A/N: Greetings fanfiction readers! Welcome to the second installment of my Angel/Spike series. If you haven't yet, you might want to read the first part "A Different Hole in the World". But if you like to walk on the wild and confusing side, go ahead and start here. I won't tell anyone, I promise.
This first chapter is nice and angsty, but don't worry there's more smutty/adventure/fluff around the corner in the subsequent chapters of this episode. I'll be updating once a day, so you won't have to wait too long between chapters. Just long enough for that exciting feeling of anticipation, which I love coaxing out of you guys.
As always, feel free to tell me what you liked and what you hated. Don't worry, I'm a big girl. I can take it. Happy reading!
Underneath the Grief - Part 1
It had been a week since Wesley died. Even though my people and I were his true family, I ended up sending his body back to his mother in England. So when we said goodbye to Wes, I knew there was no soul to pray for and there was no body to stand in for that soul. We said goodbye to a picture of Wesley. A Goddamn picture.
I chose the picture Cordelia had taken when the three of us first started working together, cutting both of us out before giving it to Harmony. Out of the three of us in that photo, I was the only one left. The only one still existing. Harmony got the picture of Wes blown up and framed before ringing it with flowers, bright red and white, and standing it on an easel for display.
I knew it was my place to say the eulogy. Fred could barely get one word out around the sobbing. Not to mention Illyria's personality was still rattling around in her head, randomly insulting anyone she considered a lower being. Which was all of us. Gunn said he would rather not, due to some bad history between them, concerning Fred, as well as his involvement in the circumstances that led to Wesley's death. And Lorne flat-out refused, saying, "I entertain all the time, Angel-cakes. If I get up there, people will be expecting a show, and Wes deserves more than that." He was right.
I invited Giles and Buffy, but when I spoke to Giles, he said they were both in Europe and would probably go to the funeral held by Wesley's blood family. But, he said he would spread the word to the surviving Watchers that may want to attend.
We held the wake at Wes' apartment. It didn't seem right to say goodbye to him in a house of evil like Wolfram and Hart. In the place that had killed him.
It wasn't a long guest list: Fred and Gunn, both recently released from the hospital wing, me and Spike, Lorne and Harmony, a few people from Wesley's team at Wolfram and Hart, and a man who introduced himself as Derrick Green, a classmate of Wes' from the Watcher's academy. Of all the Watchers Giles contacted, only the one came.
While the wake was still getting started, I slipped away into the bedroom to try to put my thoughts together, sitting down on the bed. Here was where Wesley slept when he didn't spend the night in his office. The desk across the room was where he had written letters and read books, taking meticulous notes. And there, in the closet, were all his clothes, which he would never need again.
First Doyle, then Darla, then Cordelia, and now Wesley. How much longer until Fred and Gunn joined them? Would it be fifty years or five? Ten years or one? Less than a month? Having mortal friends was so difficult, especially with my calling. It was why I had left Buffy, twice. Not only because I couldn't give her the life she deserved, but because she had so little time, I couldn't stand to watch her die.
Spike found me after a few minutes, entering the bedroom and closing the door behind him. "Angel," he said softly as he sat down beside me. "I think they're waitin' on you."
"I know." I rested my head on his shoulder and took one of his hands in mine. At least Spike was immortal. He wouldn't grow old and he was a lot harder to kill. Not that I thought he'd still be hanging around with me in fifty years. We'd probably get sick of each other in a month. A year, maybe.
Spike kissed the top of my head, "You alright, Peaches? Got stage fright? I'll hold your hair if you need to yak." I blew air from my nose, almost a laugh. "No? How 'bout a bit of a snog?"
"On Wes' bed? Spike, there are so many things wrong with that idea, I don't even know where to start."
"That's what makes it fun, you git." I got up and went to the door, sighing. "Maybe later, then?" he asked.
"Not here," I muttered, opening the door.
Out in the living room, everyone was milling around. Harmony flitted back and forth from the kitchen, seeing to the table of food. Gunn, Lorne, and Fred all stood together, the last of the Angel's Investigations crew. The Watcher, Green, was surreptitiously observing Lorne, who hadn't bothered hiding his demon identity.
Standing next to the picture of Wesley, I waited for everyone to sit down. Spike took a chair close to me, but off to the side, while the rest of my people sat in front with the others behind them. Spike stopped Harmony's frantic pacing and pointed her to a seat in the back. And then, everything was quiet.
I cleared my throat and began speaking. "Wesley Windham-Price was my friend. I loved him like a brother, and he will be missed.
"He was a good man, a great man. A man who always tried to do the right thing. I met him five years ago and it was obvious he hadn't quite grown into his skin. Before then, Wes had spent his life learning from books, from teachers, and not from the real world. He joined my team here in LA four years ago, a little more mature and battle-ready. Wes learned quickly what it means to be a hero, to help the helpless. I lost my way and Wesley was a good enough friend to tell me where I was going wrong and to forgive me when I came to my senses.
"Wesley was one of the most loyal men I've ever known, and I was glad to have him watching my back. He loved and was loved. He died trying to save the woman he cared about, trying to protect her. He died because he cared more about what happened to her than he cared about his own life. He was truly a champion."
I let a moment of silence go before I reached for a glass of whiskey. I raised my glass and waited for the others to do the same. "To Wesley," I said, "I know you're gone, but if in some part of some universe you're listening: May the road rise up to meet ya, may the wind always be at your back, may the sun always warm your face, and may God hold ya in the palm of his hand, wherever you are. To Wesley."
"To Wesley," everyone repeated, and we drank.
"If anyone else wants to share a memory, the floor is yours." I stepped away. As Gunn stood and faced the audience, I grabbed the whiskey bottle from the beverage table and took the seat next to Spike. He held out his empty glass and I tipped out a generous portion before refilling my own. Setting the bottle on the floor, I let my knee touch Spike's. I wanted more contact than knees touching, but I wasn't ready to tell my friends that I had been bedding Spike all week. They had only seen me with women before, never with a man, much less one who played my mortal enemy on occasion. They would ask me why, and I really didn't know. I knew I felt less lonely, less frustrated, less grief-stricken when he was around. I felt needed and wanted like I hadn't since I was with Buffy. And I certainly didn't want to explore what that meant!
"I take it," Spike whispered to me as Gunn started his story about the time Wes got shot, "this is an Irish sort of wake." He lifted his glass toward me, "Where we all get shitfaced and party until dawn."
"That's the idea," I said, emptying my glass in one swallow and refilling it again.
Spike shrugged and followed suit. "My kind o' party," he whispered with a smile, tipping his glass in my direction for another round. "Just don't be surprised if I get a little handsy after a bottle or two."
"Gotcha," I said.
"And whatever happens, do not let me sleep with Harmony." He winked at me. "The silly bird will follow me around for weeks."
Gunn finished his story and we all toasted again. Spike and I were about halfway through one bottle and I was starting to feel it a little.
"So anyone but Harmony, and I should just let you go to town?"
Lorne got up to speak next, customary Seabreeze in hand.
"God no," whispered Spike. "If I start hittin' on anyone but – no, scratch that. Don't let me hit on anyone here."
"What about if you start hitting on me?" I gave him a crooked smile, which he returned.
"Well then you're in a moral quandary, aren'cha, luv?" He leaned in to whisper in my ear, his cold breath tickling my neck. God, why did I want him so much? "Do you honor my wishes, or do you take advantage of me in my drunken stupor?" I imagined slamming him up against a wall and fucking him until he screamed my name. These were not appropriate thoughts for a funeral!
"We'll see," I whispered, pushing his face away and pointing at Lorne to get Spike to pay attention. He hummed a small satisfied noise, probably smelling how turned on I was, but he left me alone for the moment.
We both downed another two rounds and then finished off the bottle when Lorne gave his toast. As the room shuffled to accommodate the next speaker, I grabbed two more bottles. Returning to my seat, I gave Spike one and started opening the other. The Watcher stepped up to the front of the room.
He told a story about Wesley's days as Head Boy at the Watcher's Academy. I tried to listen, curious about Wes' life before I met him, but Spike giggled under his breath every time the man said 'Head Boy'. I kicked him to be quiet.
"Sorry, pet," he whispered in my ear. "No disrespect meant. It's just such a ridiculously funny phrase."
"If you can shut up until everyone's done speaking, I'll make it worth your while."
"Yeah?" he asked, giving me a curious sort of smile.
"Yeah." I took a long swallow from the bottle and turned my attention back to the Watcher. Spike rested his arm on the back of my chair and brushed his knuckles up and down over the back of my arm. I was grateful for the contact, feeling myself relax with every brush of his hand. Together, we sat and drank and watched everyone talk about Wesley.
After it looked like everyone who wanted to had spoken, Fred stood up. "Oh, no," breathed Spike, reclaiming his arm and leaning forward.
Fred opened her mouth a few times, but no words came out. A hard sob wracked her body and I stood, stepping toward her.
"No," she pointed at me. "No, I need to say this."
I nodded and backed off, keeping a close eye on her.
"Wes and I," her voice cracked. "We had just started. We were finally going to be happy." She sniffed and brought a handkerchief to her face, wiping away the tears and snot. "But now he's gone, and all we can do is try to remember him. That way he will always be with us. So, thank you, everyone, for sharing your stories, for remembering him." Fred turned to the picture of Wesley, touching it gently. "Goodbye, Wesley. I love you. My only regret is how long it took me to realize it." She sobbed and whispered again, "Goodbye."
