So What Happens Now?
As soon as Spike had mentioned his own fatigue, I took a quick look around and realized that we were all looking more than a little weary. More than unerstandably, none of us was at our best, physically or mentally, and some rest would almost certainly be the right thing to do
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I watched in silence as Cordy and Spike made their way upstairs, only slightly surprised at how much a 'their' was...there. Once upon a time the diary full of differences between them would have carried my thoughts on for hours, but now it was simply another foriegn thing in increasingly foriegn world.
The more I was in it, the less I knew.
"It is a good idea," I finally answered Wesley, taking in a deep breath as an accepting look passed over my features. "In theory."
I was developing a deep dislike for the sound of my own voice, or better yet what it was saying. Five words here, two more there...my self-admitted long lost rambles might have been hard for even me to follow, but at least the were filling. And alive. What's worse is that everything I might, or would have said was still in my head ( ... )
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Nodding, I began to more fully recognize the kind of fatigue that was written on Fred's face. Like the dull ache that had set up shop inside my head, and the chain-dragging heaviness that was pulling down at my shoulders and back, it was a tired beyond mere physical exhaustion. It was the fatigue that came from every last bit of a person's being having been tasked past the point of reason.
And the worst part of that kind of tired was that there was no escaping it, and almost no way to rest until at least some of the causes were addressed. We had all been there before, but perhaps never quite so badly. I'd known this feeling during my exile from Angel Investigations. We'd all reached this exhaustion after Jasmine and all that had come before. But this, I think, was the worst ever.
"We keep trying though, right?"I looked at Fred, wondering which of the many, many ways in which that question could be taken that she intended for it to be. Whatever she'd meant, though, there was, I knew, a ( ... )
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Settled into my chair, I rested there for several moments, right where I landed...before pulling my legs up beneath me in a mindless motion. Whatever functioning thoughts I had were focused on Wesley's words. I wondered if, and how much he really meant them. Was he really that sure right now? Maybe...perhaps Wesley was saying what he felt I wanted to hear? Or could the idea of make believe appeal to him as well?
I...I think that he truely meant them. I think that after everything he had been through, both in the before and after sense, he really did. This was who Wesley was, and what he believed in. And even while he shared that knowledge with me, ready and willing I think to help me relearn my way, it was just as much a place that was all his own too.
We keep trying.
Wesley believed that.
The idea of such a thing was..less cold. Warmer even, than I had known all day. All of this lifetime.
"I don't know about you, but after all this? I need a drink."Through the dim light provided by the small lamp just behind ( ... )
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"Wesley?"
Why the question? Was she questioning whether it was really me, really us-- wondering whether or not this moment was actually happening? Was it some kind of request, or admonition? I didn't think, though, that it mattered even the slightest bit to me, as no matter what, all that was important was that Fred was there, alive and whole and warm to ask the question ( ... )
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"Yes"
Yes.
A certain kind of agreement, liquid and light in its form, played between our mouths. In all the places it could find to fit into. In whatever space was remaining. The tremor that was there left me wondering if Wesley had made the same discovery I had, however long ago.
There's a science to skin...if only you choose to study it.
Questions and answers verbally querried, demands, tokens and the occasional detour could lead a body to countless places, and many of those were more than enough to satisfy whatever was there. However there was a certain effort needed then, something that I wasn't sure could be counted on as my strength.
But knowledge was. At least...of a certain kind. I knew the way a pulse could shudder and start once again when you find that space...that hidden heat. A sigh released, a signal to revisit a particuarly pleasant touch. And just as much I knew the way a body could still, momentarily cold and distant. He could tremble and burn, wonder or hesitate, long and linger...and ( ... )
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And now that it was happening, I knew that I'd been right. This was something worth missing, worth wanting. This was the slow, heated turn away from the words and the thoughts that we both knew so well and both used as sometime comfort and sometime barrier from other people, and toward the wordless, the instinctual, the simple feel of something right.
And stretched out on that bed, the slim length of her body held close to mine, right is precisely what it felt ( ... )
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