Summary: Gunn’s
watching over
Wesley
Notes: Damn it all to hell. Finally saw ‘The Thin Dead Line’, now I’ve
got two
more Muses. And, one of them’s *Wesley*. Stupid mushy near death
scenes...
* Thank you Charles
**********
He’s doped up.
That’s good.
That’s real good.
Here’s to hoping he don’t remember a damn thing about me sitting here.
I mean, I’m glad he ain’t feeling no pain, but, God willing, that
little tube
going into his hand’ll help to make sure he doesn’t get how *I* feel
either.
And, it’s not that... Wesley *knows* that I’m there for him. But, he
doesn’t
have to know how much...
See, I’ve got this stupid-ass look on my face. I can tell. And, I can
also tell
that this particular stupid-ass look was one Wes needed never see,
especially
directed at him. ‘Cause, as slow on the uptake as the boy is over some
interpersonal matters, he’d probably catch onto to this one in a
heartbeat.
That’s how the world seems to work ‘round here. Just when you think
things
can’t get more fucked up, they get more fucked up.
And that can’t happen now. Not with him. I won’t let it.
Oh, believe me, I could still happily kick the shit out of Angel for
his little
proclamation. ‘You’re fired’. What the hell? Just ‘cause the guy had a
few
prophecies written about him, he thinks he’s the great end all be all
of
everything? Angel may be the center of the universe in his
psychotic-episode-having
mind, but to try and break apart what we had, what I had, that was just
beyond
even his shade of pale.
I admit it, for a while there, I was scared. I mean, Angel was the
glue, the
thing that connected all of us. Yeah, I know that Cordy and Wes knew
each other
back in Sunnyglenn... ville... whatever, but L.A.’s a big town, and for
all of
us to be drawn together... I don’t know, maybe there is something to be
said
for fate.
It worked out, though. Angel might have been the thing that got us
together,
but, turns out he wasn’t the thing that was keeping us together. Nope,
we’re
still doing that just fine without him. But, if Wes ever finds out how
I
feel...
Best scenario... Well, best, *best*, never-gonna-happen-in-a-million
years scenario
would be... Uh... Heh. Yeah, that’d be pretty damn nice. The best
*plausible*
scenario, however, would most likely involve him being ‘very
flattered’, and
‘terribly sorry’ that he didn’t feel the same way towards me, and, of
course,
I’m sure a traditionalist like Wesley wouldn’t dare leave out the ole
‘I want
us to still be friends’ spiel. And, yeah, he probably would want that,
but it’d
never happen. Some lines, when you cross them, you can’t just go back,
no
matter how much you may want to.
That’s why Wesley can’t remember any of this. He can’t remember me
watching
over him, holding his hand, being so damn glad he finally opened his
eyes...
Fuck. Maybe I’m worrying too much about this. How the hell is he
supposed to
figure out how I feel when *I’m* not really even sure? I know it’s
wrong,
though. I mean, it’s Wesley. *Wesley*. He spells his name with a
hyphen, for
God’s sake. I didn’t know real live people actually did that.
And he’s British. Forget the fact that he’s the most Waspish person I
ever met,
he’s not even from this country! He grew up in a place with castles,
and
princesses, and security guards that wear great big furry hats. If I
possessed
any kind of logic, I’d be taking a big step backwards and saying ‘What
the fuck
am I thinking?’
But I must be an idiot, ‘cause I’m still sitting here. Still holding
his hand.
Still watching him watch me through thankfully glazed eyes.
And now he’s giggling again. I still can’t believe he’s actually
giggling.
Morphine must be pretty decent stuff.
That’s good.
That’s real good.
**********
the end