reality_bends | Finding their way home.

Wesley stopped as well, turning to face Spike. "If the shoe fits..." He gave a little shrug of apology.

"No," Spike said very seriously. It was suddenly vitally important to him that Wesley not see himself as damaged, not permanently. "We've all got our problems, pet, but there's nothing wrong with you."

Managing to prevent himself from laughing aloud, Wesley still couldn't help but smile ironically. "Of course there is -- I just hide it well. From everyone but you, that is."

Spike tried to follow Wesley's logic and failed. "You're saying there's something wrong with you that you hide from everyone but me, but I don't seem to see it?"

Wesley started walking again -- very slowly, but he needed to move. "You've seen it. You just don't want to admit it's there."

"Have to say that doesn't sound like me," Spike said, following after him. His first step was a bit unsteady, since he was looking at Wesley and not the ground, but he quickly regained his equilibrium.

"Well there wouldn't be much point in agreeing with me if it meant telling me that I was a hopeless prat," Wesley pointed out, pausing to let Spike catch up. "Are you all right?"

"You're not a hopeless prat, and you should know me well enough to know I'd tell you if you were." Spike grinned. "Or I would've. Now I might find a nicer way of putting it."

"In any case, it doesn't seem as if a handbook is in our future," Wesley said. They turned the corner onto their street and continued walking.

"No. Guess we'll have to muddle through on our own." The thought was a depressing one to Spike, given his history, and he dropped his eyes back to the sidewalk.

"We'll manage." Wesley paused again, watching Spike carefully.

"Hope so." Spike realized a step later that Wesley had stopped walking, and he turned back to look at him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Wesley said, as they both began to walk again, falling into step beside each other. "I'm having a difficult time determining just how drunk you actually are."

"Not enough, I think," Spike said. "Or too much. Very. Why?"

Wesley shrugged slightly. "Because I want to know? I'd imagine it's information that might come in handy one day, knowing how capable you are at different stages of intoxication."

"I'm capable of a lot of things while drunk," Spike replied. "Going to make a chart? Three drinks: Spike can still stake a vampire in the first try. Five drinks: Spike can recite all of "Twelfth Night." Ten drinks: Spike can make even worse bloody decisions than usual." He rubbed a hand over his face and said, "Never mind. I've drunk enough I'm off the chart."

"I'm sorry," Wesley said softly. He hadn't meant for it to come across as if he viewed Spike as some sort of scientific problem to be studied. "I want to know because I care."

Spike sighed and shook his head. "Sorry, pet. Maybe it'd be better if I kept away from the alcohol for a bit. Seems to make me even more of a prat than usual."

"It's all right," Wesley said, as they neared the apartment building. "You'll feel better once you've had some blood and a good night's sleep."

"It's not all right," Spike said sharply, stopping again. "I should've come back and faced you instead of being such a bloody coward and staying out to get pissed, and I shouldn't take any of it out on you. Don't be so accepting. If I'm acting like a complete pillock, tell me. Don't just take it. You deserve better than that."

Wesley stopped too, turning and taking hold of Spike's upper arm. "You're not acting like a pillock," he said. "And the beauty of it is, you're drunk. You have to take my word for it."

"I guess I do," Spike said more quietly. "But I think I'm going to agree with myself in the morning."

His hand squeezing Spike's arm, Wesley asked, with a small grin, "Would it make you feel better if I chastised you?"

Spike pushed his hands into his coat pockets and gave that question serious thought. "Be better than waiting for it," he said finally.

"Because you expect me to sooner or later?"

"Well..." Spike tried to make a sweeping gesture with his hands, which was somewhat hampered by them being in his coat. "Have you met me?" He shrugged.

Wesley slid his own hands up to cradle Spike's face. "I have," he said. "And you should believe me when I say that you haven't done anything to warrant chastisement."

Spike got lost in the warmth in Wesley's eyes for just a moment, but his memory wasn't so foggy that he could stay there for long. "You don't know," he said, taking a step back and starting walking again.

"Then tell me," Wesley said, frustrated and following along after Spike.

Spike just hunched his shoulders and shook his head.

It took only two strides for Wesley to catch up to Spike so that he could glance at the vampire's face. "Until you do, you're always going to worry about how I'll react."

"And if I do, I'll know." Spike concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other on the tilting sidewalk and on not thinking about things he absolutely couldn't say. "Doesn't matter."

"It does matter," Wesley insisted. "And I'm not going to let this drop, so you may as well just get it out."

Fear speared through Spike, and he stopped again, watching Wesley with sad eyes. "You're not, are you? You're going to push, and I'll give in 'cause I can't bloody well say no to you, and then you'll... Oh, hell, I need another drink." He looked back over his shoulder at the way they had come.

Wesley couldn't stand there and let that expression remain on Spike's face without attempting to comfort him. He moved in closer and slid an arm around Spike's waist. "You don't need another drink," he murmured. "Whatever it is that's eating away at you, you need to say it. Trust that telling me will make it better -- trust that I can handle it."

Spike looked down, wanting to press himself against Wesley but not allowing it. "I don't..." Feeling the weight of the future pressing on him, he forced himself to meet Wesley's eyes. "Not like this. Please."

"Not here." Wesley agreed with that much at least. He tightened his arm, pulling Spike more firmly against him, running his other hand up and down over the tense back and shoulders. "Shh. It'll be all right."

Miserable, Spike mutely shook his head and stood stiffly in Wesley's arms.

"It will," Wesley said insistently. "You said you trusted me."

"I do," Spike said in a hoarse whisper. "But some things can never be all right."

Wesley understood what Spike was getting at, but he didn't think he could let that slide, even if it was partially true. "We can't erase the past," he said, then laughed slightly, since Angel had done just that, hadn't he? "That doesn't mean we have to let it continue to hurt us. Keeping it all inside... love, please don't do that to yourself."

Spike snorted and said with a hint of an affectionate grin, "You're one to talk." He didn't feel particularly better, but he didn't stop himself from resting his hands at Wesley's waist.

"Come on," Wesley said, pulling away without releasing Spike entirely and taking a somewhat backwards step toward the building. "Let's get ourselves inside."

Feeling a bit like he was being led to his execution and aware that even if he were sober he would be unable to stand up against Wesley's far sharper and obviously quite determined mind, Spike nodded and trudged after him.

Continues here (http://www.livejournal.com/community/reality_bends/24258.html).

Finding their way home.

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