The ice clinked in Wesley’s otherwise empty tumbler, and he frowned at it. He tried to remember finishing the drink, but he found he couldn’t. He also couldn’t remember how many times he’d refilled the glass—sometimes with straight alcohol, and sometimes adding a few ice cubes in a vain attempt to maintain some semblance of sobriety.
Wesley reached for the nearly empty bottle of whisky and emptied it into his glass. He leaned down to set the drained bottle next to several others that littered the floor next to the couch, and as he sat up again, the world swam in and out of focus.
He knew he was well past drunk, but not drunk enough to forget the feel of cold metal slicing open his throat; not so drunk he could forget the look of hatred in Angel’s eyes just before the pillow came down, nearly snuffing out what little life he had left in him. And he was still clear-headed enough to remember that he was alone—abandoned by the very people he was trying to save. A few more drinks and maybe the throbbing pain in his stitched throat would subside. A few more drinks and maybe he wouldn’t give a damn that everyone he knew and loved had shunned him.
A few more drinks…
Wesley closed his eyes, just for a moment, and was startled to find he was no longer alone when he opened them again. Sitting on the coffee table in front of him was a man he’d never seen before, but who seemed oddly familiar nonetheless. His dark hair and pale skin made his crystal-blue eyes seem brighter—they twinkled with good humour in the dim light of Wesley’s living room.
“Are you trying to break some sort of record?” asked the man, indicating the heap of discarded bottles. “’Cause the one I set in ‘93’s gonna be pretty tough to beat.”
The rational part of Wesley’s brain told him that anyone who materialized uninvited in the middle of his apartment was most likely there to rip out his entrails or eat his lungs. And even though imminent death seemed like a blessing at the moment, Wesley sensed that this man was not there to hurt him. There was a gentle quality in his lilting voice that, for some reason, reminded him of the sea and set him instantly at ease.
“Who are you?” Wesley asked, and was surprised at how strong his voice sounded—his throat no longer throbbed in pain.
“I guess you could say I’m a friend of a friend.”
Wesley laughed a dry, humourless laugh. “Then you must have the wrong place—you’re looking for someone who’s got friends.”
The man stood and wandered over to a cluster of framed photos on the wall. He looked over at Wesley and simply raised his eyebrows as if to say “Then who’re all these people?”
Wesley ground his teeth, his jaw clenched tight to hold back the anger boiling up inside him. “What d’you want?” he asked curtly.
“Well, I could go for a nice drink, but I see you’ve run out of pretty much everything.”
“I’m not in the mood for games,” said Wesley. “Either tell me why you’re here or get out.”
“Alright, I can see you’re not feeling all that sociable, so I’ll get right to the point. I’ve been watching you—watching all of you—and I’ve got to say you’ve made a right mess of it.”
“Great,” said Wesley. “Thanks for the pep talk. Now if you don’t mind I’ve got some serious being alone to get back to.”
“I’m not leaving,” said the stranger. “Not until you’ve made your decision. I came here as your guide, hoping to sway you in the right direction. Of course, ultimately, the decision is yours.”
Wesley got up and went to the door. He opened it and gestured for the man to leave: “Then I choose for you to get out of my apartment,” he said.
The man sighed and wandered over to the door. But instead of going through it, he gently closed it and turned to face Wesley. His sad blue eyes seemed to look right into his soul.
“Will you at least give me a chance to explain?” the man asked.
Despite himself, Wesley nodded.
“Good. Then let me start from the beginning. We’ve never met, but I think you know who I am.”
Wesley was about to say he had no idea, when it suddenly occurred to him who it was. He’d heard Cordy and Angel talk about him…he’d even seen pictures. He was surprised he hadn’t recognised him right away. Of course, the fact that the man was dead kind of knocked him down on the list of people you’d expect to drop by.
“You’re Doyle,” said Wesley, matter-of-factly.
“Right first time! So you probably already figured out why I’m here,” said Doyle with a bright smile.
Wesley refused to return it; “Let me guess—you’ve come back from the grave so you could tell me all the things I’ve done wrong? Or maybe you think you could have done better?” Bitterness saturated every word, and Doyle crossed his arms and frowned. It was going to be harder than he thought.
“If you really must know, if I’d been in your position I’d’ve done things much differently. And Angel and Connor would be dead right now because of it.”
“There’s a very good chance Connor is dead,” said Wesley.
“He’s not. Trust me,” said Doyle. “Things are about to get real hairy for our mutual friends, and Connor is a big part of it. Whether you choose to believe it or not, your actions saved their lives, and as a result, there’s going to be hell to pay—literally.”
“So…if I didn’t screw up, then why are you here?” asked Wesley.
“Oh, you screwed up alright,” said Doyle. “You’ve gone and drunk yourself into oblivion, in the truest sense of the word. I’ve been with you since I died. The only reason you can see me now is that you’re dead yourself.”
Wesley scoffed but looked back at the couch nonetheless. His lifeless body was slumped over the arm, a crust of dried saliva forming on his lips and chin. Wesley lifted his hand to his throat and felt for the stitches that were no longer there—they’d disappeared along with the pain.
“I’m dead,” he said woodenly.
“That’s where the choice comes in,” said Doyle. “When I left this world I gave Cordelia a gift. It was also a bit of a curse, mind you—but on the whole it was a gift.
“I loved Cordelia more than life itself. I needed her to go on, even if it meant I couldn’t go with her. But I never really left; I stayed to keep an eye on her. And even though I never met you when I was alive, I’ve been watching you for so long that I feel like I’ve known you all my life. You’ve come to mean a lot to me, and…well, let’s just say I’d hate to see your life come to such a pointlessly bad end.
“I have one more gift to give—one last chance to really make a difference in the lives of those I love. But, like the gift I gave Cordelia, this gift is also a bit of a curse.”
“And what gift is that?” asked Wesley warily.
Doyle uncrossed his arms and took a step closer to Wesley.
“I’m offering the gift of a second chance,” Doyle said softly. “If you accept it, you’ll wake up with a mind-splitting hangover and a chance to pick up where you left off. If you decline, then you come with me and I’ll lead you to your final existence.”
“Why would I want to stay here?” Wesley asked bleakly.
“You wouldn’t. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t—and that’s the curse part,” said Doyle. “But no matter how hard it is to go back…no matter how much I’d love to have the pleasure of your company…you’re needed here. Angel and the others need you now more than ever before.”
“Ah—that’s where you’re wrong,” said Wesley. “I’m not needed. I’m not even wanted. If Angel came across my dead body right now, he’d chop off my head just to make sure I stayed dead.”
“Well, I’m not suggesting you go traipsing over to Good Guy Headquarters and try to bond over a cup of tea. It’ll take time, and it won’t be easy. And there’ll be times when you’ll wish you’d come with me…but if you can get through all that…”
“There’ll be Heaven on Earth and all the Angels will sing?” Wesley remarked sarcastically.
“Perhaps I wouldn’t go that far,” said Doyle. “But the world will be a damn site better if you decide to stay in it.”
Wesley cast his eyes towards the limp shell of his body and studied it. What he saw was a picture of pain—his internal torment externalised in the form of beard stubble and a general lack of hygiene. The thought of going back into that body and shouldering all that pain again was almost too much for him to bear.
“So…what’ll it be?” asked Doyle.
“I can’t do this alone,” Wesley replied quietly. “It was hard enough when I had Angel and the others…but now? I don’t think I can do it.” “You won’t be alone,” said Doyle, resting his hand on Wesley’s shoulder, his eyes latching on to Wesley’s. “You’ll never be alone. I’ll be here with you—you’re very own personal guardian.”
“Will I be able to see you? Or hear you?” asked Wesley.
“Not likely, no,” Doyle admitted and dropped his hand from Wesley’s shoulder. “But I’ll be able to see and hear you—you know…if you ever feel the need to vent.”
“Having a friend I can’t see or hear hardly seems like an enticement to stay.”
“I don’t suppose it does at that. I wish I could offer you more—I really do,” said Doyle. “But I’ll be here, I promise. And if I can, I’ll find a way to let you know it.” He paused a moment before adding: “I hate to pressure you, but we are working with a time limit here.”
There was a minute of absolute silence during which Wesley was sorely tempted to give in to his fear and leave the world saving to the living. Facing his life seemed even harder knowing that the one person who was offering him friendship and support would always be just out of reach.
In the end, however, Wesley couldn’t turn his back on his friends and his duty—not when Doyle had made it clear he was needed. His shoulders sagged as if already feeling the impending weight of his mortal burdens.
“Okay, I’ll stay,” said Wesley, resignedly. “What do I have to do?”
Doyle gave him a mischievous little smile. “Do you know how I gave Cordy her gift?” he asked.
“Hard to forget—she kept kissing everyone, trying to get rid… Oh,” said Wesley as he realised what Doyle was getting at. “Oh, I see.”
“With Cordy it was simple. I was able to pass the gift to her because of my feelings for her, and she was able to receive it because she felt the same way,” he explained. “With you it might be trickier—I’ve known you for some time, and my feelings for you are quite strong. But to you I’m just some dead guy you’ve only just met.”
“Does that mean it might not work?” Wesley asked, unsure if he was relieved or upset at the thought.
“It should work,” said Doyle. “All I ask is that you trust me and keep an open mind.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Wesley, tentatively drawing closer to Doyle.
They sized each other up for a moment before awkwardly placing their arms around each other. Wesley smiled a shy little smile that made Doyle want to hold him forever, and the world be damned.
“Sorry,” said Wesley. “I’m rather new at this.”
“It’s alright. Just relax. Close your eyes, if you think it’ll help.”
Wesley took one more look into Doyle’s impossibly blue eyes before closing his own. He felt Doyle’s hand brush softly against his cheek, then run through his hair before settling gently at the base of his neck. He felt a spark of excitement when the other man’s lips finally touched his own. Everything about the kiss was soft and sweet, with Doyle doing his best to make his caresses as unobtrusive as possible. But Wesley was still tense, and the longer the kiss lasted, the more anxious he became.
When they broke the kiss at last, Wesley opened his eyes and saw the disappointment in Doyle’s face. It wasn’t about saving the world—it was personal. It was about offering something with all of your heart and having it rejected. Wesley finally understood.
“It didn’t work,” said Doyle. “It should have…”
Wesley cut him short, grabbing him and pulling him into a deep, no-holds-barred kiss that was near desperate in its intensity.
Doyle felt an ache growing in his chest. It was an ache of longing; of knowing he’d never be able to touch this man again. And as Wesley abandoned himself to the kiss, shedding the fear and the loneliness to experience the pureness of the moment, Doyle felt the gift swelling up inside him.
As they broke apart for a second time, their foreheads pressed together and their fingers entwined, the gift passed between them, glowing an ethereal blue in the darkness of the room.
Wesley sputtered and coughed, raking a burning breath of air into his lungs. His throat felt raw and achy, and he’d never felt more nauseous in his life.
And there was no doubt he was alive.
Wesley slowly scanned the room, but Doyle was nowhere to be seen. He felt a twinge of panic at being left alone, and he fervently wished he could change his mind. Wesley got to his feet and the world spun sickeningly around him. He took a couple of precarious steps, but he had no sense of balance and he fell headlong into the coffee table.
Or, at least he should have.
He saw the corner of the coffee table looming towards his head as if in slow motion, but somehow he managed to land safely on the soft carpet. “Be more careful, would ya?” came a familiar voice from behind him. Wesley rolled over and saw Doyle crouched next to him on the floor, his eyes sparkling as if he’d been crying.
“Doyle,” Wesley croaked through his raw throat. “How?”
“I told you I was your special guardian. You keep going around endangering your life like that and I’m gonna have my work cut out for me. You aren’t alone. Remember that,” said Doyle. And as his image faded from view, Wesley smiled for the first time in a long time.
He wasn’t alone. It may not be much, but it was enough.
END