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wesleynotponcyWesley had only ever really had one coping mechanism. Just one, and not a very good one, either.
It involved sitting and drinking expensive scotch in the dark. It wasn't healthy, but it was what he did.
He had never considered that it might be interrupted by someone knocking on the door, though; for a brief moment, he thought of Karla, and the time she'd interrupted his grief over the Hunger Games. That was ridiculous, though. No one was going to do that now. Not unless it was Charles coming up to ask him to find someplace else to live from now on.
The voice wasn't Gunn's, though. It was Fred's.
"Wesley?" she called. "Wesley, it's me."
Oh. He didn't want to talk to Fred, but he could hardly refuse, not after... yesterday. He opened the door, not meeting her eyes.
"Oh," Fred said, reaching gingerly for the fire-extinguisher bruise on the side of Wesley's face. "Does that hurt?" When he didn't answer, she let her hand drop to her side, sighing softly. "Sorry. I -- I left a bunch of messages."
"Yes," Wesley said. He'd heard. His phone had rung. More than once. Beyond that, he wasn't sure. "I meant to call you back. I'm sorry." Finally he managed to meet her eyes, and his voice cracked horribly as he repeated in a whisper, "I'm so sorry."
"Wesley," Fred said quietly. "Wesley, you've gotta come back to work."
His voice still harsh and broken, Wesley asked, "How can I?"
"What do you mean?" Fred insisted. "How can you not? You're the boss. We need you." She sighed, and made as if to reach for his hand, then thought better of it. "You took a few days off. That's good. We all did. But now it's time to come back."
"Fred," Wesley whispered urgently, "I tried to kill you."
Fred just smiled -- smiled! -- and shook her head. "Wesley, that wasn't you," she said.
"How can you know that?" he asked, the urgency in his voice only racketing up a notch. "Something inside me was forced to the surface. Something primal, something..."
"Do you want to kill me?" Fred interrupted him.
"No!" Wesley insisted. "God, no."
"It wasn't something in you, Wesley," she said, her voice so certain and unwavering that Wesley wished, really desperately wished, that he could share her confidence. "It was something that was done to you."
He just shook his head. "I don't know what kind of man I am anymore," he whispered.
"Well, I do," she said, still in that unbelievably confident tone. "You're a good man. Will I see you back at the office?"
Wesley took a moment, and his voice cracked, but he finally whispered, "Yeah."
"Good," Fred said, and she slowly left the room, closing the door behind her.
Wesley was sure that she could hear him break down in tears the moment the door was closed, but she didn't return to call him on it.
[[last one from 3x06 "billy." OW OW OW.]]
It involved sitting and drinking expensive scotch in the dark. It wasn't healthy, but it was what he did.
He had never considered that it might be interrupted by someone knocking on the door, though; for a brief moment, he thought of Karla, and the time she'd interrupted his grief over the Hunger Games. That was ridiculous, though. No one was going to do that now. Not unless it was Charles coming up to ask him to find someplace else to live from now on.
The voice wasn't Gunn's, though. It was Fred's.
"Wesley?" she called. "Wesley, it's me."
Oh. He didn't want to talk to Fred, but he could hardly refuse, not after... yesterday. He opened the door, not meeting her eyes.
"Oh," Fred said, reaching gingerly for the fire-extinguisher bruise on the side of Wesley's face. "Does that hurt?" When he didn't answer, she let her hand drop to her side, sighing softly. "Sorry. I -- I left a bunch of messages."
"Yes," Wesley said. He'd heard. His phone had rung. More than once. Beyond that, he wasn't sure. "I meant to call you back. I'm sorry." Finally he managed to meet her eyes, and his voice cracked horribly as he repeated in a whisper, "I'm so sorry."
"Wesley," Fred said quietly. "Wesley, you've gotta come back to work."
His voice still harsh and broken, Wesley asked, "How can I?"
"What do you mean?" Fred insisted. "How can you not? You're the boss. We need you." She sighed, and made as if to reach for his hand, then thought better of it. "You took a few days off. That's good. We all did. But now it's time to come back."
"Fred," Wesley whispered urgently, "I tried to kill you."
Fred just smiled -- smiled! -- and shook her head. "Wesley, that wasn't you," she said.
"How can you know that?" he asked, the urgency in his voice only racketing up a notch. "Something inside me was forced to the surface. Something primal, something..."
"Do you want to kill me?" Fred interrupted him.
"No!" Wesley insisted. "God, no."
"It wasn't something in you, Wesley," she said, her voice so certain and unwavering that Wesley wished, really desperately wished, that he could share her confidence. "It was something that was done to you."
He just shook his head. "I don't know what kind of man I am anymore," he whispered.
"Well, I do," she said, still in that unbelievably confident tone. "You're a good man. Will I see you back at the office?"
Wesley took a moment, and his voice cracked, but he finally whispered, "Yeah."
"Good," Fred said, and she slowly left the room, closing the door behind her.
Wesley was sure that she could hear him break down in tears the moment the door was closed, but she didn't return to call him on it.
[[last one from 3x06 "billy." OW OW OW.]]
