Needed

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or the setting of the story. All things I borrowed from the Buffyverse are a creation of and belong to Joss Whedon.

Timeline: about 9years after "Not Fade Away" ("Angel"), 10 after "Chosen" (BtVS)

Beta: Dave


Chapter Two

"Your son..." he said, looking at Faith.

If he didn't look in her eyes, he could swear she looked exactly as she did the last time he had seen her in LA, leaving the Hyperion hotel with Willow. If he looked in her eyes though, Wesley could see the mark of the nine long years. He turned his gaze to Spike in a wordless inquiry.

"No, mate. Vampires can't have children, remember?"

"There is a precedent," Wesley said, painfully aware that neither of them remembered Connor and the events surrounding his birth. The memories of that dark time brought forth a new wave of pain. He took the bottle of scotch and the file and stood up.

"Books," he demanded.

He followed Spike, unable to look at Faith again.

Half a bottle of scotch and a dozen books later, Wes decided he needed a break. He took off his glasses and began to pace the floor, a little unsteadily. Eventually, Spike put down the comic book he was reading and looked at him.

"Who is the father?"

"Donno," Spike answered.

"The subject never came up in nine years?"

"It came up. Never got an answer. Mind you, I knew better than to push it."

"Tell me what you know," Wesley said.

"She was about five months pregnant when we met. And alone."

"So you stuck around for all these years... You did always have a weakness for Slayers."

"Wouldn't call is a weakness. I only killed two."

"And had sex with another two."

"No. Not with Faith."

"Knowing the two of you, I find that difficult to believe."

Wesley went back to the desk to pour himself another drink.

"You should slow down with the fire-water, mate. Faith doesn't like it."

Wesley snorted derisively, and took another swig of whiskey.

"I know you've lost nine years, but you should try to get yourself together. This isn't the well-oiled machine good ol' Wolfram and Hart used to be. We can't look after you if you stay in crazy mode."

"Fred died last week. Illyria was beaten to a pulp yesterday. I may never be able to get it together!"

"Try. We didn’t bring you back because we needed another problem," Spike said, unwilling to accept the other man's pain.

Wesley didn't have enough energy to reply. He took another gulp of scotch, willing himself to get drunk faster.

"I'm gonna bring you dinner here. The girls shouldn't see you like this."

Spike closed the door carefully behind him. Wesley half expected to hear the key turn in the lock. It didn't. They were still counting on his common sense. He went back to the books and the bottle waiting for him on the desk.

When the door opened again, twenty minutes later, it was Faith, not Spike, bringing him dinner.

"Put it over there, please," he said pointing at the coffee table by the couch, where Spike had left his comic book.

She put the tray squarely in front of him. Wesley gathered the papers hurriedly and stacked them away from the food.

"Thank you," he said.

She was still there. He looked up expecting her to leave soon.

"You've been through a lot. Recently, for you. I'm going to give you time to adjust, but the drinking stops tonight."

"You know what? I didn't ask you to bring me back. I'm going to help you because I have nothing else to do, but don't start thinking I owe you anything. You either take what I can offer, or you can always strap me to a chair again."

The Faith he had known would've reacted. Anger. Guilt. Something.

"Grieve all you want. Just don't drink anymore," she said levelly.

He was already too wound up to resist provoking her.

"Fuck off."

"Also, you will mind your language," she updated the house rules for him.

"You must be joking. You have the foulest mouth I ever…"

"Things change," she interrupted him.

"Oh, yes. Forgot all about that. You're reformed now. Calm and disciplined. You sure house-trained that pup of yours."

The next thing he knew, the desk was crushing him against the wall. Faith leaned over the desk she had just pushed violently into him.

"If you don't behave, I'll be the one to put you down like a rabid dog. Even through your alcoholic stupor you should be able to see that I mean it."

An almost wistful look passed over Wesley's face. He found the oblivion of death a sweet alternative to the all consuming pain. The brown eyes burning into his were not Fred's. He wished they were. If wishes were horses... He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Faith was gone. Spike was lounging casually on the couch, eyeing Wesley with a self satisfied grin.

"What?" Wesley growled.

"Nothing. It's just good to be right."

Wesley pushed the desk away with difficulty. He coughed when he tried to take a deep breath.

"What are you talking about?"

"You and Faith. She's been apathetic for months, and here you come, not ten minutes back, and she's on fire again."

"You brought me back to make her angry?"

"We brought you back for a lot of reasons. Getting her angry again was mine."

"I thought you cared about her."

"That I do, Percy-boy. I try to keep her alive and sane. For that, I need her to get her anger back. And from what I know, you're the one guy who managed to push her buttons. I know what you did to her during those dark L.A. days."

Wesley could hear the change of tone in the last words. The way he had treated Faith during the days of the Beast was just another coat of darkness over his soul.

"You know, I'm really tired right now. If there was a threat somewhere in that exposition, could we have it out at some later time?"

"Like, say, when you're sober?"

"Yes. Like then."

Spike nodded, and left.

~~~~

Later that evening

Wesley was asleep at his the desk when a particularly vivid nightmare woke him up. He let the strange new reality seep into him. Somehow, he felt he was still inside a horrible dream. He realized he was sobering up, and decided to remedy the unfortunate occurrence. He found his way hesitantly downstairs.

The kitchen was mercifully empty. He foraged sloppily through the cupboards, but could not find any strong liquor. He sighed and went to the fridge. Spike had always seemed willing to live without blood rather than without beer. He took a bottle out of a six-pack. When he closed the fridge, he saw Faith leaning against the doorframe. He couldn't help but smile. He had seen and imagined Faith in many ways – screaming in pain had been among his favorites when he still had nightmares about the torture she had inflicted on him - but he had never ever imagined her looking at him with a disappointed parental expression.

"Lighten up, Faith!" he said, slurring the words.

He saw her reaction even in the dim moonlight that came through the kitchen window. He wondered how much he sounded like her alcoholic mother. He could see her body stiffening in an attempt to contain the tidal wave of rage that was rising inside her. He had mastered self discipline when he was a boy – Alex's age, a little voice whispered the comparison in his mind. He had had years of practice under the harsh scrutiny of his father and his teachers to make sure he could conceal such tell-tale signs of his reactions.

"Feeling a bit homicidal, are you?" he taunted.

"Don't make me hurt you."

At least she could keep her voice level; he appreciated her performance.

"Why not? You seemed to enjoy it so last time."

"We both know you can provoke me. I'm asking you not to."

This time pain and weariness came through in her voice and reached him.

"You should not have brought me back," he whispered dejectedly.

He put the beer on the table and shuffled out of the room.


~~~

To be continued…