He can fly higher than an eagle...

[wesleysgirl.livejournal.com]

Continued from here.

"Being hurt doesn't give me an excuse to act badly," Wesley protested. "You aren't making things more difficult. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here."

Comments

[flaming-muse.livejournal.com]

It was good, in some ways, that Wesley was asleep, because then Spike didn't have to be strong and positive, which he obviously wasn't doing that good of a job of being, anyway. Without Wesley to look after, he could pull back in and allow himself to be tired and heart-sore, if still acutely alert to any change in Wesley's rhythms.

In some ways it was hard for Spike to be quiet and still, reflective but not brooding; he would have been happier going out and starting a fight, yelling and punching and kicking out all of his emotion, but he couldn't possibly leave Wesley alone. So he sat and felt helpless and useless, too drained even to be frustrated.

Some time later the nurse stopped in as he was about to go out and look for magazines that didn't involve toile and crepe paper. She checked the infernal machines attached to Wesley and offered to sit with Wesley if Spike wanted to go out for a while. He declined, but he did ask for more reading material and, mindful of his promise, something he might be able to sleep on, as well as socks to keep Wesley's feet warm. She said she'd get on it right away.

She came back with the magazines first, this time a selection of gossip, fashion, home life, and architecture publications, which were far more interesting than Martha Stewart, even if Spike would have liked laughing over the models and celebrities with Wesley instead of browsing through the glossy pictures alone.

Wesley stirred once or twice but made no signs of waking up, so Spike read, waited, and tried not to worry about him as the hour grew later and the quiet ward grew even quieter.

[flaming-muse.livejournal.com]

The next time he heard a sound in the hall and looked up, Angel was standing in the doorway with what looked like a laptop under one arm and a crumpled up paper bag under the other. "Hey," Angel said very softly. "How's he doing?"

"Sleeping again, but it's good for him," Spike replied, rising silently from his chair and padding over toward the door. "Lets him heal and keeps him from thinking about how much he hates being hurt."

Angel nodded, then shifted uncomfortably and asked, "What about you?"

"Can't stop thinking about how much I hate him being hurt," Spike said with a tight smile. He glanced over at Wesley, who slept peacefully, unaware of the conversation going on a few feet away. "But I'm fine."

[flaming-muse.livejournal.com]

"Brought you some stuff," Angel said, offering Spike the paper bag. "Thought you could probably use it."

Spike gingerly opened the bag, trying to keep it from making too much noise, and found a couple of packets of blood inside. He suddenly realized that he hadn't eaten since before they had gone out the night before. "Thanks. Hadn't even thought about it," he admitted.

"I kind of figured," Angel said, leaning against the door frame. "You want to come out here so we can talk? I don't want to wake him up."

Looking back at Wesley, he nodded but said, "As long as we keep the door cracked so I can keep an eye on him. I don't like leaving him alone."

[flaming-muse.livejournal.com]

They moved into the hallway, and Angel said, "I had Harmony hook us up with a realtor in New York. Someone with a reputation for handling... you know, unusual requests. I thought maybe it'd make things easier. Give Wesley something to concentrate on."

"When he can concentrate at all," Spike said with a faint smirk. "Thanks. That'll be good." He looked at Angel suspiciously. "Still can't get over you being nice to someone."