TITLE: Who I Am (1/1)
AUTHOR: Kylia (email@example.com)
DISCLAIMER: Nobody belongs to me, unfortunately. They belong to Joss &
Mutant Enemy, and a few other people I don't know.
SPOILERS: AtS season 2, specifically 'Belonging'
SUMMARY: Wes thinks;
DISTRIBUTION: My site, list archives, anyone else, ask, and you shall
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Just something that came to me after watching that scene in
'Belonging', again :) Wes' POV
DEDICATION: To Liz, and anyone who loves Wes as much as I do.
This is just some miniscule thing I threw together after watching *that*
scene at the beginning of 'Belonging'. My first attempt at this pairing,
and its not all that noteworthy. *g*
I sat there listening to him, talk to me, berate me about my failures, both
past and immanent, and I couldn't summon the courage to say anything. I
couldn't come up with the words to tell him he was wrong, to tell him I wasn
't a failure, and that I hadn't failed before, and I wouldn't fail now.
What does that make me? Does that make me a bigger coward than even I had
thought? Does that make me polite, or just weak? And does it even matter?
He's home, in England living his nice life, surrounded by all of the things
he believes are important, but aren't really. His books which have detailed
accounts of the evil I face everyday, but don't mean a damn thing in the
face of reality.
I should be happy. I really should. Despite the fact that he isn't proud
of me, has never been, and probably will never be proud of *me*. I should
be proud of myself. I'm doing what I want to do, what I've chosen to do,
something that helps people, really helps them.
But I can't help but think that I'm fooling myself.
I didn't lie when I told him that I was put in charge. But does it mean as
much as when its by default, or not by a conscious choice?
Angel walked out, made his decisions. Decisions he has to pay for now. So
now instead of me working for him, he is working for me. But do I deserve
this job? Could I do this job better than he did? Can I do it better than
I don't know. I'm not sure how much better I will be at this job than
anyone else. Yet, Cordelia and Charles felt comfortable leaving me in
charge. What exactly does that say? That I am capable of their trust, or
that they have simply misplaced it.
I can still hear the tone in my father's voice, and it was like I was ten
years old again. That condescending tone filled with shame and
disappointment. The same tone he used when he found out the Council let me
Suddenly I know that nothing I do, nothing I say will make him *see* me. He'll
never see past my failures. He'll never look for who I really am, and
can I blame him?
Do *I* even want to know me? Would anybody if they had a choice?
"Talking to someone?"
I look up at the sound of the familiar voice. Charles is standing in the
doorway to the office.
"Yes. My father." I tell him, hoping to sound as though it hasn't been the
depressing event of the season.
"English Senior? How is he?" Charles asks as he steps further into the
"Well. It's his birthday." I answer, trying to keep my voice at some
"And?" Charles asks raising an eyebrow.
"And what?" I look away from him and down to the papers in front of me.
"You said that already."
I look back up at my friend, unsure what else I'm supposed to say.
"What else did you tell him?"
I stand up quickly, not wanting to have this conversation. "We have work to
do." I move away from the desk and start to move past Charles, but he stops
me, a hand gently lying on my arm. I look at him, a question in my eyes.
"What else?" Charles asks quietly, his dark eyes boring into me, demanding
on honest answer.
"Nothing. I didn't tell him a damn thing!" I snap and I knew its not that
I'm angry at Charles but at myself, but I also know that he knows it to.
"If you didn't tell him... anything, what happened?" Charles asks
I sigh tiredly. "It's nothing, really." I tell him and lean back into the
Charles leans forward, his face mere inches from my own. "If it has you
this upset, its something." His lips are so close I can feel the air move
as he exhales.
"He was. disappointed." I admit, moving imperceptibly closer. "In me."
"He doesn't know you." Charles breathes the words out. "His loss."
Charles' words escape his lips just before those same lips cover my own. I
can feel his tongue moving inside my mouth, caressing my own, the warmth of
it, heating up all of those places inside that had chilled at the first
doubt my father had resurrected.
Charles pulls away from me and smiles slightly. I return the smile with an
honest one of my own. "Thanks."
His dark eyes bore into me silently telling me that thanks aren't necessary,
and that too is something that I knew.
Charles steps away from me and turns his attention to the desk. "You said
there's work. Do I get to kill something?"
I watch as he bends over the desk and rifles through the papers and move
back around the desk, content with some new knowledge that I seem to have
picked up long ago, but only now about confident enough to understand.
And I realize that I may not be the son my father wanted, or the watcher
that Faith needed, or any number of other things people had asked of me, but
I am who and what I am.
Wesley Windham-Pryce. Friend, fighter of evil, and lover. And for now,
that's enough, more than enough.