Spike gave a half-shrug and picked up the bottle to refill his glass only to find it empty. He set it down with a frown and glanced beyond Wesley to the bar. It seemed to be about three miles away, but it was probably worth the walk.
Wesley was beginning to suspect that little of this had anything to do with him -- that Spike had internalized the belief that he wasn't enough a long time ago. "Listen to me," he said seriously. "You are everything I could have asked for. There's no way in which you aren't enough. And I'm going to continue to repeat that until you believe me."
"What I said was that it was important to me that you believe that you come first," Wesley said, struggling to recall exactly what words they'd both used at the time.
Wesley looked at him and brought his other hand over to stroke the back of Spike's gently. "It is. It has to be. I can't lie to you and say that I don't want more -- because I do. I want you to believe me when I say that you're my top priority. But maybe, as you said, that will come in time. Until then, all I know is that the thought of losing you terrifies me."
"It terrifies me, too. Losing you, I mean. Can't lose myself even when I try." Spike was fairly certain that that statement didn't make much sense outside of his head, either, but he wasn't up to trying to clarify. "I love you," he said instead.
"I've seen you fight. Glad you're on my side," Spike said with a smile. Looking at their glasses on the table, he had the sudden realization that Wesley hadn't come to the bar to find him but instead because he needed a drink of his own. "Are you all right, pet?"
"I think we can be," Wesley said. "That is, if we can manage not to give up on each other in the meantime." The words struck him somewhere painful, and he tightened his own grip. "And if you remember any of this in the morning. Do you think you're capable of walking at all?"
"Oh, right," Wesley said, as if it had been silly of him to assume that Spike was quite drunk based on the fact that he'd only had one bottle. "Would you... will you come home with me?"
"Nothing worth mentioning," Spike said, leaning into Wesley's touch. "Staked a couple of vamps, but they were hardly worth the effort. Really could've used a good fight."
"I'm sure," Wesley murmured. He wanted very badly to caress Spike further, to kiss him, but it wasn't the right place, and he wasn't convinced it was the right time either.
"One bloke I'd met a couple of times before. Got some news about a mate of mine who's down in San Diego now. Other than that, it was a waste of a couple hours." Spike stared moodily at his empty glass.
Wesley felt unusually willing to cater to whatever Spike wanted even if it was a bit self-destructive. After all, the vampire was certainly entitled to wallow, as long as Wesley was there to make sure nothing happened to him. "Would you prefer to stay here and have some more? I could get another bottle."
Spike was certainly tempted, but the thought of being alone with Wesley was more appealing. The distance between them and the noise of the bar was beginning to grate on his nerves. "No," he said. "Besides, if I drink another bottle you'll have to carry me out of here."
Spike turned his focus from walking on the slowly revolving floor and considered the question. "Not hurting me right now, but I think they were sore before I started drinking." He blinked. "Though I probably shouldn't've told you that."
"There's still some blood back at the flat," Wesley said firmly, keeping a close eye on Spike, who seemed steady enough on his feet, although looks could be deceiving.
Wesley slowed down further still. "'How to Fumble Through a Relationship with a Psychologically Damaged Ex-Watcher?'" There was a bit more self-disgust in his voice than he'd expected to hear.
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