And then he thought Where am I going to go? Giles had asked him to work for the Council, and that seemed a good idea at the time and now possibly a bit sketchy if he was going to be...seeing the boss. Perhaps that worry was a little premature.
A flash of Giles eyes' earlier today, as he stood beside Wesley's bed popped into his head, and he shivered a little, remembering the scent of the man's arousal. Maybe not that premature.
But what if Angel wanted to restart a form of Angel Investigations? Wes tried to wrap his mind around that one as he realized that he'd become used to the combination of nearly infinite recourses and down and dirty demon eradication that had become habit at Wolfram & Hart before Fred had died. Then all the resources in the world couldn't save her. So what was the point?
He scratched at his beard. He was going to have to shave tomorrow - it was beginning to itch. Perhaps if he did it before his shower.....
It would be nice to be able to continue the fight with adequate resources, seers, scryers, people with the same goals and same experiences...he could perhaps help rebuild the library. He'd learned quite a bit about alternate sources of research materials, and if he could somehow get his journals and books sent over from L.A. He never bothered to ask if his apartment was in an area that had been hit by the battle.
He blinked a few times, realizing that he'd barely even thought of home at all. Oh, god, the rent. He could do most of his bill paying on line if necessary, which meant he had to find access to that Time to get started standing on my own two feet again.
If they restarted the agency, they would have next to nothing to begin with, other than his meger personal library and the brains in their head - and no seer to guide them. That would be a problem. He also did not have a burning desire to go back to California, and not just because Rupert was here. Would Angel want to do that? Though he hadn't stepped a foot outside, it was nice to be home, hear familiar voices. He was really looking forward to walking around London, get a feel for her again.
And there was the matter of it being Angel Investigations. He wasn't so sure that he and Angel should enter an employer/employee situation again. That didn't appeal to him at all. And of course it was all contingent of them working things though - they really had to talk about Connor, and the mind wipe, and the whole Black Thorn thing. Bringing the team back together at the end didn't make up for a year of half-truths or worse.
He could always branch out on his own, do something completely different away from demons and Slayers, death and bloodshed. Start fresh. With his linguistics skills alone, he could command top dollar as a translator…or even teach, perhaps on the university level.
But could he turn his back on everything? How could he avoid it now that he knew what the world held? The nearly yearly battles to save it…the countless minor skirmishes that saved people - could he honestly turn his back on that life? To stand idly by while people he cared for continued to put themselves…?
The question was really answered even before he could finish rounding out his final thought. No. A thousand times no. Sorting through his re-acquired memories, he remembered that even at his bleakest, he continued to place himself in opposition to the darkness that crawled the earth. And it was not because of his, at the time, admittedly destructive bent. It was because he could not walk through the world, seeing it as he did, and do anything different. The fight was part of him.
Well, at least he knew that much. No matter what else Vail's blood had done to him, that part of him was unchanged.
A problem more easily tackled was a place to stay while he considered his next steps. Perhaps someone in the Council had a guest house to rent...or he could stay in a hotel, but that didn't immediately appeal to him. Yes. Tomorrow he'd get started on finding a place to live once he was discharged.
Where the devil is Spike he wondered. Looking up, he found the vampire lounging in his wheelchair, with the weary air of having been there a long time..
"Got that all worked out, did you?"
"Hardly."
Spike shrugged, "Ah well, I've always thought that thinking all that much was overrated, though watching you think's kind of like really minimalist TV." He got up and motioned grandly for Wes to get in the chair.
"Someone as perceptive as you not think? Hardly likely."
"I'm serious, I've always been more of a go with your instincts kind of bloke."
Wesley frowned as he got into the chair. "Spike, you were a poet. A person who distills thoughts into forms that convey the most emotional impact. Of course you think. Those notes you wrote for me on demonic toxins was incredibly clear and concise - really very well done. I've neglected to thank you for them."
"Told you not to mention it, and I meant it. It was a one shot deal. Don't think when I can help it - gets me into trouble. How I ended up a vampire, innit? Wrote a poem, got a big emotional kaboom and the next thing I knew...diggin' out o' me own grave And thinkin' got me into trouble in L.A., listen' to Lindsey and his rot about me being a champion and helping the hopeless. Went off on my own and got my hands chopped off "
"Spike. Though I'm terribly sorry that happened, I thought that incident was more because you didn't stay to hear all the relevant facts before going off and engaging an insane Slayer."
"All right, bad example. But, not a poet anymore, that's for sure. I'm done my bit and said my piece and am not looking at the world that way anymore. Just point me at the baddies I can hit, and I'm happy. Smash, bang, crunch."
"I think once you open your mind and see things in a certain way, you're never able to shut it off. It's part of you."
"Sure you can."
"Then what's that notebook weighing down the left-hand pocket of your duster?"
"Er, it's, uh, for drawing. For Sarah." Nodding, Spike began to wheel him toward the door and Wesley shook his head, giving up on the conversation for the moment.
This would be the first time he'd seen Angel since . . . since before his own death. Just the thought had his stomach tightening, his mind spinning. He'd died. It was . . . not something he wanted to think about just then, though Wesley knew he'd have to consider it later.
Spike paused outside Angel's door, moving to open it and he could wheel Wes in and Wesley bit his lip, not sure what to expect or say. There were so many issues between them and he felt as if, he could just fix this, then . . . maybe he could find some resolution or . . . No, that wasn't exactly true.
He knew it wouldn't be washed away so easily as that, but it would be a start. To repair the friendship between Angel and himself would, at least be a step in the right direction. That didn't tell him where to start, of course.
Angel looked up as they entered and was thrilled to see the man looking so much better. That no doubt had to do with the blood they were pumping into him on a slow drip.
"Wes! You look, er, alive . . . . I mean, you know. Uh, good." Angel seemed surprised to see him and Wesley wasn't sure what to make of that.
"Uh, yes and the same to you."
The three of them lapsed into silence.
-----
Giles was bone weary. He'd hope to be able to sneak home for a short nap, but the situation didn't allow him even a few moments to think. First, there were the frantic Watchers to calm down, and not just those in the building. He had to call several other communities, talk to several people.
That was the problem with the younger Watchers. Of course, the older ones were little better. While he couldn't blame them for panicking--especially once he thought back and wondered how he'd have reacted had something like this happened to Buffy--he still found it difficult to keep from yawning in their ears.
Once the Watchers were calmed, he had them check on all the Slayers and give him a name by name report. Many were awake, but exhausted, the rest so deeply asleep that waking them only resulted in a few grumbled threats before they slipped back into sleep.
Still, they all seemed fine other than the extreme exhaustion. He called the safe house to check on Sarah and thought about talking to Wesley as well, but the man was likely sleeping after his own ordeal, or perhaps talking with Angel, and Giles didn't want to disturb him.
Sighing, he hung up the phone and went to have a look at the doctor's findings, after which he called a meeting of the Watchers. There weren't enough of them to take care of the Slayers that would soon wake. From what they knew at the moment, the Slayers would all be hungry and a bit weak, though that passed quickly enough.
By the time he'd arranged to have nurses come in to help, he was near to dead on his feet. Still, he couldn't go home without visiting Wesley. In fact, he wasn't sure he wanted to go home. His flat was so damned quiet.
A flash of Giles eyes' earlier today, as he stood beside Wesley's bed popped into his head, and he shivered a little, remembering the scent of the man's arousal. Maybe not that premature.
But what if Angel wanted to restart a form of Angel Investigations? Wes tried to wrap his mind around that one as he realized that he'd become used to the combination of nearly infinite recourses and down and dirty demon eradication that had become habit at Wolfram & Hart before Fred had died. Then all the resources in the world couldn't save her. So what was the point?
He scratched at his beard. He was going to have to shave tomorrow - it was beginning to itch. Perhaps if he did it before his shower.....
It would be nice to be able to continue the fight with adequate resources, seers, scryers, people with the same goals and same experiences...he could perhaps help rebuild the library. He'd learned quite a bit about alternate sources of research materials, and if he could somehow get his journals and books sent over from L.A. He never bothered to ask if his apartment was in an area that had been hit by the battle.
He blinked a few times, realizing that he'd barely even thought of home at all. Oh, god, the rent. He could do most of his bill paying on line if necessary, which meant he had to find access to that Time to get started standing on my own two feet again.
If they restarted the agency, they would have next to nothing to begin with, other than his meger personal library and the brains in their head - and no seer to guide them. That would be a problem. He also did not have a burning desire to go back to California, and not just because Rupert was here. Would Angel want to do that? Though he hadn't stepped a foot outside, it was nice to be home, hear familiar voices. He was really looking forward to walking around London, get a feel for her again.
And there was the matter of it being Angel Investigations. He wasn't so sure that he and Angel should enter an employer/employee situation again. That didn't appeal to him at all. And of course it was all contingent of them working things though - they really had to talk about Connor, and the mind wipe, and the whole Black Thorn thing. Bringing the team back together at the end didn't make up for a year of half-truths or worse.
He could always branch out on his own, do something completely different away from demons and Slayers, death and bloodshed. Start fresh. With his linguistics skills alone, he could command top dollar as a translator…or even teach, perhaps on the university level.
But could he turn his back on everything? How could he avoid it now that he knew what the world held? The nearly yearly battles to save it…the countless minor skirmishes that saved people - could he honestly turn his back on that life? To stand idly by while people he cared for continued to put themselves…?
The question was really answered even before he could finish rounding out his final thought. No. A thousand times no. Sorting through his re-acquired memories, he remembered that even at his bleakest, he continued to place himself in opposition to the darkness that crawled the earth. And it was not because of his, at the time, admittedly destructive bent. It was because he could not walk through the world, seeing it as he did, and do anything different. The fight was part of him.
Well, at least he knew that much. No matter what else Vail's blood had done to him, that part of him was unchanged.
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Where the devil is Spike he wondered. Looking up, he found the vampire lounging in his wheelchair, with the weary air of having been there a long time..
"Got that all worked out, did you?"
"Hardly."
Spike shrugged, "Ah well, I've always thought that thinking all that much was overrated, though watching you think's kind of like really minimalist TV." He got up and motioned grandly for Wes to get in the chair.
"Someone as perceptive as you not think? Hardly likely."
"I'm serious, I've always been more of a go with your instincts kind of bloke."
Wesley frowned as he got into the chair. "Spike, you were a poet. A person who distills thoughts into forms that convey the most emotional impact. Of course you think. Those notes you wrote for me on demonic toxins was incredibly clear and concise - really very well done. I've neglected to thank you for them."
"Told you not to mention it, and I meant it. It was a one shot deal. Don't think when I can help it - gets me into trouble. How I ended up a vampire, innit? Wrote a poem, got a big emotional kaboom and the next thing I knew...diggin' out o' me own grave And thinkin' got me into trouble in L.A., listen' to Lindsey and his rot about me being a champion and helping the hopeless. Went off on my own and got my hands chopped off "
"Spike. Though I'm terribly sorry that happened, I thought that incident was more because you didn't stay to hear all the relevant facts before going off and engaging an insane Slayer."
"All right, bad example. But, not a poet anymore, that's for sure. I'm done my bit and said my piece and am not looking at the world that way anymore. Just point me at the baddies I can hit, and I'm happy. Smash, bang, crunch."
"I think once you open your mind and see things in a certain way, you're never able to shut it off. It's part of you."
"Sure you can."
"Then what's that notebook weighing down the left-hand pocket of your duster?"
Reply
This would be the first time he'd seen Angel since . . . since before his own death. Just the thought had his stomach tightening, his mind spinning. He'd died. It was . . . not something he wanted to think about just then, though Wesley knew he'd have to consider it later.
Spike paused outside Angel's door, moving to open it and he could wheel Wes in and Wesley bit his lip, not sure what to expect or say. There were so many issues between them and he felt as if, he could just fix this, then . . . maybe he could find some resolution or . . . No, that wasn't exactly true.
He knew it wouldn't be washed away so easily as that, but it would be a start. To repair the friendship between Angel and himself would, at least be a step in the right direction. That didn't tell him where to start, of course.
Angel looked up as they entered and was thrilled to see the man looking so much better. That no doubt had to do with the blood they were pumping into him on a slow drip.
"Wes! You look, er, alive . . . . I mean, you know. Uh, good." Angel seemed surprised to see him and Wesley wasn't sure what to make of that.
"Uh, yes and the same to you."
The three of them lapsed into silence.
-----
Giles was bone weary. He'd hope to be able to sneak home for a short nap, but the situation didn't allow him even a few moments to think. First, there were the frantic Watchers to calm down, and not just those in the building. He had to call several other communities, talk to several people.
That was the problem with the younger Watchers. Of course, the older ones were little better. While he couldn't blame them for panicking--especially once he thought back and wondered how he'd have reacted had something like this happened to Buffy--he still found it difficult to keep from yawning in their ears.
Once the Watchers were calmed, he had them check on all the Slayers and give him a name by name report. Many were awake, but exhausted, the rest so deeply asleep that waking them only resulted in a few grumbled threats before they slipped back into sleep.
Still, they all seemed fine other than the extreme exhaustion. He called the safe house to check on Sarah and thought about talking to Wesley as well, but the man was likely sleeping after his own ordeal, or perhaps talking with Angel, and Giles didn't want to disturb him.
Sighing, he hung up the phone and went to have a look at the doctor's findings, after which he called a meeting of the Watchers. There weren't enough of them to take care of the Slayers that would soon wake. From what they knew at the moment, the Slayers would all be hungry and a bit weak, though that passed quickly enough.
By the time he'd arranged to have nurses come in to help, he was near to dead on his feet. Still, he couldn't go home without visiting Wesley. In fact, he wasn't sure he wanted to go home. His flat was so damned quiet.
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