AN: This is a story of Wesley and Papa Smurf (you’ll understand the reference later). My mother and I were distraught over the callousness of Wes’ death, and we decided to change a few things. One: he never meant to die, therefore didn’t. Two: Ilyria didn’t kill Fred so much as Fred finally became Ilyria. Three: Fred’s parents knew and expected it to happen. Four: Altyron is a bad ass.

Home Again

L.A. May, 2004
The Hyperion

Andrew hated waiting. He’d spent the better part of last year tied to a chair waiting to die, and any time he waited, that is what it felt like: imprisoned, expecting the proverbial ax to fall and end his miserable existence. Not that his existence was miserable any more. He loved what he did now. He was action guy. Well, not exactly action action guy, but he got to plan, to develop and stake out action. He was the strategist. Well, that wasn’t the case either. Buffy and Faith were the strategists, but he helped. With the baking of pastries for said strategy planning meetings. Oh hell. He may as well admit it. His nose was kept in the books because that is what he was good at. He could research demons till the cows came home, and besides, he liked hangin out with Mr. Giles. Although the man could be quite scary sometimes.

Andrew sighed. Scary boss man aside, Andrew liked being a member of the new Watcher’s Council. But again, the worst thing about it was, as always, the waiting. And that is what he did now. He had watched as Buffy, Faith, Giles, and the rest of the crew ran off to battle whatever evil Angel and his law firm had brought into the world. It helped, though, that Angel had finally wised up. That the dark knight had willingly cast his lot in with the minions of evil in order to head up their evil conglomerate on earth had been a source of great concern for Buffy and her friends. No one could wrap their head around it properly.

The answer had come through Willow. A great magical upheaval had occurred a couple of weeks ago, and it had something to do with altered realities being set right again. Willow had caught glimpses of what had been changed and relayed that information to Buffy. Angel had had a son, and in order to rescue the boy from a life of darkness and pain, he made it all go away. The price for such a deed? To become puppets for Wolfram and Hart. It appeared that there was something in the world that Angel would indeed sacrifice everything for, and for Buffy to finally understand that it wasn’t her? Well, let’s just say that there had been a few days where Slayer number 1 had not been so pleasant.

Andrew shuddered at the memory, and paced around the lobby of the hotel. The gang had been gone for two solid hours now, and he was really worried. His footfalls on the ancient marble floors disguised the opening of the doors, but when he heard the sounds of his friends coming in, he flew up the stairs to meet them.

“Oh, thank god you guys are alright! I’ve been beside myself with worry!”

Buffy and Faith walked in first, followed by Willow, Robin and the rest of the young slayers, some of them wounded. “Andrew,” Buffy addressed the young man, “we need suture kits, and plenty of bandages. Also, some antiseptic would be good for the girls. No telling what kinds of demon blood they got into or what kind of damage it can do. Lord knows, I ought to know about the effects of strange demon blood on a Slayer.”

“Right Buffy. I’ll get right on that.” Andrew continued to watch the entering crowd, looking for one person in particular. Not seeing him, he turned and headed into the offices of the hotel to get the stuff Buffy had asked for.

Angel, Spike, and Gunn walked in, or rather slumped in. Their bodies finally demonstrating the violence of the night in the curve of their shoulders, and the stiffness in their steps. Angel and Spike would be ship shape in no time, but Gunn knew if he didn’t lie down soon, something in his body would simply give out. His heart maybe, so he made a beeline for the closest available flat surface that wasn’t the floor. It ended up being the round bench in the middle of the lobby. He dropped his weapon before he sat down, then collapsed onto the soft velour furniture. “God, if I don’t see another demon ever, it will be too soon.”

His old gang followed him in, mocking him. “Don’t worry, Charlie, demons will be back to menacing this city before dawn tomorrow. We’ll cover it for ya.” Johnson sat next to Gunn. “But first? We gonna need some serious liquor to make these aches and pains go away, right?”

Gunn nodded. “Yeah, I hear ya.” But he made no effort to move. Johnson laughed again. “We’ll get it later, right?”

Ilyria came in alone. Her mood indistinguishable from any other moment in her tenure with Angel. She was just as impassive as ever. The only thing different about her was the light sparkle in her sky blue eyes. It seemed as though she knew a secret and was unwilling to share. Angel watched her walk across the lobby to stand watch over the wounded slayers. “I don’t know what to make of this development Spike. Ilyria seems, I don’t know, content now. She seems willing to accept that this is where she is supposed to be. It’s weird.”

“Yeah, mate. I know. One minute, she’s all “want to do more violence,” the next, the bird’s almost content to be here. Course, you know it started when Wes - I mean the big blue papa smurf popped out of nowhere and zapped those demons to God knows where.”

“Yeah. Don’t know what to make of that either.” Angel’s voice trailed off when the subject of their discussion entered the hotel lobby. He looked like Wes, acted like Wes, even sounded like him, but Angel was certain that this was just a trick. Like what happened with Ilyria when Fred’s parents came. Angel wasn’t buying that Wesley had simply made a choice and come back, housing another great godlike being. Not his Wesley, no way.

But Wes, or what looked like him, was laughing and talking with Giles like the old Wes would have done had circumstances been different in Sunnydale. It seemed that he and Giles had cleared some bad air between them, and were on their way to establishing some sort of working friendship. Angel looked over at Buffy who made her way over to him.

“Hmmm. Not like Giles to keep a secret from me, eh Angel? Oh wait, yeah it is. I don’t know about you, but I got the distinct impression that he knew exactly what was going on, and the way he is acting all chummy with, well, with someone what looks an awful lot like Wesley, leads me to believe that he knew all along.” She looked over at Giles and called out to him. “So, hey, Watcher O’ Mine? You gonna fill us in on what's going on, cuz, taking little steps into conclusions here, but you look like Mr. Knowledge Guy.”

Giles had the temerity to look sheepish at Buffy’s assessment. “Ah, yes. Well, I do know what has happened, and Wesley here is quite right. Ilyria is indeed early.” Giles looked at Angel. “And believe me when I say that this is Wesley. This is the same man you have known for 6 years. He just has a little extra something, and as much as I’d like to tell you what is going on - ”

“It isn’t your place, but Wes’.” Angel finished his statement.

Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose and stated simply, “Well, yes exactly.”

“Well, great. I can’t wait to hear this.” Angel’s voice dripped sarcasm and doubt, and he moved from his perch on the counter to walk over to where Wes had begun to talk to Ilyria.

Xander watched from the sidewalk as everyone walked into the hotel. He looked up at the huge old building and sighed. He couldn’t bring himself to enter and face everyone inside. He had seen her. Her. His girl. His stupid, literal, well meaning, beautiful girl. Finally. But it hadn’t been her. That bastard had stolen her face and had worn it in front of him. It just served to remind Xander that he hadn’t been able to save the one that mattered the most to him. He lowered his head and rubbed a tired, bloody hand over his face. He heard a sobbing breath and it took a moment to realize that it was his.

She had been gone a year. He knew it, felt it every day. Her absence like a permanent wound from the battle that long ago day at the high school. He continued to poke at the wound to keep it fresh. Remembering the times she had curled her delicate body around his in the night. How she had danced in her red negligee when Sweet had come to town. How she had cried so hard when he tried unsuccessfully to tell her why he couldn’t marry her. Her tears had burned a hole in his heart that day that had never healed. He still heard them in his dreams at night.

He remembered her comment about solace, and how she stood her ground at the Magic Box, chanting the counterspell to protect Andrew and Jonathan. And that even as a demon, she had fought to help Willow. He remembered her grief at losing her power a second time, thinking she was simply going to be killed. But instead, having to watch Halfrek go up in flames as punishment for her turning away from the vengeance life. He remembered going to her, hoping to be able to hold her and comfort her, but she wouldn’t let him. She said she needed to be on her own for once.

Finally her remembered how it felt to tell her he still loved her, and how it felt to be held within her again. The sweet warmth of her body enveloping his. She was home, and now she was gone. Her broken body lying somewhere at the bottom of a crater that used to be Sunnydale. It wasn’t fair. She was light, life, and beauty. She was his girl, goddammit. And she was gone. Forever. His heart hurt so bad, he thought about carving it out of his chest and handing it to whatever gods may be, if only he could have one more minute with her.

He shook his head, wiped his eye, and walked over to the garden he knew to be in the courtyard of the hotel. He sat down on the tiny bench there, and started talking. He didn’t know if she could hear him, but it was about time he told her all the things he needed. A year is just too long to keep stuff trapped inside. He had to let it out.

“Ahn,” he whispered. “I know you are probably sitting up there right now, having a latte with Cordy. Or what passes for a latte in heaven. Hey Cordy.” He waved at the night sky. “Anya. I miss you. So bad. Sometimes so much I don’t know what to do with myself. I try to stay occupied. It keeps me from becoming the one-eyed maudlin guy. But you should know it doesn’t work.”

He took a shaky breath, listening as it hiccuped in his lungs, as though trying to keep from becoming a real sob. “Why did you do it? Why did you stand in the way? I mean for Christ’s sake, Anya. It was Andrew!! No one believed he would make it out alive, not even him. He told me you gave your life to save his. What are you? An idiot? I needed you, and you went away, for him.” He dashed the tears from his face. “I know, I know. It is what we do. We lay down our lives everyday for everyone. Even those we know deserve to die. I want you to know that Andrew is always talking about how unworthy he was that you would lay down yours for his. But you don’t get off that easy from me.”

He stood up again and walked around the garden, touching leaves that looked way past their prime, and inhaling the long dead scent of flowers that ceased to bloom months ago. “You were always mine Anya. I never stopped loving you, even when I realized that I didn’t love me. I never stopped caring about you, hoping for the best for you and wishing beyond all sanity that I was it. You don’t know it, but I would have traded my soul to be what you wanted and needed. I loved you, love you that much.”

He sat down on the bench again, having circled the garden completely. Just then, a small animal made its way into the garden. It watched him with cautious eyes, then, apparently deciding that Xander posed no threat to its existence, it hopped over to where he sat. Sniffing the air quickly, its pink nose twitching in the night air, the rabbit at Xander’s feet suddenly leapt up onto the garden bench. It curled its white furry body into Xander’s thigh, inching as close as possible to the human warmth.

“Well hey there little fella.” Xander ran a cautious hand over the rabbit’s fur. When the animal preened and moved into his hand, Xander felt a little strange sensation. He kept petting the little furball, and it kept rubbing into his hand. When the creature looked up into his face, Xander drew an audible breath. He was no silly man, well he was, but not about weird stuff, and he had seen his fair share of weirdness living on the Hellmouth and helping Buffy in the good fight against all manners of evil. Weird stuff was his milieu. Hey, wouldn’t Willow be proud of his thinking of milieu? But the more he looked at this rabbit, the more he realized that this was no ordinary rabbit.

When the creature crawled into his lap, and nuzzled his belly, he laughed. “Oh, Anya. Trust you to come back contrary.” He tossed aside his caution and picked up the rabbit, holding it at eye level. “You know, you hated rabbits, so I don’t understand all this - ” Suddenly he got a flash of something. Someone who looked like Anya, but dressed in really old clothes, holding two bunnies. The woman cuddled them closely, and kissed the creatures on their heads, then she spoke in some foreign language to them, smiling.

“Oh, I get it. The phobia was something that came with the demon, not something the human Anya would have had. You had to rid yourself of human entanglements, and instead of just giving up on bunnies, you had a phobia.” He grinned at the rabbit in his hands. “That makes so much sense that’s not, it’s funny.” He nuzzled the rabbit’s neck, and kissed its head, like he had seen the woman in the vision do. “I miss you, I love you. I wish you were here again, but I’m glad you’re not. I hope you are happy where you are, and that you can keep watch over all of us. Lord knows we need the watching and concern.” He hugged the rabbit one last time, before putting it down and watching it hop away. “Good bye Ahn. Take care of you.”

With those last words, and one more quick wipe at his eyes, Xander walked over to the Hyperion doors and walked in.

Andrew had returned from the kitchen with the needed bandages and creams for the wounded slayers, and was turning to get some water for some of the less injured girls when the door opened quietly. He watched as Xander made his way inside, avoiding the pockets of conversation and moving over to a corner of the room where there was no one. He stood and looked out the window into the night sky. Andrew fetched the girls their water, then walked over to where Xander was.

Quietly, hoping not to disturb the man’s solitude, Andrew stood at Xander’s shoulder and cleared his throat. Xander turned, a sad smile falling from his mouth.

“Hey Andrew. Looks like everybody made it back in one piece, if just a little worse for wear.”

Andrew looked back over the lobby at all the people in it. “Yeah. Most look to be alright, Xan. I was waiting for you, though. I notice you didn’t come in with the rest. What’s up, Yoda?”

Xander sighed. “I saw her.” He shook his head. “Well not her, exactly, but it wore her face for a minute or two, and I guess I freaked.” Andrew looked confused. “Saw who? What wore whose - ”

“Anya. The first wore Anya’s face. It threw me. Boy, tossed me right over, is what it did. It has never really hit me you know?” Once he started talking, to Andrew whom he knew would understand, it was like Xander couldn’t stop. “I mean, I knew she was dead, knew what you told me that day was true. That she had died to save you, but I never saw her body. I never had to reconcile it in my head. There was always this foolish hope that she would come back to me, like Buffy had twice before. But the First wearing her face. God, Andrew it was like a punch in the gut. Like she died all over again, and I still couldn’t save her. It hurt so much.” He broke off.

Andrew walked up closer to him and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I get it. Really I do. It was the way I felt when Buffy held me over the seal and made me cry - made me fix the seal. I had killed Jonathan, but it wasn’t real. He kept coming back, talking to me, making me want to believe that I had no part in his death. But it was real, and I had to face it before I could seek my redemption.” Andrew’s voice held a false wisdom that always grated on Xander’s nerves, but he understood what the young man was trying to say. Xander needed to move on, and in order to do that he had to face what happened to Anya.

“Well, guy, I’d say you achieved some measure of redemption, right?” At Andrew’s nod, Xander continued. “But Anya will never be with me again. I’ll never feel her in the night, never listen to her take some off hand comment too literally. I’ll never hear her tell the truth again, even when no one wants to hear it but everyone needs to.” Andrew watched as a single tear found its way down Xander’s right cheek. “She’s gone, and I’m never going to have her back, and it hurts, Andrew.”

“I know.”

Silence fell as the two men watched the night sky through the panes of the window.

Angel stood in front of Wes, his arms folded over his chest. “So. You gonna explain what the hell is going on, Wesley, or do I just kill what ever it is you are now and be done with it all?”

Wesley looked at Ilyria, who had stopped talking to him when Angel came up to them. “Well, Ilyria, it seems we shall have to finish this conversation another time. I appear to have a prior engagement.” He grinned and stood to face Angel. “Why yes, Angel. I do believe it is now that time. Why don’t you call everyone over, so I won’t have to repeat myself several times?”

Angel indicated to everyone in the lobby to join them. “Ok, Wes, we’re all ears, now.”

“Ah, yes well, then. I suppose you want me to start at the beginning?”

“That is usually as good a place as any.”

“Ok.” Wesley took a deep breath. “Well, as you know, I planned on kidnapping Connor. I had him, was leaving, had already beaten Lorne and was leaving. Then, as you already know, Justine had to make her appearance. She slit my throat, took the baby and left. So because of me you lost your son. But that is not the issue at this moment.” He looked stricken. “Um, that is not to say, I mean. I never intended to minimize your - ”

Angel sighed, exasperated, “It’s ok. Go on with this new story." His tone dropped to menacing. "Please.”

“Ok. Well, there I was lying bleeding on the grass.” He looked curiously at Angel. “Didn’t you ever wonder how I didn’t die? I mean, my god all my blood had been spilled out onto the grass. Yes, Charles and Fred happened up at just the right moment, but even by then, I had lost so much blood.” He saw Angel’s frown at this new information.

Angel had known Wes had his throat cut. That was why he had been in the hospital. But he never knew it had been so severe. He thought Gunn and Fred had found him just after it had happened. To hear this news and see it in his mind’s eye, there was no doubt in his mind that Wes should have been dead that night. Angel shouldn’t have been able to get into a hospital room to smother him because Wes should have been in the morgue.

Wes watched the play of emotions on the vampire’s face. He nodded. “Right, yes. By all rights and purposes, I should have died. But I didn’t. That was the first night I felt him. He kept me alive, whispered in my mind’s ear that he would always be with me, if I just didn’t die. Then he proceeded to keep me alive. This presence manifested itself in many ways. I was less cautious, less afraid. It allowed me to continue to work, fighting evil, even though I no longer had Charles, Fred and you to help me. I was stronger, faster, less intimidated. Or did that escape your notice as well?”

Angel shook his head negative. “No Wes, I noticed quite a few things. I noticed that you didn’t seem to care about anything, including yourself any more. You slept with Lilah for God’s sake!”

“Yes, I did. And came to love her as well. But it didn’t mean I had lost myself. I just realized that things for me were no longer black and white. I found Justine, after she and Connor sank you to the bottom of the ocean. I held her captive in my closet, in a tiny cage until she finally told me where you were. The old me would never have done that. But Altyron helped me. He taught me more about myself than I thought I’d ever learn. Do you remember the boat ride back, Angel?”

Angel refused to acknowledge him.

“How I fed you? Pricked my own arm and fed you back to sanity and strength? You bled me dry, almost. I almost couldn’t walk, couldn’t carry you back to the hotel, but I did. It was because of him. He needed me to be whole.” He looked over at Giles, who smiled grimly.

“You know, Giles, it would have been nice to get a head’s up, as I'm sure you're aware. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me that this was where my life was leading me.”

Giles spoke in self defense. “Would you have believed me? No, I don’t think so, besides the prophecy I ran across explicitly stated that you had to make the choice yourself. My telling you would have unduly influenced your decision, therefore making the situation impossible. So don’t yell at me, young man. I’m still your elder.” The last was said with a self-deprecating grin.

“Right. Sir,” Wesley mocked him jokingly. “Anyway. There we were, Altyron and I sharing this body, relatively speaking. I mean, I was still absolutely me, but he had poked through, twice, to save me from myself.”

Angel looked ready to implode. “Ok, I get all this, it’s a history lesson so to speak. But what about now? How the hell did he completely take you over, Wes? I mean, the blue hair, cobalt eyes, S&M leather? What the hell is up with that?”

Wes laughed. “S&M leather? Ooo, you must take a picture and let me see that. That has got to be hot. But I am coming to that. There are some things that are missing. Your memory spell to protect Connor comes to mind. Altyron was helping me, aiding me, but not taking over, then your memory spell that pushed any and all remembrances of Connor out of our minds. It also repressed Altyron who had shown up only after the events pertaining to Connor. Without the reality of the slit throat, I didn’t need him any more, and he was forced out. Then I did the remembering spell. Or broke the original spell.

“The rest you already know. At least until I made the choice. You see, I was dying again. Ilyria was there, and she pretended to be Fred again for me. I think she liked me you see? I had no idea how much she really knew. I lay there, listening to my Fred talk to me, then I remember dying. Sort of. I am not sure how all this worked, but I’ll tell you what happened. I met Altyron again. He made me this deal. He knew I was dying. He also knew that Wolf, Ram, and Hart were coming. That you had indeed dealt them a crushing blow. He offered to share this body with him. You would have lost; L.A., even the world, would have been destroyed.

“He told me that I wouldn’t die, not even a little. Just that he and I would share the body, much like your soul and demon share your body, I suppose. So there was this spell, incantation, what have you. And I woke up. I remembered the plan to meet in the alley, and I left. I climbed up onto the rooftops, watched the battle, and felt Altyron come into me.

“I like him Angel, and I think you will too, when you get to know him. He is a god, or a godlike being, and as such has an ambivalence about him that is unsettling, but he is a stickler for fairness and justice. I think that is why he intervened, or allowed me to persuade him to intervene.”

“So, this Altyron is a good guy? Or what?” This from the previously silent Buffy.

“No. He just is.” Wesley chuckled again. “He likes you Buffy. You exasperate him, but you are funny, and you try to understand the world around you. He finds you admirable. And he respects your power.”

“Well, that’s good to know. The last god I ran across just wanted to smack me down to get my key. That psycho bitch.”

Wes turned to Ilyria. “He’s missed you terribly, Ilyria.”

“Well. He needs to reveal himself to me and demonstrate his affections himself, Wesley.” Ilyria looked dubious. “But he is a fickle god and as such, I doubt he will.”

“Ilyria?” Wes inquired. At her acknowledgment, he continued. “Thank you for being Fred, for allowing her to surface and keep me company as I died, or rather didn’t die. But you do know that the incantation must be said? I discovered why you had to have your powers stripped and it all has to do with timing and permission. Fred had no idea you were coming, and therefore couldn’t do the incantation to invite you in. And while doing so now is sort of like closing the barn door after the horses have escaped, it would help to allow Fred to complete the ritual of joining. I have it on good authority that it will restore your powers.”

At this, Spike spoke up. “What? You mean Fred could have been spared the sickness, the death? We wouldn’t have had to actually lose her?”

“Exactly. The violence with which Ilyria took Fred over would have been unnecessary had Ilyria simply waited. The ritual was to begin within the next couple of weeks. Her parents were coming to see to it. But by the time they arrived, Ilyria had already taken her. Remember, Spike, I was there. I watched Fred die. I heard her begging to stay, begging me to keep her here, asking why she was being punished. I held her tiny body in my arms and listened to her body breathe its last breath. If I could have saved her I would have. In less than a heartbeat.” Spike's eyes widened in renewed sadness and anger at the explicit description of Fred's final moments.

Wes wathed the vampire's face morph with the different emotions. He had intimate knowledge of the kind of grief Spike was feeling. He closed his eyes and turned back to Ilyria. “So? Are you willing to perform the ritual?”

Ilyria had known that some sort of reckoning would come about her untimely re-emergence into this world. She pretended to mull the inquiry over. “I suppose it would be gratifying to have my full powers restored. I have missed walking through time.” She nodded her acquiescence. “I’ll allow the shell - I am sorry - Fred to perform the ritual of joining.

“Good. Things will be much better then. I promise.” Wes smiled at everyone, then his eyes retreated, turning cobalt again. The soft brown-black of his hair crisping into the blue black of Altyron. His clothes transforming again to the blue and black second-skin leather. The creature before them sighed. Then he spoke, his voice a soft thunder of sound, washing into the lobby like waves on the rocky shores of northern California.

“I hope that you have all understood what the Wesley was telling you. I look forward to learning more about this world, and about you. I must apologize for the way we have met, but circumstances being what they are here, it was unavoidable. You will find I am not so smug as my colleague Ilyria,” his voice lightened at the mention of her name, and he turned a fond smile in her direction, “and I have infinitely more patience. Of course that is a direct result of the differences in our residences over the last several millennia. I was not buried in a hole in the world, but have been in relatively luxurious accommodations.” He grinned wickedly. “This tends to lend itself to a more tolerant nature, you understand.”

Giles laughed, and even Angel, having suffered all manner of torture in hell, chuckled. Giles walked forward, extending a hand in Altyron’s direction. “Hello, Altyron, welcome to this plane of existence. I have read much about you over the last year. Since I heard the fate that befell young Miss Burkle here with Angel, I have been eager to make your acquaintance.”

Altyron accepted the proffered hand, nodding his acceptance of Giles’ greeting. “Watcher, I have been keeping an eye on you and your slayers here for a while now. I am very impressed with the work you have done concerning the young Buffy.” He turned to Buffy, drawing her back into the conversation. “Your plan last year, and the implementation of it was brilliant. I commend you on an inspiring display of power and prowess. I have seen millennia pass and millions of Slayers come and go, but none have matched you.” Buffy beamed under the praise, but his next words stopped her grin in its tracks. “Except perhaps the one you call Faith. She is coming in at a close second, these days. Soon will overtake you, I wonder?” He laughed as Buffy turned a speculative eye toward Faith.

He searched the room, scanning faces in search of one particular. Then his eyes settled on a quiet corner, where two men still stared into the night sky. His smile faded as he watched Xander and Andrew share in the grief that this night had refreshed. He excused himself from the crowd and walked over to them. He met Andrew’s eyes, and in silent communication requested to speak to Xander in private. Andrew nodded and left the two alone. Altyron laid a gentle, yet strong hand on Xander’s shoulder. Xander turned to face him.

Altyron spoke. “I understand how difficult tonight was for you. To see her face again and know she was truly dead. It must have been terrible for you. But you must know what I said was true. Anyanka died a champion. She is one of a precious few demons who discover the joys and sorrows of humanity. The responsibilities and repercussions. She chose it again and defended it with great honor. She holds a place among the hallowed because of this. Do not weep for her.”

Xander looked resigned. “I don’t need some ancient god-like being to tell me what Anya was. I know. I knew it then, I know it now. It still doesn’t make it ok that she is gone. It never will. I’ll always miss her, and she was always a champion to me. So thanks but - and no disrespect intended here, guy - no thanks. I’ll mourn for her if I so choose. And I’ll continue to live without her. It will get easier, and finally the day will come that I won’t remember her face, and I’ll mourn her all over again. But that is how we humans do it.” He looked Altyron in the face, “Thank you for your words, and the attempt. But give me my grief. It keeps me alive.” With that he turned and walked away, out of the lobby and up the stairs to the room he had chosen the night before.