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.
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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