For the first week, Fred had done some shopping. She'd first gone out to
get groceries. After seeing the sorry state of Wesley's refrigerator, she
had no doubt as to why he seemed to be so thin. He rarely ever got up off
the couch, preferring to sit there and just think or sleep or read. But his
mind always seemed to be on another planet, and she left him that way for
the while. She'd also gone out and gotten linens for the bed. She picked
soft lilacs, and blues, and wheat colored pillowcases. Things that reminded
her of warmth, and comfort and home- things she wanted to bring back to
Wesley. When she'd come home after one trip, she'd found the last lamp
shattered on the ground, the only indication that Wesley was still upset
over what had happened with Connor. He'd finally attempted to banish all
light from his life, and she concluded that he possibly was trying to get
rid of her as well. Showing her there was no way light could live with
someone like him.
But she wasn't buying it. She'd simply swept up the broken and shattered remains of the lamp, and gone out again. She'd contemplated buying another lamp, but when she passed a candle shop, she got another idea. She bought quite a bit of candles, a weighty purchase but well worth it. While she worried about fire and Wesley mixing, she figured that since he hadn't really attempted to harm himself, it should be alright. And candles would bring a warmer, softer glow to the apartment- opposed to the harsh, cold fluorescent lamps. And after all, it was better to see in shades of gray- shadows of gray, perhaps- than in staunch black and white.
The second week had been harder. She and Wesley had developed a routine. He almost always avoided direct contact with her, which hurt but was okay by her. She was staying here as a guardian- watching to make sure he was okay, and trying to figure out a way to reach him. But she'd never taken those psychology classes she'd wanted to take in college, and she'd figured that starting out slow was best. She figured she'd take it day by day. She'd gotten Wesley to shower more, eat more, though he did so mechanically. She figured the only reason he ate or bathed was because she cajoled, reasoned, or forced him to. But he was starting to look a bit better, and his nightmares seemed to diminish a bit when she was around. She'd made sure to call Charles every night from the cell phone he'd bought her. He and the others had needed her help on several occasions, but he'd never bugged her about where she was living. Though he questioned her time and again, he'd drop it as soon as she asked him to.
Fred had thought she was possibly getting a bit closer to Wesley, as his eyes seemed to meet hers more and more as the days went by. As she sat next to him, making sure he ate all she gave him, his gaze often became a bit less clouded by pain, a bit less sorrowful. But then she'd come home, exhausted from fighting a demon with Cordy and Charles, and found Wesley with several bottles, and pills scattered at his feet. She'd run to him, grasped his arms and silently prayed he hadn't taken more than his frail, weak body could handle. She looked up and saw more desolation in his eyes than she could ever remember. "Why?" she asked, on a sob. She'd failed him. Somehow, she'd failed him and he'd hurt himself. He looked at her sadly, uncomprehendingly. Then, realizing where she was placing her blame, he shook his head slowly. "No, Fred. Not your fault," he whispered hoarsely, then pulled away. She followed him to the couch, and sat next to him, wiping her tears away. She put her hand on his chin, then pulled his face to hers. "Why?" she asked again, this time more firmly. He looked down at the couch. "Because," he started, then his breath hitched and he stopped for a moment. "Because it makes the pain go away," he finished simply.
She inhaled sharply, and felt her insides pull with hurt for him at his words. He looked at her again, then looked away, unable to face the anguish he'd put in her eyes. "Every time I close my eyes Fred, I hear…I hear Connor's cries, I see him being pulled away, I…" He stopped at this, not able to go on any further. Fred placed her arms around him. He stiffened for a moment, then leaned his head against her shoulder. Turning towards her, he let himself go, tears spilling hotly onto her shirt. And after a while, she couldn't tell which tears on her shirt were his and which were hers.
After that incident, she'd never strayed far from his side. Though he hadn't opened up to her that much again, he had started responding a bit to her greetings in the morning, and her goodnights before they went to bed. She'd starting coming up with inane things to talk about- the weather, what was in the newspaper, anything to make him talk. There had been some slight cutting, though he didn't realize she knew about it. She'd work through the issues about Connor and Angel and the others in due time. But since she herself couldn't find the words to say at the moment, she figured she'd best take it slow once again. She found herself torn between two worlds, between two men. The world she'd created with Wesley, secluded in his apartment, and the world where she was dating Charles Gunn and was a member of Angel Investigations. She no longer went on dates with Charles, and rarely met up with him and the gang. She felt bad for isolating herself from them, yet she found herself reluctant to leave Wesley's side, even to just get groceries. She knew she couldn't keep this indiscretion a secret forever. But she found herself surprised at the fact that she wanted to keep this going for as long as she could. As long as it took to heal the broken shards of her relationship with Wesley- whatever that relationship may be.
But she wasn't buying it. She'd simply swept up the broken and shattered remains of the lamp, and gone out again. She'd contemplated buying another lamp, but when she passed a candle shop, she got another idea. She bought quite a bit of candles, a weighty purchase but well worth it. While she worried about fire and Wesley mixing, she figured that since he hadn't really attempted to harm himself, it should be alright. And candles would bring a warmer, softer glow to the apartment- opposed to the harsh, cold fluorescent lamps. And after all, it was better to see in shades of gray- shadows of gray, perhaps- than in staunch black and white.
The second week had been harder. She and Wesley had developed a routine. He almost always avoided direct contact with her, which hurt but was okay by her. She was staying here as a guardian- watching to make sure he was okay, and trying to figure out a way to reach him. But she'd never taken those psychology classes she'd wanted to take in college, and she'd figured that starting out slow was best. She figured she'd take it day by day. She'd gotten Wesley to shower more, eat more, though he did so mechanically. She figured the only reason he ate or bathed was because she cajoled, reasoned, or forced him to. But he was starting to look a bit better, and his nightmares seemed to diminish a bit when she was around. She'd made sure to call Charles every night from the cell phone he'd bought her. He and the others had needed her help on several occasions, but he'd never bugged her about where she was living. Though he questioned her time and again, he'd drop it as soon as she asked him to.
Fred had thought she was possibly getting a bit closer to Wesley, as his eyes seemed to meet hers more and more as the days went by. As she sat next to him, making sure he ate all she gave him, his gaze often became a bit less clouded by pain, a bit less sorrowful. But then she'd come home, exhausted from fighting a demon with Cordy and Charles, and found Wesley with several bottles, and pills scattered at his feet. She'd run to him, grasped his arms and silently prayed he hadn't taken more than his frail, weak body could handle. She looked up and saw more desolation in his eyes than she could ever remember. "Why?" she asked, on a sob. She'd failed him. Somehow, she'd failed him and he'd hurt himself. He looked at her sadly, uncomprehendingly. Then, realizing where she was placing her blame, he shook his head slowly. "No, Fred. Not your fault," he whispered hoarsely, then pulled away. She followed him to the couch, and sat next to him, wiping her tears away. She put her hand on his chin, then pulled his face to hers. "Why?" she asked again, this time more firmly. He looked down at the couch. "Because," he started, then his breath hitched and he stopped for a moment. "Because it makes the pain go away," he finished simply.
She inhaled sharply, and felt her insides pull with hurt for him at his words. He looked at her again, then looked away, unable to face the anguish he'd put in her eyes. "Every time I close my eyes Fred, I hear…I hear Connor's cries, I see him being pulled away, I…" He stopped at this, not able to go on any further. Fred placed her arms around him. He stiffened for a moment, then leaned his head against her shoulder. Turning towards her, he let himself go, tears spilling hotly onto her shirt. And after a while, she couldn't tell which tears on her shirt were his and which were hers.
After that incident, she'd never strayed far from his side. Though he hadn't opened up to her that much again, he had started responding a bit to her greetings in the morning, and her goodnights before they went to bed. She'd starting coming up with inane things to talk about- the weather, what was in the newspaper, anything to make him talk. There had been some slight cutting, though he didn't realize she knew about it. She'd work through the issues about Connor and Angel and the others in due time. But since she herself couldn't find the words to say at the moment, she figured she'd best take it slow once again. She found herself torn between two worlds, between two men. The world she'd created with Wesley, secluded in his apartment, and the world where she was dating Charles Gunn and was a member of Angel Investigations. She no longer went on dates with Charles, and rarely met up with him and the gang. She felt bad for isolating herself from them, yet she found herself reluctant to leave Wesley's side, even to just get groceries. She knew she couldn't keep this indiscretion a secret forever. But she found herself surprised at the fact that she wanted to keep this going for as long as she could. As long as it took to heal the broken shards of her relationship with Wesley- whatever that relationship may be.