Author: Eledhwen
Rating: U / G
Spoilers: Up to and including 'Redefinition', AtS season 2
Pairing: Wesley/Angel
Summary: part of the 'Redefined' series of vignettes; Wesley's point of view.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be mine, Joss Whedon and friends'.
REDEFINED – WESLEY
He throws off his jacket and carefully locks the door behind him. He can see Virginia curled up on the couch, asleep with her hair rumpled around her face, and a smile comes to his. And then fades again, as he remembers where he has been.
Wesley rolls up his sleeve and examines the dry bandage around his arm. Clean, no poison; it'll be all right in a few days. He crosses the room and sits next to Virginia, shifting her legs so there is room for him on the couch, and she opens her eyes.
"Hey. You're back."
"I'm back." He puts his arm around her shoulders as she cuddles closer, glad of the warm body next to his.
"What did Angel say?"
"Nothing." Wesley rests his chin on her head. "Not a word."
"Is he … has he turned evil?" She turns a worried face up to him. "I don't want you being hurt, Wes."
"No, he's not evil. If he were evil, he wouldn't stop talking. I'm quite relieved he didn't say anything, as a matter of fact."
"Oh. Good." She closes her eyes again, and moves a little against his chest.
Wesley stares across the room at the broadsword hanging on the wall, thinking of the deathly silence he has left behind at the Hyperion. Of Angel's dead eyes. Eyes that used to be full of some feeling, of grief at least, and sometimes happiness. The celebration they had had on translating "shanshu." Perhaps his finest moment, Wesley thinks. How the two of them had taken it in turns to dance Cordelia around the room – himself slowly and carefully, his body aching still from his injuries; and Angel exuberantly, waltzing Cordy with that wide, beaming smile Wesley can scarcely remember seeing on his friend's face. And now – what was left? Blank concentration on a target, the glinting silver of daggers thudding into wood. Fatal silence, and the sentence laid on them all.
To fight the good fight. Alone. Without their companion, their friend, their leader. To keep going, to die, maybe. Yet, Wesley thinks, taking off his glasses and laying them on the coffee table, he will keep on. In memory of the vampire – of the man – he had come to like and respect and trust, against all laws of nature.
And maybe one day, he hopes, closing his own eyes and resting his head against the couch cushion, the nightmare will finish.
Rating: U / G
Spoilers: Up to and including 'Redefinition', AtS season 2
Pairing: Wesley/Angel
Summary: part of the 'Redefined' series of vignettes; Wesley's point of view.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be mine, Joss Whedon and friends'.
REDEFINED – WESLEY
He throws off his jacket and carefully locks the door behind him. He can see Virginia curled up on the couch, asleep with her hair rumpled around her face, and a smile comes to his. And then fades again, as he remembers where he has been.
Wesley rolls up his sleeve and examines the dry bandage around his arm. Clean, no poison; it'll be all right in a few days. He crosses the room and sits next to Virginia, shifting her legs so there is room for him on the couch, and she opens her eyes.
"Hey. You're back."
"I'm back." He puts his arm around her shoulders as she cuddles closer, glad of the warm body next to his.
"What did Angel say?"
"Nothing." Wesley rests his chin on her head. "Not a word."
"Is he … has he turned evil?" She turns a worried face up to him. "I don't want you being hurt, Wes."
"No, he's not evil. If he were evil, he wouldn't stop talking. I'm quite relieved he didn't say anything, as a matter of fact."
"Oh. Good." She closes her eyes again, and moves a little against his chest.
Wesley stares across the room at the broadsword hanging on the wall, thinking of the deathly silence he has left behind at the Hyperion. Of Angel's dead eyes. Eyes that used to be full of some feeling, of grief at least, and sometimes happiness. The celebration they had had on translating "shanshu." Perhaps his finest moment, Wesley thinks. How the two of them had taken it in turns to dance Cordelia around the room – himself slowly and carefully, his body aching still from his injuries; and Angel exuberantly, waltzing Cordy with that wide, beaming smile Wesley can scarcely remember seeing on his friend's face. And now – what was left? Blank concentration on a target, the glinting silver of daggers thudding into wood. Fatal silence, and the sentence laid on them all.
To fight the good fight. Alone. Without their companion, their friend, their leader. To keep going, to die, maybe. Yet, Wesley thinks, taking off his glasses and laying them on the coffee table, he will keep on. In memory of the vampire – of the man – he had come to like and respect and trust, against all laws of nature.
And maybe one day, he hopes, closing his own eyes and resting his head against the couch cushion, the nightmare will finish.