The Blind Man, and a Fool to Lead Him Epilogue

Title: The Blind Man, and a Fool to Lead Him Epilogue
Rating: R
Pairing: Spike/Wesley +Lorne friendship
Disclaimers: Characters and world owned by Joss, and the Mutant Enemy folks, and Fox, and others who aren't me.
Summary: Aftermath
Author's Notes: This story is complete at 12 chapters and an epilogue. This is the last, and it's been a good ride. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting. I'll miss posting this now that it's over. Feedback, as always, still appreciated.




epilogue:

Living with Spike was much like living with a particularly independent tomcat, Wesley thought, watching from the window as Spike sparred with two Slayers on the green below.

Spike may have attached himself to Wesley before they left the Americas, but he hadn't settled into the Council-provided lifestyle nearly as quickly--or as smoothly--as Wesley had.

First, there'd been cautious sniffing around the new territory, poking into all the offices, all the rooms, even the secret passageway that ran from Giles's office to the old kitchens.

Then there'd been the skittish distances he kept from the other Watchers, Rupert particularly, and the testing of their boundaries where souled vampires were concerned. Below the window, one of the Slayers shrieked, skidding into an undignified heap of plastic stakes and untied shoelaces, and Wesley hid a laugh, not at her expense, but at Spike, who was crouched next to her, already trying to untangle her feet. It was odd, he thought, the way Spike never seemed to mind the Slayers. Again, like the stray tom, taking to women, and keeping a wary distance from the men.

He was lucky there was no marking of territory involved, unless one considered the eternal bloom of bruising on Wesley's throat. His fingers crept up to feather over the mark that ached gently every time he turned his head, then quickly dropped his hand as the feeling provoked somewhat more reaction from himself than he'd intended. Wesley settled on the silly smile on his face and attempted to get back to work, a scatter of cards on the desk each bearing a letter that he was to match and arrange. But his mind kept wandering.

As if freed from the fetters of books, Wesley's mind had taken to wandering quite a lot since the spring, eyes seeing what's there rather than seeking out the words to tell him what he's seeing. Grazing over old wood and books that remained no more than interestingly bound bundles of paper for the moment, Wesley's eyes and mind wandered back out the window to the green, and Spike reclining on the grass, calling out instructions to the two Slayers.

Despite Giles's conspicuous lack of visits to the suite Wesley and Spike shared, he supposed they'd both been taken in with far more hospitality than either deserved. The Council was turning from the purebreds to the strays under the new guidance.

He supposed that he and Spike were both strays after a fashion, regardless of past lineage, and closed down the line of thought before he could finish likening himself to a purebred dog gone to seed on the streets, pathetically glad of finding himself back in the warmth and safety of an English manor house even if it meant yoking himself once more to instruction, rules, and--.

...Damn.

A laugh bubbled up inside, despite himself. Can't even seem to control the thoughts without the written word. Still smiling, he turned a paper on the desk, forcing his eyes over the shape of the lines, making himself see the letter as a picture, then placing it in order next to the matching letter, and reminding himself. Only "S" remained consistently easy, but there was progress. Still laughing at himself, Wesley hunted a match to the D.

"Well I haven't heard that sound from you much outside of the bedroom yet, Mister."

Wesley glanced up, gracing Willow with a brighter smile that he hoped covered the blush. "I haven't any reputation left to ruin, I'm afraid. Particularly not if you've heard me laughing from the bedroom."

"Only cause I have got really really bad timing in looking for Spike." Willow made an eloquently uncomfortable face. "Some things about Spike? Still so not needing to know."

Coughing to hide the last vestiges of embarrassment, Wesley gestured to the room's other chair. "Please, sit. Were you looking for me or did my utterly out of character laughter worry you enough to check on me while passing by?" It was astonishing how far away Los Angeles felt surrounded by Spike's "Scoobies"--even Willow didn't quite feel so much like the witch Fred had called to restore Angel's soul as just Willow.

Willow flashed him a grin, folding into the other chair, and stealing a look past him at Spike out on the green who was now lying on his back, smoking, and watching the reflected distant city lights in the sky. "Uh huh. You ready for another round?"

Pushing aside the scraps of paper and rolling his shoulders back against the chair, Wesley turned to face Willow more fully. "Please. They're all beginning to look the same again." Letting her take his hands, he settled himself at the edge of the chair, watching her face as she closed her eyes rather than the faint glow that emanated between them.

"Has it been helping?" She peeked open an eye.

"Yes." As he said it, Wesley spared himself a moment of relief that it was true. "Yes. It all becomes less fogged each time."

"But it doesn't last?"

"Sadly, no. It's lasting longer each time as well, however."

Willow's lips drew down in a moue. "If it is a subconscious magical impediment, you have to want the ability back, Wes. I know."

"I know. And I do. Each time, it's getting easier," he said, as he felt the fog over his mind once more lifting, revealing an A for an A, a Z for a Z, the returned knowledge, however brief, sending tingles of potential down his spine. "God, I do." His eyes swept the book shelves beneath a swell of longing, hope that he'd be able to get through even one before the letters grew incomprehensible again. He didn't even notice when Willow let go of his hands and patted the back of one.

"Good. Hold that thought, okay? And maybe this time, it'll stick."

Wesley turned grateful eyes to Willow, and stood, catching her hand in his, and holding it. "Thank you."

She shrugged, holding onto the door frame and giving him one last Willowy grin. "It's what I do. Just promise me one thing?"

"If it's my first born, I'm afraid you'll be waiting quite some time," Wesley said, straight faced, though the temporary giddiness of having his full sight restored threatened to break through in an utterly unmanly giggle.

"Uh huh. Well lucky for you, I'm not that kinda witch."

"What do you want, Willow?"

Willow's lips twisted to one side in a little half smile and her eyebrows lifted, all big eyed child with the power to end the world. "Don't do it again."

"Only one get out of jail free card per Watcher these days?" Wesley guessed

"Huh? Oh! No! There's lots of get out of jail free cards. Whole stacks of them. But well, it'd be kinda nice to have someone else aroung here who knows what they're doing -- with magic, you know? Cause there's Giles, but he's really busy with everything else, and especially with him getting used to you and Spike still, and there's Andrew kind of, but he's still Andrew and-"

Wesley held up a hand. "Willow--my last use of magic was a spectacular disaster."

"Your last use of magic was against a mage who could clean my clock, buster. And if you don't use it, you're gonna lose it."

Wesley couldn't help but steal a glance out the window at Spike who was, this time, looking directly up at him, and he smiled, warming from the belly upwards. With a smirk, and an inaudible word to the Slayers, Spike stood, shook out his duster, and began a slow stalk toward the manor house, his eyes fixed on Wesley's window with every step, producing a pleasant ache through the warmth suffusing Wesley. He cleared his throat, realizing he'd completely lost track of what Willow was saying. "What?"

She gave him a distinctly kittenish scowl, but with no venom behind it. "We should pass all messages through Spike, or something."

Wesley felt himself flush, and stood. "I'm sorry."

"Uh huh," she agreed, entirely too cheerfully, and let go of the door frame. "So you're gonna brush up on your control along with your reading?"

"Is that what I agreed to?"

"Yep!" Willow gave his hand another pat, and a reassuring smile. "It's not so bad. We'll have you spinning pencils by Christmas."

"Oi! No spinnin' sharp wooden bits around the vamp!"

"Mechanical pencils," Willow amended, turning and flashing Spike a grin, then waving at Wesley, and disappearing down the corridor.

"Chatting up the birds while I'm not here to defend my property?"

"I'm property now, am I?"

"Damn right," Spike said, getting right up into Wesley's personal space, all night air, grass, and dead leaves, holding Wesley utterly still before his approach. Even now, not entirely unlike a mouse before the cat. Only mice didn't give in so easily when the cat hauled them down for cold kisses from chilled lips. ...wait... hadn't he been the dog in the metaphor when he'd thought of it? Wesley's thoughts trailed away in a vague hum of approval when Spike drew away to speak again. "She here workin' the mojo again?"

It took Wesley's mind a moment to switch from kissing-Spike to answering-Spike. "Oh. Yes. And suggesting that I might work on certain matters of control myself."

"Wouldn't be such a bad idea, would it?"

"I suppose not. There's a great gulf between the theory of magic and its actual practice."

"Don't need to tell me that, pet. Half the danger of magic's in letting one or the other slack off--knowledge or control. Let either slide, and it's all buggered."

Wesley glanced at Spike sidelong. "So you would consider knowledge a good thing then?"

"Well, yeah. Never turn down knowledge."

"Would that include knowledge of your own future?" Wesley asked, archly.

Spike groaned, attempting to pull away, but Wesley held on. "You are not gonna let go of that, are you?"

"Mmm. No." Wesley's lips curved upwards.

"I don't need to know all the bad stuff I've got waitin' for me."

"Spike. Look at me." Wesley waited for Spike to meet his eyes, enjoying the firm, cool body against his. "Does it look like I know something terrible is going to happen to you?"

"You didn't sound so playful about it on the phone to Lorne." Spike didn't move, but every word was spoken hesitantly, and he leaned back in Wesley's embrace.

"It took me by surprise on the phone with Lorne." Wesley paused, considering his phrasing carefully before continuing. "I didn't believe he'd accurately interpreted what he saw."

"And now?"

"I'm certain he was correct."

Spike sighed, deflating. "Would it make you happy if I knew?"

"Oh yes."

Spike let his head fall forward, resting it against Wesley's collarbone. "All right. Tell me."

Instead of answering, Wesley loosened his hold on Spike with one arm, retrieving his cell phone and tucking it into Spike's hand. "You should hear it from him."

"You gonna let go of me till I do?"

"I'll let go of you unless you do," Wesley answered, catching the smile that threatened to form on Spike's lips, and answering it with one of his own.

"Sodding hell." Spike's words came out underlain with laughter, though, and Wesley felt the weight lift, just a little. "Give us the number, then."

Lips twitching in a smile that didn't want to be controlled, Wesley fiddled with the phone until the recorder popped up, and he held Spike's thumb over the button to set it playing. "I don't need to--he recorded a message for you." Gently, Wesley pressed his thumb over Spike's, and Lorne's voice, rendered small, filled the air between them.

"I knew you'd wanna know sooner or later. Wasn't even really your future, muffin. When I read ya, I found Wes's missing future. It's all with you. Congratulations, cream bun--and I wish you both all the best. Remember to send me an invite to the wedding."

Spike's eyes were wide, lips parted, but soundless as Wesley stopped the recording and tucked his phone away. The stunned expression, though, quickly dissolved into confusion, and Spike pulled away to pace. "But -- it upset you when you heard it. I was there."

Wesley watched Spike pace, but remained where he was, waiting for the vampire to come back to him. "You'd just told me you wanted to get it over with, Spike. What was I to think?"

"I--you--" That stopped Spike in mid-pace, and he simply stood in the middle of the room, a blank expression on his face. "You're joking," he finally said, weakly. "You know I didn't mean get you over with-"

"Yes. I do now." Wesley waited for Spike to figure it out.

"And when you knew that-"

"I tried to get you to call Lorne," Wesley answered with a small smile. "What do you think of the Powers and their plans for you now?"

"I think," Spike said slowly, eyes narrowed as he stalked Wesley, catching him with an arm around his waist to pull their bodies flush against each other, "that it's a bloody good start on what we're owed."