and locking a full room of people in with Darla and Dru and then firing Cordelia and the others? That was a great one, even by my standards of dumbass stunts. Want me to go on?"
Angel remains silent, and I change tacks: "But why bring those up, Angel? Why not just remember the self-righteous speech you gave me when I came to town looking for Faith, about saving souls and all that crap? Wesley thought he was saving you from doing something horrible: he would have died rather than let it happen, and it made him do stupid things. Yeah, he hid it from the others, but the last time I checked both of us have a pretty long track record of hiding stuff from our friends for 'their own good.' We've been damned lucky that our screw-ups haven't done more harm over the years: Wes just hasn't been as lucky. Come to think of it, he never has, even when he was in Sunnydale." Angel looks down, his expression ambivalent, and I walk up to him and squeeze his arm as I say in a softer tone, "Angel, he'd be dead right now if you really wanted him that way. Since you've decided not to kill him, try showing a little bit of god-damned compassion for someone who's been a friend to you for years. God knows we've needed some for ourselves when we were in similar spots."
Angel frowns, then looks back up at me. I shake my head in frustration and continue, "Angel, I can't sit here and be Wesley's bodyguard: I'm still trying to get my act together, and things keep happening back home. You've got all kinds of crazy stuff going on here, too, and I'm pretty sure from talking to Fred and Gunn that you can't read two-thirds of the crap that is in your files. Giles is back in England, and I don't think he's coming back. If you want to be able to do your job, you'd better get over this, and fast, or at least learn to put up with him being around."
I wait, and after a few moments Angel sighs, then responds, "It's hard, Buffy. After what I've already lived through, I never imagined that anything could be this hard for me." His expression softens, and he asks, "Buffy, I'm not going to do the jealous ex thing about Spike, but are you all right? Some of the things you talked about were disturbing, even by my old standards. You can't keep hiding it from the others."
"I know." I feel a bit of warmth, and for a moment I feel like I did in the old days, where Angel was the one I would turn to when I was feeling screwed-up. But I was never this screwed up back then, and both of us have changed too much. I sigh and add, "I'll deal with it: I just have to. As twisted as it is, I wouldn't have made it through the last six months without Spike. The scary part about it is that I really believe he's in love with me: it doesn't make it right, but it makes me feel a little better about what's happened. I'm just going to have to hold onto that feeling and let it help me get past it." I glance over at the closed hospital door, then conclude, "You might want to consider something similar when you're trying to figure out how to make things right with Wesley."
Angel doesn't reply, and I sigh again and turn away, walking for the exit. Without turning, I call out, "If I'm wrong, Angel, and Wesley turns up dead, you'd better have an airtight alibi or be gone when I come back." I pause, look over my shoulder, and add, "I love you. Fix this." I turn away again, and there is only silence behind me as I push through the double doors, heading back for home and my own complicated life, and praying for the two men I leave behind as I do.
As before, comments are welcome and desired.