A dim light outlined two figures, one sitting, one standing, in the genteel lounge of the Council guest quarters. The current guests, in leather and attitude, clashed horribly with the decor.
"You are disturbed by this information."
"Well, yeah, Blue, it's a bit...much to take in, even if I already did overhear half of it." Spike leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "It's like a bloody soap opera. Fact, I think it might outstrip Passions.
"I do not know this passion. I have no reference."
"Too bloody right, 'llyrie."
"You mock me."
"Um, no." Spike looked up, still a little dazed. "Uh, not really - sort of a bunch of mixed up puns playing on the word passions and know....wait a mo', what do you care?"
Illyria stared him down. "These memories I received when Wesley broke the spell...seemed to tip a balance within me. Or perhaps this shell's residue became stronger as I grew weaker - I do not know. I experience more emotion now."
"How long's this been goin' on? Why didn't you say anything?"
"You were not privy to the information that brought me these memories. I am saying it now."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not at the moment. I am satisfied you do not mock me."
"Well, I was, maybe a little. Uh, sorta implying you do not know passion.."
"That would not be true."
"Oh?"
"You would not understand."
"Try me."
"I have the passion of a ruler - ruthless, determined, willing to sacrifice my own comfort for my ambition. This is what Angel did."
Spike scratched his neck, thinking that one through. "You mean offering up everyone's memories so the kid could have a good life."
"And again, sacrificing the trust of the group to thwart the Black Thorn." Softly she added, "Drogyn told me that he chose to allow Winnifred Burkle to die so many would live."
"Yeah, he did. Nearly killed him to do it. Me, too. And you saw what it did to Wes...and Gunn."
"My boys," she said softly, so like Fred's voice that his head snapped up, not sure if he'd imagined it. She was looking at him, impassive. If she said it, she wasn't going to admit it.
"This conversation disturbs me. Another topic."
"What's your ambition, 'llyrie? Gonna go for the world domination kick again?"
"I must rule this shell. Much of my power is gone. The world is not what I once knew. I will not get it back - and if I did - this shell could not contain it. I have become ...attached to it. I must rule it before I conquer anything else. It is shameful, but true."
"No harm in it. Know what you mean, sorta went through something similar when I got my soul back."
"Angel goes through this."
"Pardon?"
"Angel is a ruler without a kingdom. He sacrificed comfort of friends and power and family to serve his ambition. He did not lose the gamble, but his kingdom is no more."
"I suppose you could look at it that, way, but never tell him I said i thought he was king or anything."
"He must rise from the wreckage of his loss or perish."
"We all do, I guess. Didn't expect you'd care so much, 'llyrie."
"It was unexpected. Pain was a flash of heat across the skin when I first walked this earth. Insignificant as the slime beneath our feet and as transient. The pain I see now can gut and conquer."
"That might be guilt, Blue. And compassion. You'll make a real girl yet."
"Insolent! Take that back."
~~~~~
Angel sat in his room, his body keeping dusk to dawn hours. He sat, looking blankly at the sketch pad Spike had bought him, but no pictures would come easily. Closing his eyes,he forced himself to remember.
Combing through the familiar faces, he picked one, set his jaw in determination, and began to draw. If a tear fell, he dipped his finger in it and used it to soften the lines of his pencil.
He couldn't soften the feeling that these people, once his friends, were now just more of his victims.
Angel didn't want to leave his room. It was nice, quiet, plenty of time to himself, to think. The nurses didn't bother him except to change his IV. Of course, once he'd begun to be able to move around more and had requested to be able to eat as he normally did, they'd simply brought a mini-fridge and a microwave into his room.
Sometimes they came to take blood samples, skin samples. Whatever Wesley's blood had done to get rid of the toxin, they were very interested in it. He wondered if they were poking Wesley as much as him, but never asked. When Wes would come to visit there were always other things to talk about.
So very many other things to talk about and Angel didn't even know how to start most of the conversations between them. Some got started regardless, some waited. Mostly they talked about the past, about the memories Wes recovered. They stayed away from the more explosive topics, maybe both just needing some time there.
They talked a lot about not knowing what they hell they were doing. Angel envied that it seems easier for Wesley, but he certainly didn't wish it any differently. Wesley deserved some easiness in his life. The ex-Watcher or well Watcher again, now, kept him informed about the Slayers, tried to tell him not to feel guilty that two dozen or so Slayers had been struck down by visions about him.
They discussed that as well. Cordy's visions and where they'd gone. Wes hadn't shown any further symptoms. No dreams, no visions, no headaches. The Slayers all reported normal dreams.
He healed quickly, was back to himself, physically at least, after just a few days. Still, he didn't want to leave and no one seemed intent on making him. He had so much to do, but didn't feel ready to get it all sorted. He needed to find a place, but thought that he'd better find a place for himself in the world before he did anything.
Spike, who spent most days with him, seemed to think he was brooding and wouldn't be told otherwise. Angel just shrugged and didn't try to explain. How the hell could he when he could barely remember what he was allowed to say and wasn't anymore? The other vampire seemed quiet himself.
Well, not actually quiet, because Angel was pretty sure Spike would hurt himself if he tried to stay still and not talk so much. Still, the topics, the things he chose to prattle on about and the things he didn't say.
Angel knew him more than well enough to know that there was something Spike was hiding.
-----
Spike kept his mouth shut, for the first time he could remember. He wasn't sure what to say, but every time he was around Angel, he felt as if these secrets, things he'd never had memories of one way or the other, were burning inside him, ready to explode off his tongue.
Angel had a son. Angel and Darla had had a son, together. Angel had signed away, or thought he'd signed away, the Shanshu and said not one word to any of them. Spike didn't know how to feel about that.
Besides, he had other things to think about. Angel was isolating himself and Spike had made it his personal mission to get the man out of that damn room. Once Angel was out of bed, he'd suggested going out, doing something, celebrating the fact that weren't dead and drinking to those who weren't so lucky.
Angel had not liked that idea at all, especially the 'drinking to fallen comrades' bit. Still, Spike kept trying. He sat through Angel's nightly Tai Chi sessions, suggested the man do it out in the garden, and got a glare. He brought drawing materials, poetry books, anything he could think of to try and get his Sire to become interested in more than just these walls.
Giles spent more time than he'd like at the Council's headquarters. It wasn't that he didn't want to be there to explain things, as much as he could. Nor did he even think of shirking his duties, or letting down his Slayers. In fact, when he was working with them, the thought of being elsewhere all but retreated.
It was during the research that he wanted to be at the safe house. He'd often find a passage and have to make a note to discuss it with Wesley. The other Watchers around him were mostly those brought in from retirement as the newer recruits were still learning the languages and were not suited to the trickier texts.
He was damn lucky that the First had not attacked the Academy as well. The future Watchers of the world had survived, but they were of only the most rudimentary use. He'd had to use them, of course, put them in whatever positions they were suitable for, but it would be a few years before the arrogance and shine wore off and they could settle in to usefulness. Well, no, he actually doubted it would take years anymore. With most of them thrust into the thick of things so quickly, perhaps it would only be months.
He felt quite guilty about that. He had had some years to himself working at the less dangerous, less stressful end of the spectrum. The British Museum, hunting down and investigating artifacts, plenty of time to think, to grow into his own after he'd accepted his duty and destiny. They'd not have that and while most didn't think they were missing anything . . .
Giles tried not to think about that, actually.
His breakfasts with Wesley were his favorite part of his new routine and that wasn't just down to the quick kisses, long looks, or fleeting touches. They'd never kissed as they had that first time, but . . . Giles was willing to take it as slow as Wesley needed and was, in fact, enjoying himself rather a lot. It had been a while since he'd experience the type of slow dance they were doing and it had a thrill all its own.
He'd heard from Willow. She and Kennedy were swamped keeping the new Slayers from getting themselves killed, keeping the older Watchers from killing the younger ones. Giles had had to smile when Willow had said that their Watchers were fighting worse than Wesley and he had. He hadn't told her yet. He wanted to wait until she came to see what she could make of Wesley's condition.
He hadn't told any of them, though he'd talked to Xander, to Buffy and Dawn. They were all planning to come to London for Christmas and Giles wanted to keep it to himself until then, to have something completely of his own for just a while longer.
He didn't expect them to do more than blink and take a few hours to get over their shock, not after all they'd been through together, but once they knew, there were would be questions. It would be different and though Giles was not at all unsure that he did want Wesley and he to last that long, did want it to be something one told their friends about, he wasn't sure exactly what Wesley wanted. Nor did he want to break the mood between them just yet to ask.
Soon, though. Perhaps after they'd been out together a few times. Wesley was quickly working toward that. He'd been resting and working with the safe house's physical therapist. Giles was quite looking forward to their . . . date.
Wesley's days became a rather pleasant routine. Breakfast with Rupert, which usually involved stolen kisses, the feel of those wonderfully calloused hands against his face, lips . . . Then Rupert would have to leave and Wes would turn his mind to the research, the books that Rupert brought him in an attempt to keep him from becoming bored to tears.
He visited Sarah, who was about as mobile now as he'd been when he'd first woken. Slayer healing did its work and Wesley wondered just how very extreme the wounds had to have been originally. Angel, too, healed. He visited Wes and Wes visited him, though Angel seemed to want peace and quiet more than anything else.
Wesley couldn't blame him for that and did his best to both give his friend what he needed and to remind the man of his presence, should Angel become someone else overnight and decide to talk about the things that were so clearly bothering him. Wesley never pried, or at least tried to keep himself from doing so. He'd nearly broken into tears, however, when he'd gone in to see Angel and found Gunn's portrait sitting on the nightstand. He'd asked Angel if he could have it and Rupert and gotten him a frame. Angel had refused to tell him if he'd drawn Fred. Wesley . . . well, something kept him from pushing the issue.
He worked to get his strength back and was thrilled with his own progress. When his blood tests came back they could only tell him that his T-cells were accelerated and there was a foreign chemical in his blood, something that seemed to act somewhat like adrenaline and was likely responsible for his heightened senses. No one could say if it were temporary, if the blood cells his body no produced would retain the new component or not. In general, no one knew what was happening to him.
He still worried. He'd seen so much, so many transformations, that he couldn't feel completely comfortable with this new thing just yet. Rupert assured him that he had his people devoting all the time they could spare and Wesley had to accept that. He wanted to look for himself, but that could wait.
In fact, he planned to hold Rupert to his promise of outfitting a lab for him. Now, all he had to do was make it through a few hours of being up and about without his muscles shaking.
-----
"Morning, Wes," Giles called as he entered the room, glancing over to see the bathroom door closed. "We've finally gotten around to the clothing, you'll be glad to know. They'll delivered sometime today. I'm sure you're more than tired of my old sweats."
Setting down the thermos of coffee and the breakfast he'd made for them.
"No, actually," he heard Wesley say, as the door to the bathroom opened. "I'd quite like to keep those as well, if you've no need of them."
Giles turned to answer and his mouth all but dropped open. Ignoring his reaction, because there was no way Wes hadn't seen it, the other man walked past him to the dressers. Giles turned automatically, his eyes following Wesley's body, clad only in a towel around his waist.
"Tease," he chuckled fondly.
Wes turned to a mock-startled look on him and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about," before taking his clothes and heading back to the bathroom. He paused on the way, leaning in toward Giles' ear with a smile. "And Rupert? I hope you feel like silk for breakfast"
Giles couldn't help but echo that other man's laughter as Wesley went back to the bathroom to dress.
Spike stalked down the corridor toward Angel's room. Wes wasn't about, par for the course these days since Rupes had given him a spot in the labs downstairs to run some tests on his own blood, and Angel's. And that was fine with him. One less thing to deal with.
Wesley, and the impreturbable git Bevins had sussed out the reason that Angel had started to dust was because the venom had reached a saturation point in his flesh - so, he'd started to dissolve. Powers gave us a good kick in the arse, they did.
And he was about to give Angel a kick in his.
"Come on, then," he said, "Got a bit of a surprise waiting."
"Go away, Spike."
"Not tonight. You said you'd show me a bit more tai chi, and I'm sick o' doin it smellin' all these chemicals."
Angel sighed and lumbered to his feet. "Lemme get changed," he said listlessly, picked up a pair of sweatpants and headed toward the bathroom.
Always was a bit modest.
"Okay, so what's the surprise."
"If I tell you, that will spoil it."
Angel, frowning at Spike's sarcastic tone, trailed behind him like a seven-year old drug along on a shopping trip for canned vegetables. "Is it going to take long to get there?"
"No."
Angel fidgeted in the elevator. "We're not going outside are we?"
"No, and I would have told you to bring shoes and not flip-flops if we were." Spike's voice was just on the edge of patience.
"Jeez, you're touchy."
Spike gritted his teeth and bounced on his toes.
The elevator door opened on a quintessential English entryway. Parquet floor, graced with a tasteful oriental rug. A mahogany demi-lune table holding a vase of flowers stood against the wall. Stairs curled over their heads to the second floor. A large, double-wide door, shiny and black, led to the world beyond. Spike walked two steps out of the elevator. Angel didn't move.
"What?"
"That seems like going outside."
"S'not. There's a door just on the other side of the stairs to the courtyard. All enclosed, like."
Angel grudgingly walked out of the elevator and followed Spike, who wondered if he ground his teeth to bits, would they regenerate?
Opening the door, he motioned Angel through.
It was a jewel of a garden, even in the moonlight. The house had a long logia across the back, providing shade during the day and tables and comfortable chairs scattered along it's length. A gravel path quartered the garden, and a fountain splashed merrily in the center, lights shining up through the water.
"Just on the other side of the fountain's a nice bit of grass big enough for us both to spread out and do our thing. Moon's full, so we don't need the extra lights." He brushed past Angel and walked down the stairs, holding his arm wide in a gesture of welcome."
"And the roses are bloomin' so it smells a damn sight better than the indoors."
Angel walked out onto the path and hesitantly toward the fountain, circled it, and sat on the far edge with his back facing the house. He glanced around. "This is nice, Spike," he said over his shoulder.
Spike closed his eyes in gratitude - it was one of the first positive things Angel had said in weeks.
"Has Wes seen this?" Angel asked, slipping off his flip flops and beginning to stretch. "He likes gardens."
And, the gratitude turned sour. Always Wes. Wes, Wes, Wes, blah, blah, blah. "Uh, dunno. 'Spose he's been tucked away in his lab. Rupert may have brought him down for breakfast or some such. Didn't say."
Angel was concentrating on stretching and didn't answer. Spike shrugged, shucked off his duster and sitting on the step, tugged off his Docs. Once ready, he silently stepped across the garden into place a few feet from Angel, beginning his stretches.
The grass felt deep and springy under his feet. Looking up, he could see the stars shining dimly, competing with the London lights. The moon was bright.
"Nice night."
"Uh-huh."
Angel put himself in the beginning, centering posture and waited for Spike to be ready. Nodding at Angel, they began to flow from posture to posture. They worked a few moments in concert, then Spike faltered a bit.
"You know if you wore sweats, you'd have an easier time."
Spike smiled to himself. Never failed. Angel always spoke more freely if he had something to occupy his hands or his body. And departing that train of thought...
"Can't be goin' on patrol in sweats. Gives the beasties somethin' to hang onto."
"Borrow a pair of Wes' then."
"Like he'd part with 'em. They're Rupert's"
"Yeah. I'm glad he's happy and all, but….still a little weirded out about that."
"How so? The fancyin' a bloke thing? Yea, me too, but just bein' around 'em, you can tell. Nothin' wrong with it as far as I'm concerned."
"Spike. You know it's not that. Think Wes got...changed when he died?"
"Wot, woke up gay? Hardly. More like finally recognized a good thing when he saw it. Guess while he was slightly batty and all...his, I dunno, inhibitions were down, he felt it, and then didn't shy away when he woke up."
"I guess that's one theory. You don't think Giles is taking advantage -"
Spike stopped and looked at Angel, who stared back but kept going. "Are you bloody kidding me? Giles nearly fell all over himself making sure he didn't get in Wesley's personal space. Let him suss it out for himself."
Angel shrugged and Spike tsked at him, then tried to catch up with Angel's movements. Angel stopped and reaching out, rearranged Spike's stance, pushing his hips into proper alignment. Spike closed his eyes and gritted his teeth again, though this time for a different reason. Angel heard him, and gave him an admonishing look.
"Would you just slow down? If you go through the next positions like that, you'll just end up twisting your knee and falling over."
"Sorry, sorry." Spike didn't correct the misunderstanding. He never did.
Angel settled himself into position again, and satisfied Spike was doing the postures correctly, continued the conversation. "I just never noticed that about him."
"Not like you were lookin'?"
Angel scoffed. "No. Just….never even got a vibe. Like Giles, I got a vibe, especially when a friend of his came to town."
Spike bit his tongue, trying not to ask if Angel had wanted a vibe from Wes.
"Ya are kinda thickheaded."
"Yeah, like you aren't"
They moved through several postures.
"'Course, you're kinda used to not seein' what you don't want to."
Angel's smooth movements hitched a little. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
"Like now. You not wanting to be back in the world an all, yet."
"Like I said before, Spike, I don't just bounce back like you after three weeks in a basement. I actually take the time to think things through."
"That's as may be, but you can't hide in here forever."
No answer but the muted sounds of the city beyond the walls. Spike noticed it was a little harder for Angel to keep his movements smooth.
"Not like you don't know that you're still here because of the next Big Bad."
"And probably the next, and the next one after that."
"You are disturbed by this information."
"Well, yeah, Blue, it's a bit...much to take in, even if I already did overhear half of it." Spike leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "It's like a bloody soap opera. Fact, I think it might outstrip Passions.
"I do not know this passion. I have no reference."
"Too bloody right, 'llyrie."
"You mock me."
"Um, no." Spike looked up, still a little dazed. "Uh, not really - sort of a bunch of mixed up puns playing on the word passions and know....wait a mo', what do you care?"
Illyria stared him down. "These memories I received when Wesley broke the spell...seemed to tip a balance within me. Or perhaps this shell's residue became stronger as I grew weaker - I do not know. I experience more emotion now."
"How long's this been goin' on? Why didn't you say anything?"
"You were not privy to the information that brought me these memories. I am saying it now."
"Wanna talk about it?"
"Not at the moment. I am satisfied you do not mock me."
"Well, I was, maybe a little. Uh, sorta implying you do not know passion.."
"That would not be true."
"Oh?"
"You would not understand."
"Try me."
"I have the passion of a ruler - ruthless, determined, willing to sacrifice my own comfort for my ambition. This is what Angel did."
Spike scratched his neck, thinking that one through. "You mean offering up everyone's memories so the kid could have a good life."
"And again, sacrificing the trust of the group to thwart the Black Thorn." Softly she added, "Drogyn told me that he chose to allow Winnifred Burkle to die so many would live."
"Yeah, he did. Nearly killed him to do it. Me, too. And you saw what it did to Wes...and Gunn."
"My boys," she said softly, so like Fred's voice that his head snapped up, not sure if he'd imagined it. She was looking at him, impassive. If she said it, she wasn't going to admit it.
"This conversation disturbs me. Another topic."
"What's your ambition, 'llyrie? Gonna go for the world domination kick again?"
"I must rule this shell. Much of my power is gone. The world is not what I once knew. I will not get it back - and if I did - this shell could not contain it. I have become ...attached to it. I must rule it before I conquer anything else. It is shameful, but true."
"No harm in it. Know what you mean, sorta went through something similar when I got my soul back."
"Angel goes through this."
"Pardon?"
"Angel is a ruler without a kingdom. He sacrificed comfort of friends and power and family to serve his ambition. He did not lose the gamble, but his kingdom is no more."
"I suppose you could look at it that, way, but never tell him I said i thought he was king or anything."
"He must rise from the wreckage of his loss or perish."
"We all do, I guess. Didn't expect you'd care so much, 'llyrie."
"It was unexpected. Pain was a flash of heat across the skin when I first walked this earth. Insignificant as the slime beneath our feet and as transient. The pain I see now can gut and conquer."
"That might be guilt, Blue. And compassion. You'll make a real girl yet."
"Insolent! Take that back."
~~~~~
Angel sat in his room, his body keeping dusk to dawn hours. He sat, looking blankly at the sketch pad Spike had bought him, but no pictures would come easily. Closing his eyes,he forced himself to remember.
Combing through the familiar faces, he picked one, set his jaw in determination, and began to draw. If a tear fell, he dipped his finger in it and used it to soften the lines of his pencil.
He couldn't soften the feeling that these people, once his friends, were now just more of his victims.
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Sometimes they came to take blood samples, skin samples. Whatever Wesley's blood had done to get rid of the toxin, they were very interested in it. He wondered if they were poking Wesley as much as him, but never asked. When Wes would come to visit there were always other things to talk about.
So very many other things to talk about and Angel didn't even know how to start most of the conversations between them. Some got started regardless, some waited. Mostly they talked about the past, about the memories Wes recovered. They stayed away from the more explosive topics, maybe both just needing some time there.
They talked a lot about not knowing what they hell they were doing. Angel envied that it seems easier for Wesley, but he certainly didn't wish it any differently. Wesley deserved some easiness in his life. The ex-Watcher or well Watcher again, now, kept him informed about the Slayers, tried to tell him not to feel guilty that two dozen or so Slayers had been struck down by visions about him.
They discussed that as well. Cordy's visions and where they'd gone. Wes hadn't shown any further symptoms. No dreams, no visions, no headaches. The Slayers all reported normal dreams.
He healed quickly, was back to himself, physically at least, after just a few days. Still, he didn't want to leave and no one seemed intent on making him. He had so much to do, but didn't feel ready to get it all sorted. He needed to find a place, but thought that he'd better find a place for himself in the world before he did anything.
Spike, who spent most days with him, seemed to think he was brooding and wouldn't be told otherwise. Angel just shrugged and didn't try to explain. How the hell could he when he could barely remember what he was allowed to say and wasn't anymore? The other vampire seemed quiet himself.
Well, not actually quiet, because Angel was pretty sure Spike would hurt himself if he tried to stay still and not talk so much. Still, the topics, the things he chose to prattle on about and the things he didn't say.
Angel knew him more than well enough to know that there was something Spike was hiding.
-----
Spike kept his mouth shut, for the first time he could remember. He wasn't sure what to say, but every time he was around Angel, he felt as if these secrets, things he'd never had memories of one way or the other, were burning inside him, ready to explode off his tongue.
Angel had a son. Angel and Darla had had a son, together. Angel had signed away, or thought he'd signed away, the Shanshu and said not one word to any of them. Spike didn't know how to feel about that.
Besides, he had other things to think about. Angel was isolating himself and Spike had made it his personal mission to get the man out of that damn room. Once Angel was out of bed, he'd suggested going out, doing something, celebrating the fact that weren't dead and drinking to those who weren't so lucky.
Angel had not liked that idea at all, especially the 'drinking to fallen comrades' bit. Still, Spike kept trying. He sat through Angel's nightly Tai Chi sessions, suggested the man do it out in the garden, and got a glare. He brought drawing materials, poetry books, anything he could think of to try and get his Sire to become interested in more than just these walls.
It was beginning to frustrate him.
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It was during the research that he wanted to be at the safe house. He'd often find a passage and have to make a note to discuss it with Wesley. The other Watchers around him were mostly those brought in from retirement as the newer recruits were still learning the languages and were not suited to the trickier texts.
He was damn lucky that the First had not attacked the Academy as well. The future Watchers of the world had survived, but they were of only the most rudimentary use. He'd had to use them, of course, put them in whatever positions they were suitable for, but it would be a few years before the arrogance and shine wore off and they could settle in to usefulness. Well, no, he actually doubted it would take years anymore. With most of them thrust into the thick of things so quickly, perhaps it would only be months.
He felt quite guilty about that. He had had some years to himself working at the less dangerous, less stressful end of the spectrum. The British Museum, hunting down and investigating artifacts, plenty of time to think, to grow into his own after he'd accepted his duty and destiny. They'd not have that and while most didn't think they were missing anything . . .
Giles tried not to think about that, actually.
His breakfasts with Wesley were his favorite part of his new routine and that wasn't just down to the quick kisses, long looks, or fleeting touches. They'd never kissed as they had that first time, but . . . Giles was willing to take it as slow as Wesley needed and was, in fact, enjoying himself rather a lot. It had been a while since he'd experience the type of slow dance they were doing and it had a thrill all its own.
He'd heard from Willow. She and Kennedy were swamped keeping the new Slayers from getting themselves killed, keeping the older Watchers from killing the younger ones. Giles had had to smile when Willow had said that their Watchers were fighting worse than Wesley and he had. He hadn't told her yet. He wanted to wait until she came to see what she could make of Wesley's condition.
He hadn't told any of them, though he'd talked to Xander, to Buffy and Dawn. They were all planning to come to London for Christmas and Giles wanted to keep it to himself until then, to have something completely of his own for just a while longer.
He didn't expect them to do more than blink and take a few hours to get over their shock, not after all they'd been through together, but once they knew, there were would be questions. It would be different and though Giles was not at all unsure that he did want Wesley and he to last that long, did want it to be something one told their friends about, he wasn't sure exactly what Wesley wanted. Nor did he want to break the mood between them just yet to ask.
Soon, though. Perhaps after they'd been out together a few times. Wesley was quickly working toward that. He'd been resting and working with the safe house's physical therapist. Giles was quite looking forward to their . . . date.
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He visited Sarah, who was about as mobile now as he'd been when he'd first woken. Slayer healing did its work and Wesley wondered just how very extreme the wounds had to have been originally. Angel, too, healed. He visited Wes and Wes visited him, though Angel seemed to want peace and quiet more than anything else.
Wesley couldn't blame him for that and did his best to both give his friend what he needed and to remind the man of his presence, should Angel become someone else overnight and decide to talk about the things that were so clearly bothering him. Wesley never pried, or at least tried to keep himself from doing so. He'd nearly broken into tears, however, when he'd gone in to see Angel and found Gunn's portrait sitting on the nightstand. He'd asked Angel if he could have it and Rupert and gotten him a frame. Angel had refused to tell him if he'd drawn Fred. Wesley . . . well, something kept him from pushing the issue.
He worked to get his strength back and was thrilled with his own progress. When his blood tests came back they could only tell him that his T-cells were accelerated and there was a foreign chemical in his blood, something that seemed to act somewhat like adrenaline and was likely responsible for his heightened senses. No one could say if it were temporary, if the blood cells his body no produced would retain the new component or not. In general, no one knew what was happening to him.
He still worried. He'd seen so much, so many transformations, that he couldn't feel completely comfortable with this new thing just yet. Rupert assured him that he had his people devoting all the time they could spare and Wesley had to accept that. He wanted to look for himself, but that could wait.
In fact, he planned to hold Rupert to his promise of outfitting a lab for him. Now, all he had to do was make it through a few hours of being up and about without his muscles shaking.
-----
"Morning, Wes," Giles called as he entered the room, glancing over to see the bathroom door closed. "We've finally gotten around to the clothing, you'll be glad to know. They'll delivered sometime today. I'm sure you're more than tired of my old sweats."
Setting down the thermos of coffee and the breakfast he'd made for them.
"No, actually," he heard Wesley say, as the door to the bathroom opened. "I'd quite like to keep those as well, if you've no need of them."
Giles turned to answer and his mouth all but dropped open. Ignoring his reaction, because there was no way Wes hadn't seen it, the other man walked past him to the dressers. Giles turned automatically, his eyes following Wesley's body, clad only in a towel around his waist.
"Tease," he chuckled fondly.
Wes turned to a mock-startled look on him and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about," before taking his clothes and heading back to the bathroom. He paused on the way, leaning in toward Giles' ear with a smile. "And Rupert? I hope you feel like silk for breakfast"
Giles couldn't help but echo that other man's laughter as Wesley went back to the bathroom to dress.
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Wesley, and the impreturbable git Bevins had sussed out the reason that Angel had started to dust was because the venom had reached a saturation point in his flesh - so, he'd started to dissolve. Powers gave us a good kick in the arse, they did.
And he was about to give Angel a kick in his.
"Come on, then," he said, "Got a bit of a surprise waiting."
"Go away, Spike."
"Not tonight. You said you'd show me a bit more tai chi, and I'm sick o' doin it smellin' all these chemicals."
Angel sighed and lumbered to his feet. "Lemme get changed," he said listlessly, picked up a pair of sweatpants and headed toward the bathroom.
Always was a bit modest.
"Okay, so what's the surprise."
"If I tell you, that will spoil it."
Angel, frowning at Spike's sarcastic tone, trailed behind him like a seven-year old drug along on a shopping trip for canned vegetables. "Is it going to take long to get there?"
"No."
Angel fidgeted in the elevator. "We're not going outside are we?"
"No, and I would have told you to bring shoes and not flip-flops if we were." Spike's voice was just on the edge of patience.
"Jeez, you're touchy."
Spike gritted his teeth and bounced on his toes.
The elevator door opened on a quintessential English entryway. Parquet floor, graced with a tasteful oriental rug. A mahogany demi-lune table holding a vase of flowers stood against the wall. Stairs curled over their heads to the second floor. A large, double-wide door, shiny and black, led to the world beyond. Spike walked two steps out of the elevator. Angel didn't move.
"What?"
"That seems like going outside."
"S'not. There's a door just on the other side of the stairs to the courtyard. All enclosed, like."
Angel grudgingly walked out of the elevator and followed Spike, who wondered if he ground his teeth to bits, would they regenerate?
Opening the door, he motioned Angel through.
It was a jewel of a garden, even in the moonlight. The house had a long logia across the back, providing shade during the day and tables and comfortable chairs scattered along it's length. A gravel path quartered the garden, and a fountain splashed merrily in the center, lights shining up through the water.
"Just on the other side of the fountain's a nice bit of grass big enough for us both to spread out and do our thing. Moon's full, so we don't need the extra lights." He brushed past Angel and walked down the stairs, holding his arm wide in a gesture of welcome."
"And the roses are bloomin' so it smells a damn sight better than the indoors."
Angel walked out onto the path and hesitantly toward the fountain, circled it, and sat on the far edge with his back facing the house. He glanced around. "This is nice, Spike," he said over his shoulder.
Spike closed his eyes in gratitude - it was one of the first positive things Angel had said in weeks.
"Has Wes seen this?" Angel asked, slipping off his flip flops and beginning to stretch. "He likes gardens."
And, the gratitude turned sour. Always Wes. Wes, Wes, Wes, blah, blah, blah. "Uh, dunno. 'Spose he's been tucked away in his lab. Rupert may have brought him down for breakfast or some such. Didn't say."
Angel was concentrating on stretching and didn't answer. Spike shrugged, shucked off his duster and sitting on the step, tugged off his Docs. Once ready, he silently stepped across the garden into place a few feet from Angel, beginning his stretches.
The grass felt deep and springy under his feet. Looking up, he could see the stars shining dimly, competing with the London lights. The moon was bright.
"Nice night."
"Uh-huh."
Angel put himself in the beginning, centering posture and waited for Spike to be ready. Nodding at Angel, they began to flow from posture to posture. They worked a few moments in concert, then Spike faltered a bit.
"You know if you wore sweats, you'd have an easier time."
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"Can't be goin' on patrol in sweats. Gives the beasties somethin' to hang onto."
"Borrow a pair of Wes' then."
"Like he'd part with 'em. They're Rupert's"
"Yeah. I'm glad he's happy and all, but….still a little weirded out about that."
"How so? The fancyin' a bloke thing? Yea, me too, but just bein' around 'em, you can tell. Nothin' wrong with it as far as I'm concerned."
"Spike. You know it's not that. Think Wes got...changed when he died?"
"Wot, woke up gay? Hardly. More like finally recognized a good thing when he saw it. Guess while he was slightly batty and all...his, I dunno, inhibitions were down, he felt it, and then didn't shy away when he woke up."
"I guess that's one theory. You don't think Giles is taking advantage -"
Spike stopped and looked at Angel, who stared back but kept going. "Are you bloody kidding me? Giles nearly fell all over himself making sure he didn't get in Wesley's personal space. Let him suss it out for himself."
Angel shrugged and Spike tsked at him, then tried to catch up with Angel's movements. Angel stopped and reaching out, rearranged Spike's stance, pushing his hips into proper alignment. Spike closed his eyes and gritted his teeth again, though this time for a different reason. Angel heard him, and gave him an admonishing look.
"Would you just slow down? If you go through the next positions like that, you'll just end up twisting your knee and falling over."
"Sorry, sorry." Spike didn't correct the misunderstanding. He never did.
Angel settled himself into position again, and satisfied Spike was doing the postures correctly, continued the conversation. "I just never noticed that about him."
"Not like you were lookin'?"
Angel scoffed. "No. Just….never even got a vibe. Like Giles, I got a vibe, especially when a friend of his came to town."
Spike bit his tongue, trying not to ask if Angel had wanted a vibe from Wes.
"Ya are kinda thickheaded."
"Yeah, like you aren't"
They moved through several postures.
"'Course, you're kinda used to not seein' what you don't want to."
Angel's smooth movements hitched a little. "What the hell do you mean by that?"
"Like now. You not wanting to be back in the world an all, yet."
"Like I said before, Spike, I don't just bounce back like you after three weeks in a basement. I actually take the time to think things through."
"That's as may be, but you can't hide in here forever."
No answer but the muted sounds of the city beyond the walls. Spike noticed it was a little harder for Angel to keep his movements smooth.
"Not like you don't know that you're still here because of the next Big Bad."
"And probably the next, and the next one after that."
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