Chapter 3: April 2003
Wesley ignored the burning pain in his arm as he trudged back to his motorcycle. Tonight’s efforts were going to bring a nice, fat paycheck, which would pay the rent and afford him some new gadgets. The last few months had allowed him to get back on his feet, financially speaking, and at this point he was doing better than he ever had while working for Angel Investigations.
That was only his bank account speaking, however. The loneliness and despair did not lessen over time, not enough to make any difference at all.
The sound of a fight reached his ears: scuffling feet, snarls and growls, the cry of a woman. He had every intention of ignoring it. Wesley was no longer in the business of helping the helpless, after all. He was in it for the money. That’s what he tried to tell himself, but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, sending him towards the fight, rather than back to his bike.
He arrived at the scene in time to see a vampire crack a blonde man over the back of the head with a pipe, while two other vampires converged on a woman about his own age. Wesley snapped his right wrist, releasing the stake from its sheathe, and waded into the fight. He managed to catch two from behind before they even knew there was someone else there. The third offered more of a challenge, but Wesley dispensed of him quickly. He had gotten quite used to relying on his own skills, with no one to watch his back over the last months.
Regarding the woman with a hard gaze, he asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, leaning over her unconscious companion. He lay sprawled out, and Wesley could just make out sharp features in the light of the streetlamps.
“And your friend?” he asked, wanting to be able to leave, and yet not wanting to leave her to her own defenses. Certainly not wanting to leave a man in the street who might be dying. He’d had quite enough of that.
The woman smiled at him. “Spike will be fine. If you wouldn’t mind helping me get him to the car, though, I would appreciate it.”
The name sparked a memory, that and the bleached hair and black attire. “Spike?” Wesley knelt down next to her to get a better look, and found himself looking at someone he’d never expected to see again. The last he’d heard, Spike was in Sunnydale, helping the Slayer. He had caught a glimpse of the vampire when they had all attended Buffy’s funeral, and later stopped by the house to offer their sympathies. Spike had been rather elusive, but he had seen him, enough to know that this was the same Spike he was looking at now.
“You do know he’s a vampire, don’t you?” Wesley asked the woman, in all seriousness. He wasn’t too keen on vampires himself anymore.
She nodded. “I know. He’s different.”
“That’s what they’re all saying, these days,” Wesley said dryly. He sighed, knowing that he was probably going to regret this. “How far away is your car?”
“Just another block,” she replied. “I’m Nika Owen, by the way. Do you know Spike?”
He shook his head. “Not exactly. We have—mutual acquaintances. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.”
“Nice to meet you,” Nika replied, shaking his hand before grabbing one of Spike’s arms to haul him up. Wesley grabbed the other arm, and between the two of them managed to get him to his feet. Spike wasn’t stirring, and Wesley felt himself wincing in sympathy. A blow that hard was going to leave quite a mark.
Wesley took his weight and motioned with his chin for her to lead the way. “I’ve got him.”
She paused. “Are you sure? You’re injured.”
He looked at the make-shift bandage on his arm and shrugged.
“It’s just a scratch. Shall we?” Wesley followed Nika, half carrying, half
dragging Spike. He was terribly curious as to what had led to the vampire being
here in
He had no desire to make conversation, however. No desire to
attempt to make friends with this woman, who seemed to like vampires. They
walked in silence, until she pointed to a battered
Shaking his head, Wesley replied, “I don’t think so. My bike isn’t far.”
“Alright.” As he turned to go, she called out after him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to look at that arm?” When he faced her again, she explained, “I have some experience. It would mean you wouldn’t have to go to the doctor, maybe, and that kind of wound is hard to bandage yourself. I feel as though I owe you.”
He was going to say no. He had every intention of saying no. But Wesley had always been an inquisitive sort of person, and he had to wonder why Spike was here, why he seemed to be friends with this woman. Finally, he nodded. “Very well.”
Nika gave him a ride to his bike, three blocks away, and then he followed her to her house. Between the two of them, it was easy enough to get Spike inside and situate him on the couch. “He’ll have a nasty headache when he wakes up,” Nika commented. “But I think he’ll survive.”
“Head wounds generally aren’t fatal to vampires,” Wesley agreed. He followed her into the kitchen, and she waved him into a seat at the small table.
She was rummaging around in the cupboards over the stove. “I have the first aid supplies here somewhere.”
“You do this often?” Wesley said, sounding amused.
“When Spike hunts,” Nika explained, pulling down a box of
supplies. “And before. Danny—my husband—wasn’t human. Not completely.” She
turned to Wesley suddenly, and her eyes revealed a pain hardly healed. “Have
you heard of the Barach’na? They’re usually found in
Wesley frowned slightly. “A demon clan. Rumored to be shape-shifters. Also thought to be the source of some of the folk tales.”
“Danny’s mother was—half, you know. He said it was quite a love story.” Nika tried for a smile, and didn’t quite make it. “I’m probably boring you.”
“Hardly,” Wesley assured her. Lost love was not something he would sneer at. “What happened to him?”
She shook her head. “He was out hunting. Danny was a police officer, but he went sometimes off-duty, you know.” Nika set the box on the table in front of Wesley. “Vampire.”
“And you still allow Spike in your home?” Wesley was a little surprised at that.
Nika sighed. “Spike saved my life.” She frowned. “In a way. It was more along the lines of misery needing company.” She looked at Wesley. “You’ll need to take your shirt off.”
“Right,” Wesley replied. He removed the handkerchief from his arm, and peeled his jacket off, hanging it over the back of the chair. He pulled the long-sleeved gray t-shirt over his head, and sat back down at the table.
Nika pulled a chair over on Wesley’s right side, beginning to dab at the laceration. “This is probably going to need stitches.”
“Can you do that?”
“Certified EMT,” Nika replied quietly, turning to rummage around the kit again. “It helps pay the bills when the midwife business is slow.”
As she turned her head, Wesley could see the scar on her neck that could have been made by one thing only. “Your neck.”
Nika stopped what she was doing and said very quietly. “It was the way that Spike saved me.”
He didn’t understand, but he didn’t ask. The openness that had been present a few moments before was gone. Nika went to the fridge and pulled out a jar of something. She filled a mug with the liquid, which resembled tea, and handed it to him. “Drink.”
“May I ask what it is?” Wesley sounded more than a little cautious.
She gave him an amused smile. “Tea. It will take the edge off while I stitch you up. Plus, it’s cleansing. I got the recipe from my grandmother.”
He gave up and drank as Nika swabbed the wound with alcohol. Wesley hissed in pain, but said nothing. “There,” she murmured. “Just a few stitches, and you’ll be good as new.”
Her movements quick and gentle, she put the stitches in, seven in all. Then, once she’d gotten that done, she wrapped gauze around his arm and taped it into place. Wesley flexed his arm experimentally, and finally nodded. “Good as new, indeed.”
Their eyes met, and some unknown emotion flashed across Nika’s face. Wesley felt an odd pull in her direction, like he hadn’t felt since Fred. More might have been said, but just then Wesley heard footsteps behind him. “Who’s the wanker?”
Wesley turned to see Spike standing in the doorway, looking almost hungover. “Spike.” Though her tone was mild, it was enough to have Spike backing off slightly.
“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping into the kitchen. Wesley noted that he was limping rather badly, and thought that might have been the reason he hadn’t done as well against the other vampires earlier in the evening.
Nika let out a short, exasperated breath. “Spike, I think you and Wesley already know each other. And he did save our lives, so you might want to try being polite.”
Spike cocked his head to one side as he regarded Wesley with a steady gaze. After a moment, recognition made his eyes widen slightly. “The Watcher. You’re not with Angel anymore.”
“No, I’m an independent contractor now,” Wesley replied, a flash of self-deprecating amusement entering his eyes as he remembered meeting Angel all those years before. He’d called himself a “rogue demon hunter” then. He didn’t feel quite so pretentious these days.
“Kill demons and such for fun, then?” Spike asked, a gleam in his eyes. “Sure it wouldn’t be fun to kill the Great Poof?”
Wesley very nearly smiled. He wouldn’t say that it hadn’t crossed his mind. Knowing how the vampire felt about Angel, and Angel about Spike, he would be willing to guess that there would be substantial fireworks if the two ever met. “There have been times,” he admitted.
Spike almost smiled in return, and a brief flash of understanding went between them. “Feelin’ a bit peckish,” he said to Nika. “Think I’ll head downstairs and have an early dinner before I catch some more sleep.”
“Spike—” The vampire stopped at the open door to the basement. “Thanks. You did well tonight.”
“Right. Did real good lettin’ m’self get all knocked out,” he replied bitterly.
Nika went over to him and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There were seven. You took out four. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Wesley very nearly couldn’t make out what Spike said in reply.
“Days were when I could’ve taken on the whole gang.” He looked back at Nika, and then threw a glance over his shoulder at Wesley. “’m not what I was, but you need a hand with somethin’ big, you let me know, yeah? I could use a spot of violence now and then.”
He retreated down the stairs, and Nika turned to face the ex-Watcher. “He meant it. Spike will go out hunting every once in a while, and he usually comes back in one piece. He likes a good rumble.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Wesley looked at the wall clock, and then said, “I should really be going. It’s late.”
“You’ll need a shirt,” Nika replied. “Let me get you one.” She came back a few minutes later with a dark blue button down flannel. She handed it to him, a pained look on her face. “It was my husband’s,” she explained.
Wesley looked at the cloth he held in his hand for a long moment, and then nodded in understanding. “I’ll return it to you.”
“Tomorrow?” Nika asked. Then she looked at the clock herself. “Or, later today anyway. Not that I’m in a hurry,” she hastened to assure him. “It’s just—you could come for dinner if you’d like.”
Wesley wasn’t sure he would like. He had been trying to not trust people, to cut himself off. He had no desire to be hurt as badly as he had been with Angel and the rest of his lot. This was how it had started with Angel and Cordelia, he remembered. Angel had asked if he wanted to stay for breakfast, and he had. But he could feel the tension of the gauze around his arm, the soft brushed cotton of the shirt, and he knew suddenly that he would say yes. This time around, he would simply do a better job of protecting himself. And he would try not to bungle things so badly.
“What time?”
~~~~~
Wesley went to bed as soon as he got back to his apartment. There were a few times along the way where he thought it iffy that he would make it back in one piece, as tired as he was. When he slept, he slept better than he had in months.
If he thought about it long enough, Wesley could remember a point in time when he slept with a clear conscience, when he had a rather more optimistic view of life, when he believed it more likely that things would turn out well, rather than all go to hell. It had been a long time since he’d not woken up, breathless, from dreams of betrayal and smothering. He was never certain whose betrayal he was dreaming of: Angel’s or his own.
Waking around
He shook his head. He wasn’t going to do this again, he reminded himself. Having just gotten rid of Lilah, he was certainly not going to get himself tangled up with another. Wesley felt a pang of regret.
It had been a mutual leave-taking of sorts. He found himself more and more frustrated with his own actions, his own betrayal of principles, and Lilah was getting more frustrated by her inability to recruit him. They’d had a night of rough, though highly satisfying, sex, and they had both known it was goodbye. She had gone without saying a word, and they hadn’t spoken since. It was just as well, really.
Wesley rose, and found himself steady on his feet and clear-headed, wondering suddenly, and for the first time, what had been in that drink that Nika had given him. There was no way a casual conversation and a few hours sleep should have had him feeling this good. He showered, waiting for the feelings to dissipate, but instead he found himself looking forward to the evening, having dinner with someone else, rather than eating alone.
He was just towelling his hair when there was a knock on the door. Pulling a shirt on over his head, he opened it to find an unexpected guest. “Hey, Wes.”
Wesley stared at Cordelia, startled. He hadn’t seen her since she’d gone on her vacation with the Groosalug. “Hello,” he replied, cautiously.
“Can I come in?”
Silently, he stood aside and let her enter. “What are you doing here?” he asked, after he’d shut the door.
“I wanted to see you,” she said honestly. “It’s been a while.”
Wesley was still looking at her out of careful eyes, and Cordelia realized that the man standing before her was not her Wes anymore. The Wesley of her memory had been buried under betrayal, grief, and guilt. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she confessed.
He gave a little shrug, as though it didn’t matter. “I didn’t expect you to come. You’re with Angel.”
She winced. “Wesley, he just needs a little more time. He’s softening, you know, now that Connor’s doing better. He just needs—”
“Another chance to kill me?” Wesley asked, with a raised eyebrow, his tone ice. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t give it to him.” He sighed. “Look, Cordelia, I appreciate what you’re saying, and Angel certainly has his reasons for being angry with me, but we’re done.”
“You don’t mean that,” she replied, hurt. “If you’ll just give him time to come around…”
“How long?” Wesley asked quietly. “Another year, perhaps? Two? And what do I do in the meantime? Simply wait on Angel’s forgiveness?” He shook his head. “What I did was unforgiveable. Just as what Angel did to me was unforgettable.”
Cordelia sighed. He was right, really. It was impossible to tell how long Angel would hold this grudge, impossible to know when he’d get off his high horse and admit that Wes hadn’t been acting out of malice, and that he’d lost both his son and his best friend in the same day. “I’m sorry.”
He almost smiled then. “So am I.” Wesley looked over at her. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”
Cordelia understood what he was saying. They shared a bond that went back a long way, and he wasn’t ignoring that fact, but the part of their relationship where they were friends was done. They now stood on opposing sides, and Wesley stood alone. “Same goes for you,” she replied, trying to smile. “Don’t be afraid to look me up, okay?”
He reached over and touched her cheek with his finger. “Of course. It was good to see you, Cordy.”
And that was pretty much how it ended. With a whimper.
~~~~~
“Come on, Buffy, this is a great opportunity.” Steve looked
enthusiastic. Of course, Steve almost always looked enthusiastic. “
Buffy wouldn’t know, having never been there. She couldn’t believe this was happening again. “I can’t just pack up and leave Sunnydale,” she replied. “I have responsibilities here.”
He shook his head. “Your sister? You know I like Dawn. There are good schools there too. She can finish high school there. I really don’t mind if she’s living with us.”
The crazy thing was that Buffy knew he was telling the truth. He really didn’t mind if Dawn stayed with them. Steve had told her over and over how much he admired her for stepping up to the plate and raising her younger sister. And Dawn liked him well enough. She wasn’t crazy about him, but she liked him.
The problem came in where Sunnydale was the Hellmouth, and she was still the Slayer. Steve didn’t know about her extracurricular activities. It was another thing she liked about him. He was very independent, and had no problem with his girlfriend having a life separate from his own. They had their own friends, their own hobbies, and hung out together in between.
Now, however, Steve had a job offer that he wasn’t going to pass up, and he wanted Buffy to come with him. Even if she hadn’t been the Slayer, she would have been leary of the offer. Moving to a strange city, knowing no one, without a job or an income on her own—well, her track record with men seemed to indicate that she could soon find herself stranded and with nothing to fall back on.
No thank you.
Buffy hated this. She liked Steve. He was a great guy. Sweet, funny, a real go-getter, didn’t put a lot of demands on her. And, most importantly, she wasn’t deeply in love with him. Not being head over heels meant she could keep her head, and in a situation like this, that’s exactly what she needed to do. She had duties, she had a responsibility to be in Sunnydale, or at least pretty darn close to the Hellmouth. And Dawn would never forgive her for moving them so close to her senior year. It just wouldn’t be fair.
“I’m sorry, Steve, I can’t,” she explained. “I think it’s great—for you. Dawn’s going to be a senior next year, I’ve finally got a good job, I can’t just pick up and leave.”
He frowned. “I thought you loved me, Buffy.”
Little white lies never hurt anyone, she thought. “I do. But I’m not the only one in this relationship. It also includes my sister (not to mention the Hellmouth, she thought), and I have to put her first.”
It was a cop out, and Buffy knew it. She was pretty sure Steve knew it too, because if she’d really wanted to be with him, they might have been able to work something else out. Buffy might have let Dawn stay with Xander and Anya for her last year of high school. Steve seemed to sense her resolution, however, and he didn’t push it.
“I’m sorry too, Buffy,” he said quietly. “I have to take this, though. It’s—”
“It’s important,” she finished. “I understand.”
He nodded, looking a little sad. “I’ll call you in a couple days, okay? I—I don’t have to leave for another month.”
Buffy nodded, and accepted his kiss. The relationship was already over, of course. It had been over the moment he’d accepted the promotion without even asking if she would come with him. The job was more important than her, and she was okay with that. Her job was more important than Steve, and it always would be. Buffy felt a pang, but it wasn’t for the loss of Steve. It was more for what her and Steve’s relationship would never have been.
She found herself thinking of a pair of passionate blue eyes. The way he had looked at her—She shook off the thought. He was gone. Had been for over a year now. And really, it was for the best. It wasn’t as though she could have made it work.
Buffy felt another wave of regret sweep over her, and she fought back tears. Really, there was no way they could have made it work.