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Here is Chapter Three of this fic, written with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wesleysgirl.
Previous chapters are here:
Sick of Shadows
Hope you're enjoying it, and thanks to everyone for the kind feedback ::hugs::
'Sick of Shadows' by Jane Davitt and Wesleysgirl. Chapter Three.
When Wesley dreams, he dreams of Angel.
It isn't often – only a handful of times since he returned to England – but when it happens he always wakes up with the same feeling in the pit of his stomach, a sick sort of dread that leaves him heavy-limbed.
Angel holds the infant Connor in his arms, blood running the length of his face and dripping rapidly onto the pale blue blanket the baby is wrapped in.
Angel holding him down, a pillow over his face as he gasps for air that isn't available, and at the same time a twisted acceptance that he's getting what he deserves, that *this* is fair return for his own actions.
Slowly, Wesley woke up, the worst of the dream fading into the background as the room became real again. The usual feeling he had upon waking was missing – instead, he felt a strange sort of bitterness, as if he'd swallowed a pill intended for someone else and his body was attempting to reject it.
He also felt angry – angry at Angel for what had happened – and rather in the mood to let the emotion stew in its own juices instead of trying to pretend it didn't exist.
Wesley got up out of bed very quietly, taking his dressing gown from the back of the chair where he generally kept it and opening his bedroom door very slowly so as not to chance waking Giles.
In the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee, waited for it to brew, and then took a cup over to the table and sat down, staring at the surface of the beverage and occasionally taking a sip.
"Is that your way of waking me up gently?" Giles said from the doorway, looking heavy-eyed, as if he hadn't slept, but smiling tentatively at Wesley. "By filling the flat with the smell of fresh coffee? If so, it worked like a charm."
It would be rude to say that he'd actually hoped Giles would continue to sleep so that he could try to think, so Wesley shrugged a bit and gestured at the pot with his own cup. "There's plenty," he said. "Did you sleep at all?"
"I've had better nights," Giles said, going over to the coffee pot and returning to sit beside Wesley with a full cup. "How about you?" Without giving Wesley time to answer, he added, "Wesley – I'm sorry the night ended like that. With us arguing, I mean. I'm not sure if you're in a forgiving mood, but if you could just put it down to me being extremely tired I'd appreciate it."
"No, I'm sorry too," Wesley said, trying to sound convincing. It wasn't quite a lie – he was sorry that the evening had ended when it had, as he would have liked a few more rounds in bed before retiring to his own room. The morning light was streaming in through the windows, sunshine pooling on the floor, and he couldn't help but think it was in direct contrast to his mood.
Giles gave him a smile that looked more relaxed and took a gulp of his coffee. "Good Lord, this is strong enough to wake the dead," he said, taking a more cautious second sip. "I thought you liked it on the weak side?"
"Not today." Wesley looked down into his own cup to see, to his surprise, that it was nearly empty. He got up to pour some more, standing against the countertop as he drank it, looking at Giles thoughtfully. The other man looked done in – he didn't think his chances for another fuck were good. Not immediately, at any rate. "Let's play hooky today," he suggested. "Skip the office and do something fun."
"I think we've earned a day off," Giles agreed, looking pleased for some reason. With a smile he took care to keep hidden, Wesley realised Giles probably thought this was a date or something equally maudlin. "But whatever you have in mind, we'd better work in a stop off at the magic shop at some point."
"We're nearly out of white sage, and we still need to replace that ceramic incense burner that was broken during that case in the West End," Wesley agreed, finishing his second cup of coffee. "I'm surprised you want to keep going back there, though, what with all the complaining you do about the employees. We should find a new supplier."
"I would, if there were another one within easy reach," Giles said. "They don't have the faintest idea what they've got on their shelves, and I've given up all hope of them getting that Saltrin urn I ordered three months ago."
"We could mail order it from somewhere else," Wesley said. "Granted, part of the appeal of getting it from this place is that they've no idea how to price things."
Giles snorted derisively. "That's an understatement, but if they're too lazy to do their homework I'm not going to tell them that they could double the price on their newt eyes, or that the reason their candles don't sell is that Marks and Sparks do them a pound cheaper." He smiled ruefully. "Listen to me. A year behind the counter and I think I'm a retail expert. Fine; we'll go there and stock up on whatever you think we need."
"It's not as though I'm the resident expert," Wesley said, feeling annoyed that this seemed to be Giles' attitude and not making more than a token effort to hide it. "You know what we need just as well as I do."
"I – " Giles paused, his eyes going to Wesley's face. It occurred to Wesley that Giles did this all the time; let Wesley make little decisions that didn't matter, so he'd feel important. That little insight did nothing to quell his annoyance. "Yes, of course I do." He took a sip of his coffee. "I'd become a little rusty at the practical side; Willow and Tara tended to take care of anything that needed doing in that line, whereas you – well, it was different for you in L.A., I suppose. Am I asking you to do too much in the way of magic? Not pulling my weight? Because if I am, just say. It can be very draining, and you might not realise it's affecting you."
That sounded a bit too much like an accusation for Wesley's taste. "No, of course not. You don't seriously think you aren't doing half the work, do you?"
"I can't say that I've thought about it all that much," Giles said, sounding as if he was confessing a fault. "We seem to work so well as a team that I've never stopped to analyse it. Just been – grateful." He stood up, reaching for his mug. "More coffee?"
Wesley gave a quick shake of his head and stepped to the side to make room, more curious to know what Giles was talking about than anything else. "What do you mean, grateful?"
Giles set his mug down again and leaned against the table with his arms folded. "Don't you think we're fortunate to be able to work together as well as we do? It's not easy, particularly for men like us; Watchers tend not to be team players, you know. And now – " He refilled his mug and came back to the table, looking at Wesley with a promising glint in his eyes. "I'm looking forward to finding out what else we're good at doing together."
"So am I," Wesley said, meeting the gaze with a boldness that felt strangely natural. "As long as we can manage to avoid another argument like last night's, that is."
He'd forgotten how stubborn Giles could be. Even after he'd made it plain that Giles had to behave if he wanted company in his bed, the man kept on pushing.
"Wesley – there are some subjects we don't discuss, and most of them are to do with Angel, and I'm not going to push you on that, because I'm as reluctant to talk about him as you seem to be." He took a breath deep enough to be noticeable and then met Wesley's eyes. "But yesterday I will discuss because it was about us. Wesley, you were – I didn't recognise you like that. It disturbed me, to be honest. I don't want to argue, but we didn't really resolve that."
"And what, specifically, was the problem?" Wesley asked through gritted teeth. "It's clear that you expect some sort of explanation from me, but to be perfectly honest I can't think why. I made sure that we completed the case to our client's satisfaction. I didn't kill anyone. What else do you want from me?"
"A reason why it happened in the first place? We're not talking about a flash of temper, Wesley. It was far more than that. Why can't you see that? It's as if we remember it differently." Giles sounded frustrated. "Look; think back and tell me what was going through your head when you walked over to Bill just before he died. What were you planning to do to him?"
"Put him out of his misery by knocking him unconscious, which was what I thought you wanted," Wesley said tightly, trying to keep a rein on his emotions. It seemed unwise to admit that he'd have been perfectly happy to walk out there without bothering, leaving the man to suffer, even though he knew in his own mind that Bill had gotten exactly what he deserved.
Giles took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Out of his misery. Right. Granted, he was past saving and in pain, but that's not exactly making me want to give you any prizes for humanitarian of the year, you know."
"And you think he would have won any?" Wesley shook his head. "He not only stole the statues in the first place, but he was endangering the lives of countless people by not knowing how to store them properly. I really don't like the implication that there's something wrong with me because I'm willing to do what needs to be done."
"I think he paid for his misdeeds," Giles said, looking slightly ill, which made little sense to Wesley. Giles had seen worse; they both had. "And Nigel? The gun? We could've got that statue off him without touching him; he was terrified, for all the bluster. Did you mean it last night when you said you'd have shot him if he'd carried on arguing? When it was right there and there was no way he could have stopped us taking it? What justification was there for that?"
Wesley gripped the countertop behind him with both hands. "Justification? At what point in time did it become necessary for us to justify our actions when doing our job? For that matter, when did it become necessary for me to justify my actions to you?" He was trembling with indignation.
Giles stood up. "That would have been about the time when we agreed to be business partners. I'm not your employer, Wesley, but what you do reflects on me, on what we've built up over the last months. I'm sure some of our clients would approve wholeheartedly of your... approach, but you'll forgive me if I don't." The kitchen was small enough that he only needed to take two steps to be close enough for Wesley to touch him – and he was very tempted to drive a fist into that anxious face, but Giles didn't move. "When did you forget you're supposed to be one of the good guys, Wesley? Or is that something else I can thank Angel for?"
Absolutely refusing to acknowledge that last question, Wesley instead concentrated on the previous one. "So because I didn't treat two criminals with kid gloves I'm suddenly no longer on your side?"
"We're doing it again," Giles said slowly. "At each other's throats within minutes. Wesley, this isn't – it isn't bloody normal." He looked at Wesley and frowned. "You're shaking. Wes – " Giles moved then, coming over to him and covering the clenched, tight fists that were locked onto the countertop with warm hands. "Something's wrong."
"No," Wesley said, needing to deny it, even though he had the niggling suspicion that Giles was right, that there was something wrong. He thought about pulling away from Giles' touch, then decided that the better action was to take advantage of it. He slipped one hand free and circled it around Giles' wrist lightly, suggestively. "If there is something wrong with me, it's nothing you couldn't help cure."
He watched Giles' eyes darken with arousal and felt a surge of triumph that the man was so easily manipulated, but it was short-lived. Giles leaned forward, but what he'd expected to be a passionate kiss turned out to be a light brush of Giles' lips against his cheek, and then he was stepping back.
"I'm going to finish getting ready," he said. "If we're going to make the most of our day off, we'd best get going, don't you think?"
Seething with frustration as Giles turned and went down the hallway, Wesley was barely able to keep himself from smashing his empty mug in the porcelain sink. The sound of it splintering into hundreds of bits would have been so very satisfying, but also, he knew, would have brought Giles back to the kitchen, along with another round of recriminations.
Instead, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Whatever was going on, he was hardly likely to complain about his sudden lack of guilt and self-loathing.
Wesley liked himself this way, and, as far as he was concerned, he wasn't going to let anyone change it.
Not even Giles.
wesleysgirl. Previous chapters are here:
Sick of Shadows
Hope you're enjoying it, and thanks to everyone for the kind feedback ::hugs::
'Sick of Shadows' by Jane Davitt and Wesleysgirl. Chapter Three.
When Wesley dreams, he dreams of Angel.
It isn't often – only a handful of times since he returned to England – but when it happens he always wakes up with the same feeling in the pit of his stomach, a sick sort of dread that leaves him heavy-limbed.
Angel holds the infant Connor in his arms, blood running the length of his face and dripping rapidly onto the pale blue blanket the baby is wrapped in.
Angel holding him down, a pillow over his face as he gasps for air that isn't available, and at the same time a twisted acceptance that he's getting what he deserves, that *this* is fair return for his own actions.
Slowly, Wesley woke up, the worst of the dream fading into the background as the room became real again. The usual feeling he had upon waking was missing – instead, he felt a strange sort of bitterness, as if he'd swallowed a pill intended for someone else and his body was attempting to reject it.
He also felt angry – angry at Angel for what had happened – and rather in the mood to let the emotion stew in its own juices instead of trying to pretend it didn't exist.
Wesley got up out of bed very quietly, taking his dressing gown from the back of the chair where he generally kept it and opening his bedroom door very slowly so as not to chance waking Giles.
In the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee, waited for it to brew, and then took a cup over to the table and sat down, staring at the surface of the beverage and occasionally taking a sip.
"Is that your way of waking me up gently?" Giles said from the doorway, looking heavy-eyed, as if he hadn't slept, but smiling tentatively at Wesley. "By filling the flat with the smell of fresh coffee? If so, it worked like a charm."
It would be rude to say that he'd actually hoped Giles would continue to sleep so that he could try to think, so Wesley shrugged a bit and gestured at the pot with his own cup. "There's plenty," he said. "Did you sleep at all?"
"I've had better nights," Giles said, going over to the coffee pot and returning to sit beside Wesley with a full cup. "How about you?" Without giving Wesley time to answer, he added, "Wesley – I'm sorry the night ended like that. With us arguing, I mean. I'm not sure if you're in a forgiving mood, but if you could just put it down to me being extremely tired I'd appreciate it."
"No, I'm sorry too," Wesley said, trying to sound convincing. It wasn't quite a lie – he was sorry that the evening had ended when it had, as he would have liked a few more rounds in bed before retiring to his own room. The morning light was streaming in through the windows, sunshine pooling on the floor, and he couldn't help but think it was in direct contrast to his mood.
Giles gave him a smile that looked more relaxed and took a gulp of his coffee. "Good Lord, this is strong enough to wake the dead," he said, taking a more cautious second sip. "I thought you liked it on the weak side?"
"Not today." Wesley looked down into his own cup to see, to his surprise, that it was nearly empty. He got up to pour some more, standing against the countertop as he drank it, looking at Giles thoughtfully. The other man looked done in – he didn't think his chances for another fuck were good. Not immediately, at any rate. "Let's play hooky today," he suggested. "Skip the office and do something fun."
"I think we've earned a day off," Giles agreed, looking pleased for some reason. With a smile he took care to keep hidden, Wesley realised Giles probably thought this was a date or something equally maudlin. "But whatever you have in mind, we'd better work in a stop off at the magic shop at some point."
"We're nearly out of white sage, and we still need to replace that ceramic incense burner that was broken during that case in the West End," Wesley agreed, finishing his second cup of coffee. "I'm surprised you want to keep going back there, though, what with all the complaining you do about the employees. We should find a new supplier."
"I would, if there were another one within easy reach," Giles said. "They don't have the faintest idea what they've got on their shelves, and I've given up all hope of them getting that Saltrin urn I ordered three months ago."
"We could mail order it from somewhere else," Wesley said. "Granted, part of the appeal of getting it from this place is that they've no idea how to price things."
Giles snorted derisively. "That's an understatement, but if they're too lazy to do their homework I'm not going to tell them that they could double the price on their newt eyes, or that the reason their candles don't sell is that Marks and Sparks do them a pound cheaper." He smiled ruefully. "Listen to me. A year behind the counter and I think I'm a retail expert. Fine; we'll go there and stock up on whatever you think we need."
"It's not as though I'm the resident expert," Wesley said, feeling annoyed that this seemed to be Giles' attitude and not making more than a token effort to hide it. "You know what we need just as well as I do."
"I – " Giles paused, his eyes going to Wesley's face. It occurred to Wesley that Giles did this all the time; let Wesley make little decisions that didn't matter, so he'd feel important. That little insight did nothing to quell his annoyance. "Yes, of course I do." He took a sip of his coffee. "I'd become a little rusty at the practical side; Willow and Tara tended to take care of anything that needed doing in that line, whereas you – well, it was different for you in L.A., I suppose. Am I asking you to do too much in the way of magic? Not pulling my weight? Because if I am, just say. It can be very draining, and you might not realise it's affecting you."
That sounded a bit too much like an accusation for Wesley's taste. "No, of course not. You don't seriously think you aren't doing half the work, do you?"
"I can't say that I've thought about it all that much," Giles said, sounding as if he was confessing a fault. "We seem to work so well as a team that I've never stopped to analyse it. Just been – grateful." He stood up, reaching for his mug. "More coffee?"
Wesley gave a quick shake of his head and stepped to the side to make room, more curious to know what Giles was talking about than anything else. "What do you mean, grateful?"
Giles set his mug down again and leaned against the table with his arms folded. "Don't you think we're fortunate to be able to work together as well as we do? It's not easy, particularly for men like us; Watchers tend not to be team players, you know. And now – " He refilled his mug and came back to the table, looking at Wesley with a promising glint in his eyes. "I'm looking forward to finding out what else we're good at doing together."
"So am I," Wesley said, meeting the gaze with a boldness that felt strangely natural. "As long as we can manage to avoid another argument like last night's, that is."
He'd forgotten how stubborn Giles could be. Even after he'd made it plain that Giles had to behave if he wanted company in his bed, the man kept on pushing.
"Wesley – there are some subjects we don't discuss, and most of them are to do with Angel, and I'm not going to push you on that, because I'm as reluctant to talk about him as you seem to be." He took a breath deep enough to be noticeable and then met Wesley's eyes. "But yesterday I will discuss because it was about us. Wesley, you were – I didn't recognise you like that. It disturbed me, to be honest. I don't want to argue, but we didn't really resolve that."
"And what, specifically, was the problem?" Wesley asked through gritted teeth. "It's clear that you expect some sort of explanation from me, but to be perfectly honest I can't think why. I made sure that we completed the case to our client's satisfaction. I didn't kill anyone. What else do you want from me?"
"A reason why it happened in the first place? We're not talking about a flash of temper, Wesley. It was far more than that. Why can't you see that? It's as if we remember it differently." Giles sounded frustrated. "Look; think back and tell me what was going through your head when you walked over to Bill just before he died. What were you planning to do to him?"
"Put him out of his misery by knocking him unconscious, which was what I thought you wanted," Wesley said tightly, trying to keep a rein on his emotions. It seemed unwise to admit that he'd have been perfectly happy to walk out there without bothering, leaving the man to suffer, even though he knew in his own mind that Bill had gotten exactly what he deserved.
Giles took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "Out of his misery. Right. Granted, he was past saving and in pain, but that's not exactly making me want to give you any prizes for humanitarian of the year, you know."
"And you think he would have won any?" Wesley shook his head. "He not only stole the statues in the first place, but he was endangering the lives of countless people by not knowing how to store them properly. I really don't like the implication that there's something wrong with me because I'm willing to do what needs to be done."
"I think he paid for his misdeeds," Giles said, looking slightly ill, which made little sense to Wesley. Giles had seen worse; they both had. "And Nigel? The gun? We could've got that statue off him without touching him; he was terrified, for all the bluster. Did you mean it last night when you said you'd have shot him if he'd carried on arguing? When it was right there and there was no way he could have stopped us taking it? What justification was there for that?"
Wesley gripped the countertop behind him with both hands. "Justification? At what point in time did it become necessary for us to justify our actions when doing our job? For that matter, when did it become necessary for me to justify my actions to you?" He was trembling with indignation.
Giles stood up. "That would have been about the time when we agreed to be business partners. I'm not your employer, Wesley, but what you do reflects on me, on what we've built up over the last months. I'm sure some of our clients would approve wholeheartedly of your... approach, but you'll forgive me if I don't." The kitchen was small enough that he only needed to take two steps to be close enough for Wesley to touch him – and he was very tempted to drive a fist into that anxious face, but Giles didn't move. "When did you forget you're supposed to be one of the good guys, Wesley? Or is that something else I can thank Angel for?"
Absolutely refusing to acknowledge that last question, Wesley instead concentrated on the previous one. "So because I didn't treat two criminals with kid gloves I'm suddenly no longer on your side?"
"We're doing it again," Giles said slowly. "At each other's throats within minutes. Wesley, this isn't – it isn't bloody normal." He looked at Wesley and frowned. "You're shaking. Wes – " Giles moved then, coming over to him and covering the clenched, tight fists that were locked onto the countertop with warm hands. "Something's wrong."
"No," Wesley said, needing to deny it, even though he had the niggling suspicion that Giles was right, that there was something wrong. He thought about pulling away from Giles' touch, then decided that the better action was to take advantage of it. He slipped one hand free and circled it around Giles' wrist lightly, suggestively. "If there is something wrong with me, it's nothing you couldn't help cure."
He watched Giles' eyes darken with arousal and felt a surge of triumph that the man was so easily manipulated, but it was short-lived. Giles leaned forward, but what he'd expected to be a passionate kiss turned out to be a light brush of Giles' lips against his cheek, and then he was stepping back.
"I'm going to finish getting ready," he said. "If we're going to make the most of our day off, we'd best get going, don't you think?"
Seething with frustration as Giles turned and went down the hallway, Wesley was barely able to keep himself from smashing his empty mug in the porcelain sink. The sound of it splintering into hundreds of bits would have been so very satisfying, but also, he knew, would have brought Giles back to the kitchen, along with another round of recriminations.
Instead, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Whatever was going on, he was hardly likely to complain about his sudden lack of guilt and self-loathing.
Wesley liked himself this way, and, as far as he was concerned, he wasn't going to let anyone change it.
Not even Giles.