Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't own these characters. That credit
belongs to the wonderful and talented Joss Whedon and Company. Thank you
for allowing me to "borrow" them for the fanfic. Credits to Original
Dialogue from the episodes Billy, That Vision Thing and A Hole in the
World.
The pale yellow sweater. Her chestnut hair swept back in a ponytail. The gentle touch of her hand against his face.
Her soft Texas drawl, "Wesley, you've got to come back to work."
"How can I?"
"What do you mean? How can you not? You're the boss. We need you. You took a few days off. That's good. We all did. Now it's time to come back."
Wesley sat straight up in bed. He took a deep breath and glanced at the alarm clock. Three a.m. He swung his feet off the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. What was she doing in the kitchen at this hour of the morning? Couldn't she just sleep or at least pretend to? Why did she have to wake him even if it was unintentional? Did she have to invade everything? Even his dreams — all that he had left.
The refrigerator door slammed shut. Wesley heard the familiar pop of a soda can. Illyria's latest passion – cherry coke. The cabinet about the sink opened and closed. By now, her fingers were probably in the crunchy peanut butter jar. It was funny how they share the same tastes. Okay, maybe not so strange, since they share the same body. At least, she hadn't asked for tacos yet and he certainly hadn't offered.
Wesley leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes trying to savor her image. He could still see her. Her sweet smile. He could even hear her laugh. To some, it was annoying but to him, simply harmonic. Her prattling – going on and on about nothing.
Fred paced behind him reading a thick phone book.
"Anything of interest yet, Fred?"
She gently pushed her glasses back firmly on her nose. "Oh, sure. Lots. 'H' is a fascinating letter. Helicopters, helium, helmets, hernias..."
Sounds that he would never hear again. No more circular logic. No more disconnected thoughts. It was she that brought the nonsense into his life. He had always been the rational one, the measured one until he met her. Until Pylea. From that moment on, she surprised him everyday with the joy that she brought. The joy in folly, in disorder and in chaos. At first, he was not aware of it but soon he realized how much he felt for her.
Their last minutes together had been filled with what they had been keeping in for years. At least, he had the chance to tell her how much he had loved it. But it hadn't been enough to save her.
He had run the scene through his head a million times. It had only been a week but it felt like a lifetime ago. It had been a lifetime ago – her's.
Her words still haunted him —"My boys. I walk with heroes. Think about that." He claimed no such distinction — he was no hero.
But it was all bittersweet. Their time together lasted only moments longer.
Wesley could hear his father's voice echoing in his head, 'Only those who work hard will get rewarded. Laziness and lack of self-discipline must be punished.' He hadn't fought hard enough to save her. Once again, he had failed the mission. And his punishment he would have to endure for a lifetime.
He could still hear her prattling about the kitchen. Drawers opening and closing.
She was his burden. The daily reminder of what he would never have. What would never come to pass.
The sound of the dishwasher starting. Wesley rolled over. At least she is learning to clean up after herself.
The pale yellow sweater. Her chestnut hair swept back in a ponytail. The gentle touch of her hand against his face.
Her soft Texas drawl, "Wesley, you've got to come back to work."
"How can I?"
"What do you mean? How can you not? You're the boss. We need you. You took a few days off. That's good. We all did. Now it's time to come back."
Wesley sat straight up in bed. He took a deep breath and glanced at the alarm clock. Three a.m. He swung his feet off the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. What was she doing in the kitchen at this hour of the morning? Couldn't she just sleep or at least pretend to? Why did she have to wake him even if it was unintentional? Did she have to invade everything? Even his dreams — all that he had left.
The refrigerator door slammed shut. Wesley heard the familiar pop of a soda can. Illyria's latest passion – cherry coke. The cabinet about the sink opened and closed. By now, her fingers were probably in the crunchy peanut butter jar. It was funny how they share the same tastes. Okay, maybe not so strange, since they share the same body. At least, she hadn't asked for tacos yet and he certainly hadn't offered.
Wesley leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes trying to savor her image. He could still see her. Her sweet smile. He could even hear her laugh. To some, it was annoying but to him, simply harmonic. Her prattling – going on and on about nothing.
Fred paced behind him reading a thick phone book.
"Anything of interest yet, Fred?"
She gently pushed her glasses back firmly on her nose. "Oh, sure. Lots. 'H' is a fascinating letter. Helicopters, helium, helmets, hernias..."
Sounds that he would never hear again. No more circular logic. No more disconnected thoughts. It was she that brought the nonsense into his life. He had always been the rational one, the measured one until he met her. Until Pylea. From that moment on, she surprised him everyday with the joy that she brought. The joy in folly, in disorder and in chaos. At first, he was not aware of it but soon he realized how much he felt for her.
Their last minutes together had been filled with what they had been keeping in for years. At least, he had the chance to tell her how much he had loved it. But it hadn't been enough to save her.
He had run the scene through his head a million times. It had only been a week but it felt like a lifetime ago. It had been a lifetime ago – her's.
Her words still haunted him —"My boys. I walk with heroes. Think about that." He claimed no such distinction — he was no hero.
But it was all bittersweet. Their time together lasted only moments longer.
Wesley could hear his father's voice echoing in his head, 'Only those who work hard will get rewarded. Laziness and lack of self-discipline must be punished.' He hadn't fought hard enough to save her. Once again, he had failed the mission. And his punishment he would have to endure for a lifetime.
He could still hear her prattling about the kitchen. Drawers opening and closing.
She was his burden. The daily reminder of what he would never have. What would never come to pass.
The sound of the dishwasher starting. Wesley rolled over. At least she is learning to clean up after herself.