What's Left
That god-awful White Stripes song was playing again, for what had to be the third time that night. The only positive aspect of this last hurrah was that no drunks were attempting to sing along this time. The room had clearly moved from slightly hammered to incredibly pissed, as far as alcohol was concerned. Spike looked down to discover his own whiskey was in fact almost gone. The night was far from young, and this drink was most definitely not his first.
Across the room, Wesley still appeared to be working on that last scotch and soda, and still showed no signs of getting up and going either. Spike was pretty sure he wasn't in the best condition to be playing chaperone tonight, but everyone else had left and the ex-Watcher hadn't looked like he'd been in any shape to get himself home.
Spike sighed, supposing another drink would really be too much, and wandered back across the room towards the morose dark-haired man. Hoping against hope that getting Wesley home would not be too much of a hassle, Spike put on his best cheery face (which, lets face it, was pretty bloody awful) and tried, "Bar's about to close on us, Watcher. You should probably get on home."
Wesley raised his head slowly, vaguely looking at Spike, appearing slightly puzzled. "Ah yes. You're still here."
"Yeah. Er... anyway, about that home, then?"
Wesley looked down again for a moment, sighed, then slurred, "Yes, I suppose I better." He finished his drink, looked around for a moment, then stood up, only to nearly fall on the table. Supporting himself with one hand, he wrinkled his brow, looked at Spike and said, "I don't see my bed. That's... odd."
Spike groaned. It was going to be a night, that was for sure.
Twenty minutes later, in a cab, Wesley has all but passed out leaning against the window, and Spike now pretty much had no idea what to do. He had no idea where the git lived, and a cursory pat down of Wesley's coat revealed no wallet. That had been annoying enough, as it meant Spike had been forced to pay for the drinks himself, but now what was he going to do with the twit? He briefly considered just dropping the man off at his Wolfram & Hart office, but then considered all the magic mumbo jumbo lying around it, and decided that a man in Wesley's state reading the wrong scroll might end up destroying something, and the last thing Spike needed right now was Angel on his back again.
God. He was going to end up taking the pompous bastard back to his dingy little basement apartment, wasn't he?
Wesley woke up very confused, and still quite drunk. He sat up, and found himself in a twin bed, with a metal frame. The sounds of television were audible in the next room, which upon inspection featured Spike, on the couch, with what looked very much like whiskey in his glass. "You brought me to your apartment," Wesley surmised.
"Well I didn't know where yours was, and you weren't exactly in any position to tell me. Why you didn't have your wallet on you, you might want to look into at some point, call the cops about or something."
Wesley thought for a moment. Much of last night was a blur, but he finally recalled, "Yes, I had forgotten it in my office. Lorne had promised to cover me. But I guess he left after..."
The memory hit him then, of Angel finally making it to the bar, telling them that Cordelia had died. Spike looked up at him, and Lord, could that be sympathy in his eyes?
"Yeah, pretty much everyone left. Gunn stayed for a bit, but then had a call and had to leave. I was sort of placed on babysitter duty. Sorry 'bout that."
"Why didn't Angel stay?"
"Think he just wanted to get out of there. Bugger was never much for drinking after he got his soul back. Thought it might make him slip or some such nonsense."
Wesley considered debating that briefly, but the start of a headache stopped him. Spike noticed the wince. "Some hair of the dog for you?"
"What day is it?"
The vampire raised an eyebrow, smirked at him. "Wouldn't have thought you had gone that far last night."
"Oh for God's sake just tell me."
"It's Saturday sir Head Boy. No work. Have a drink."
After a moment's consideration he accepted, sat down on the couch next to Spike, and poured himself some whiskey. A few moments passed as they watched the American football game. "You know, I never really understood this game."
"Me neither. Reminds me a bit of rugby though."
"I suppose."
A pause. "You were close to the girl, then?"
"Cordelia. Yes."
"I never really knew her. Got to admire someone who'll manhandle Eve, though."
Wesley half smiled. Then frowned. "Was it really her, though? It all gets so confused. She never really woke up, so it could have been some kind of projection... but she felt real. For the first time in a long time. You don't know what it's like, finding out someone you loved wasn't really herself. She was always different after coming back from the higher plane. I was seeing so little of her at the time though. How strange, I can't even remember why I was seeing so little of her. Maybe if I had been around more, I would have caught it, seen what was happening to her, and stopped it. I just... I should have been able to do more for her."
Spike glanced sideways. "So you two were... you know... then?"
Wes chuckled, "Oh Lord no. She and Angel were pretty much aimed towards each other near the end. At least before she disappeared. Perhaps afterwards. I never did really figure out how she got pregnant. I suppose it was just Jasmine's doing."
"Cordelia and Angel?"
It was Wes's turn to glance sideways. "You didn't think he was able to feel that way for anyone other than Buffy?"
Spike caught Wes's eye. "Buffy's kind of unique."
"There are other people than Buffy. It's quite possible to be surprised by who you end up caring for."
Spike broke the eye contact. "Well, the Watcher can get deep after all."
"I suppose the alcohol helps. Thank you for letting me have the bed last night."
"Don't mention it."
"I won't again."
"Feisty one this morning."
Wesley's face lost some of its brooding angst at that one, which is what Spike supposed he had been going for. Why he hadn't kicked the man out by now was beyond him, but he supposed it was nice having someone here for a change. At least, someone who wasn't Doy- Lindsay. He'd have to remember the wanker's real name.
"At any rate, I suppose I should get going." The thin man stood up, put down his drink and started walking towards the door.
"You don't have to."
Wesley turned around and smirked. "Lonely, Spike? I should have thought a vampire with a soul would now have no trouble finding slayers to go lust after out there."
At this Spike leapt up, chased after the man and pinned his shoulders against the wall. "You just watch how you talk now. I'm not the ghostie you can mock relentlessly anymore. Maybe my staying away from Wolfram & Hart meant you didn't get that message."
"Lonely it is, then." And with that, the still passably drunk, thin man kissed him. Spike's eyes widened, but he did not pull away, though he did not respond. Gradually, his grip on Wesley's shoulders loosened, and the man came away from the wall and started wrapping his arms around the shorter vampire. Spike stood shocked for a few seconds, but when Wesley's mouth moved down to his neck, he suddenly shouted wordlessly and stumbled away, breaking Wes's hold.
"You... have no bloody right..."
Wesley held himself very still, then spoke. "No, no I don't. But it was something I wanted. It's been a very long time since what I wanted seemed to matter."
Spike turned to face this very strange man. He was attractive enough, if you liked them thin. The high cheekbones, clear skin and all that were there right enough. But it was madness, besides, "The pretty science-y one likes you right enough, I'd think. Go bug her."
"Fred's not here. And Fred doesn't understand what effect her actions have on me." Wesley paused. "Buffy... is not here either, Spike." Spike stood still has Wes walked towards him. "Sometimes, contact is all that's needed. To understand what's real and what isn't. I hugged Cordelia yesterday. Part of her was real, at least. And now I need to understand that I am real as well."
Wesley leaned in, and kissed the vampire again. The man was so warm, so alive, tasting of whiskey, with blood pulsing through the tongue, cheeks, lips touching his. It was intoxicating, far more than the feeble whiskey still in the vampire's system. And this time, when Wesley's stubble brushed against his skin as the man's lips moved to his neck, Spike did not pull away. He moaned slightly, gripped the Watcher's face, and kissed him harder than he'd meant to. Sometimes you just had to know if you were real. After months of walking through walls, it was enough to be with somebody warm.
A week went by before Spike saw Wesley again. He'd heard the stories going around about Lawson paying a visit, and he went to check out the aftermath. On the way back from talking to Angel, he stopped by Wesley's office.
"Heard you were strung up with some wire. Fun times that."
Wesley glanced up, surprised. "Yes. Well, par for the course here, I suppose. Not that I fared much better before Wolfram & Hart. Lets just say par for the course in L.A. Charming town, really."
Spike nodded, frowned, and stayed in the doorway. Wesley stared back.
"Was there something you needed?"
"No, just stopped by to make sure Angel didn't need any help hunting down who let Lawson in. Couldn't believe the git came back after sixty years, I suppose."
"Yes. Well. Anyway, I suppose I should say thank you. For the other night, that is."
Spike raised his eyes, looked at Wesley square in the face, and said, grimly "Don't. Mention it."
Wes glanced down, frowned for a moment, and mumbled "Yes, of course." Then he raised his eyes and said, "If you're ever looking for assignment, stop by and see me. There's always something kicking around here, and Lord knows Angel can't go out and do every one anymore."
Some tension went out of Spike. "I'm always looking for someone to hit," he quipped, and then turned and left.