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applecameronTitle: Going On, Part II
Author: Apple Cameron, September 2004
Fandom: Angel, the series
Pairing: Angel, Wes.
Keywords: Wes Lives!
Spoilers: the series finale
Dedication: For the Versaphile Birthday Project 2004.
Not really standalone. Read "Going On", first.
He opened his eyes, and saw a familiar face.
"Hi." Willow Rosenberg. Her hair was white.
But then, these days, it seemed, every time he saw her, it was white. He remembered it red. He remembered her on the edge of child and adult, he remembered so many things. If he'd just been dead -- or near-dead -- what was going on in the battlefield?
"Is the battle over?"
"This one? Mostly."
They smiled at each other, sharing something that felt like a joke. You could only die so many times before it became passe. He didn't ask if they'd won.
"Thank you."
The first time she brought him back, it hadn't occurred to him to say that. Nor the second.
It got a smile, one of the genuine ones, which he rarely saw, since mostly they met on the field of battle. Thankfully, not as opponents. Willow was the lynchpin of a great many plans, his and Angel's. "You're welcome." She put her hands back on him. "Don't try to move yet," as he struggled for control over his limbs.
"Yeah, you've been mostly dead all day." Xander Harris plopped down on his knees, stirring up dust and ash. The two of them exchanged a glance over Wes's body. They were always together, when it mattered. Whither thou goest, so goest I. There are more to forms of love than mere bodies. The thought made something in his chest ache.
"We need to rock on out of here, kids, the main force is pulling back, and the demons look like they're already regrouping." His armor was splattered with ichor and blood. "Time to make for the rift and get back to Earth. Sun number two is about to rise."
"C'mon, bossguy." Corpsman, his nurse, bodyguard, Wes's very own dedicated slayer, her tatty Motley Crue t-shirt recently replaced with one featuring the Beatles, heaved him up and Wes found himself draped piggyback. His legs dangled ludicrously. "Don't laugh."
Xander was pulling off half his armor. "Right behind you." He touched Willow's hand. "Don't make us wait."
"I won't." With that, she rose up, slowly, into the air. Target and weapon, all at once. And so much more.
"Go," ordered Wes, seeing through her eyes for a moment, seeking the lay of the land. The bunker they'd assaulted was missing a wall now, but the borrowed brigade of the Salvation Army -- he called it that even in his head these days -- was pulling back evenly, without fuss. Faith had led the strike team to their real objective, she and Spike and Angel and ten of her Marines were now coming down a ridge to the west. Once full dawn hit, they'd be exposed on those rocks, but the treeline was closer with every step.
He calculated, thought loudly in Willow's direction, and she nodded without looking.
They went.
***
Spike and Angel arrived, holding Faith up between them and quarreling. Spike held a wooden statuette in one hand, that he tossed to Xander on sight. "Hold that for us, wouldja, pet? Her Mightiness here is a right handful."
"'m all right." Faith batted at various helping hands.
"Army?" Angel asked.
Wes nodded, sliding down from his mobile perch onto legs that didn't work. Corpsman held him up. The regulars were trotting into the clearing all around them. "Right on schedule."
"I love it when a plan comes together." That was Xander, turning the statue in his hands. "So, this is it?"
"Just don't let it touch the ground. Summons a big bad if you do." Spike. "Where's Red?"
Full dawn lit up their surroundings and the air a few feet away began to shimmer. A seam in the world parted, spreading into a gate, an interdimensional rift between Earth and three other worlds. Soon to be only two others, if the spell worked. When it worked. Willow's girlfriend Kennedy was at the back of the pack, but they could hear her. "Is the rift open? Move on through, people. We got wounded who need care."
Her brigade trotted into the clearing and across into what looked like nothingness peppered with the night sky of Earth. Several slayers were carrying fallen comrades. Only one looked like she might be dead. Near-dead. (Willow Rosenberg with white hair.) Kennedy herself stopped and waited, standing by Xander's shoulder, looking up at the sky, mouth slightly agape.
Wither thou goest.
Xander gripped Kennedy's arm. "There she is." Something in the sky was headed their way.
"Time to go." That was Angel, pushing Faith toward the rift.
"Forget it. If you're on this side of the thing, I'm on this side of the thing." She was on her own two feet, though.
"Colonel." Wes spoke. "Get your Marines through now."
Faith looked him in the eye and exhaled noisily. "Move it, girls. I'll be right there."
Her ten raiders moved through.
Then Willow was on the ground and all of them stepped together into the rift, Angel's hand on Wes's back, everyone wincing horribly, because Willow was speaking words it hurt to hear with human ears. She took the statuette from Xander's hands while they were between and it started to glow.
Something pushed on all of them.
Then they were on the other side. From nowhere, a voice still chanting. With a pop, Willow tumbled out of thin air onto her back, still holding the wooden statue. Its shape had changed.
Xander and Kennedy picked her up.
"Whew!" She stayed on her knees, moonlight playing with the color seeping back into her hair. "I think that did it." She handed the statue back to Spike. "Don't drop it. Just in case."
"Where are we?" Faith was holding her side. "Where'd we come out?"
Xander sniffed the air. "Kansas?"
"Nah." answered Spike drily, pulling out a package of cigarettes. "Not flat enough."
***
"Slow work, closing all these dimensional gates." Angel was fidgeting about the room.
"It's important. Every one seals off a power source, as well as protecting us in a more general sense from invasion." Wes scratched a note to himself on a pad. "And it's a mission the Army has no qualms about." He put the pencil down and rubbed at his eyes. "Good practice, solidifies our relationship, and keeps the enemy thinking we have all of their firepower, every time we go into battle. Whether we do not."
"Yeah." But Angel wasn't really listening.
Wes sat in his chair, not wanting to move. Corpsman, bless her, had tucked him into it a while ago, and he didn't feel like admitting just how rubbery his legs really were. He'd have to get up and go to bed at some point, though. Maybe he could just sleep in the chair. No, that wouldn't do.
Wes held out a hand and pushed down on the table.
Angel caught him as he wobbled, and steadied him with a hand. "Glad you're not dead."
Wes couldn't help but smile.
"Here." Angel pulled them together in one swift, smooth movement, taking all of Wes's weight against his own. Mouth to mouth, hip to hip, spirit to spirit.
It was a long time before Wes came up for air.
"Near-dead." He corrected.
"Yeah. Whatever."
They kissed again.
Author: Apple Cameron, September 2004
Fandom: Angel, the series
Pairing: Angel, Wes.
Keywords: Wes Lives!
Spoilers: the series finale
Dedication: For the Versaphile Birthday Project 2004.
Not really standalone. Read "Going On", first.
He opened his eyes, and saw a familiar face.
"Hi." Willow Rosenberg. Her hair was white.
But then, these days, it seemed, every time he saw her, it was white. He remembered it red. He remembered her on the edge of child and adult, he remembered so many things. If he'd just been dead -- or near-dead -- what was going on in the battlefield?
"Is the battle over?"
"This one? Mostly."
They smiled at each other, sharing something that felt like a joke. You could only die so many times before it became passe. He didn't ask if they'd won.
"Thank you."
The first time she brought him back, it hadn't occurred to him to say that. Nor the second.
It got a smile, one of the genuine ones, which he rarely saw, since mostly they met on the field of battle. Thankfully, not as opponents. Willow was the lynchpin of a great many plans, his and Angel's. "You're welcome." She put her hands back on him. "Don't try to move yet," as he struggled for control over his limbs.
"Yeah, you've been mostly dead all day." Xander Harris plopped down on his knees, stirring up dust and ash. The two of them exchanged a glance over Wes's body. They were always together, when it mattered. Whither thou goest, so goest I. There are more to forms of love than mere bodies. The thought made something in his chest ache.
"We need to rock on out of here, kids, the main force is pulling back, and the demons look like they're already regrouping." His armor was splattered with ichor and blood. "Time to make for the rift and get back to Earth. Sun number two is about to rise."
"C'mon, bossguy." Corpsman, his nurse, bodyguard, Wes's very own dedicated slayer, her tatty Motley Crue t-shirt recently replaced with one featuring the Beatles, heaved him up and Wes found himself draped piggyback. His legs dangled ludicrously. "Don't laugh."
Xander was pulling off half his armor. "Right behind you." He touched Willow's hand. "Don't make us wait."
"I won't." With that, she rose up, slowly, into the air. Target and weapon, all at once. And so much more.
"Go," ordered Wes, seeing through her eyes for a moment, seeking the lay of the land. The bunker they'd assaulted was missing a wall now, but the borrowed brigade of the Salvation Army -- he called it that even in his head these days -- was pulling back evenly, without fuss. Faith had led the strike team to their real objective, she and Spike and Angel and ten of her Marines were now coming down a ridge to the west. Once full dawn hit, they'd be exposed on those rocks, but the treeline was closer with every step.
He calculated, thought loudly in Willow's direction, and she nodded without looking.
They went.
***
Spike and Angel arrived, holding Faith up between them and quarreling. Spike held a wooden statuette in one hand, that he tossed to Xander on sight. "Hold that for us, wouldja, pet? Her Mightiness here is a right handful."
"'m all right." Faith batted at various helping hands.
"Army?" Angel asked.
Wes nodded, sliding down from his mobile perch onto legs that didn't work. Corpsman held him up. The regulars were trotting into the clearing all around them. "Right on schedule."
"I love it when a plan comes together." That was Xander, turning the statue in his hands. "So, this is it?"
"Just don't let it touch the ground. Summons a big bad if you do." Spike. "Where's Red?"
Full dawn lit up their surroundings and the air a few feet away began to shimmer. A seam in the world parted, spreading into a gate, an interdimensional rift between Earth and three other worlds. Soon to be only two others, if the spell worked. When it worked. Willow's girlfriend Kennedy was at the back of the pack, but they could hear her. "Is the rift open? Move on through, people. We got wounded who need care."
Her brigade trotted into the clearing and across into what looked like nothingness peppered with the night sky of Earth. Several slayers were carrying fallen comrades. Only one looked like she might be dead. Near-dead. (Willow Rosenberg with white hair.) Kennedy herself stopped and waited, standing by Xander's shoulder, looking up at the sky, mouth slightly agape.
Wither thou goest.
Xander gripped Kennedy's arm. "There she is." Something in the sky was headed their way.
"Time to go." That was Angel, pushing Faith toward the rift.
"Forget it. If you're on this side of the thing, I'm on this side of the thing." She was on her own two feet, though.
"Colonel." Wes spoke. "Get your Marines through now."
Faith looked him in the eye and exhaled noisily. "Move it, girls. I'll be right there."
Her ten raiders moved through.
Then Willow was on the ground and all of them stepped together into the rift, Angel's hand on Wes's back, everyone wincing horribly, because Willow was speaking words it hurt to hear with human ears. She took the statuette from Xander's hands while they were between and it started to glow.
Something pushed on all of them.
Then they were on the other side. From nowhere, a voice still chanting. With a pop, Willow tumbled out of thin air onto her back, still holding the wooden statue. Its shape had changed.
Xander and Kennedy picked her up.
"Whew!" She stayed on her knees, moonlight playing with the color seeping back into her hair. "I think that did it." She handed the statue back to Spike. "Don't drop it. Just in case."
"Where are we?" Faith was holding her side. "Where'd we come out?"
Xander sniffed the air. "Kansas?"
"Nah." answered Spike drily, pulling out a package of cigarettes. "Not flat enough."
***
"Slow work, closing all these dimensional gates." Angel was fidgeting about the room.
"It's important. Every one seals off a power source, as well as protecting us in a more general sense from invasion." Wes scratched a note to himself on a pad. "And it's a mission the Army has no qualms about." He put the pencil down and rubbed at his eyes. "Good practice, solidifies our relationship, and keeps the enemy thinking we have all of their firepower, every time we go into battle. Whether we do not."
"Yeah." But Angel wasn't really listening.
Wes sat in his chair, not wanting to move. Corpsman, bless her, had tucked him into it a while ago, and he didn't feel like admitting just how rubbery his legs really were. He'd have to get up and go to bed at some point, though. Maybe he could just sleep in the chair. No, that wouldn't do.
Wes held out a hand and pushed down on the table.
Angel caught him as he wobbled, and steadied him with a hand. "Glad you're not dead."
Wes couldn't help but smile.
"Here." Angel pulled them together in one swift, smooth movement, taking all of Wes's weight against his own. Mouth to mouth, hip to hip, spirit to spirit.
It was a long time before Wes came up for air.
"Near-dead." He corrected.
"Yeah. Whatever."
They kissed again.