”And I heard a voice from above that said, ’Smile and be happy, because it could be worse.’ And I smiled and was happy, and it became worse.”
--unknown
”I’ve still got an hour and a half before I got to leave for work,” Doyle informed Wesley when they had all gotten their cuts and abrasions attended to.
”Do you now?” There was no mistaking Doyle’s intentions.
”And condoms in my back pocket.”
”Ah. And lubricant.”
Doyle grimaced. ”Afraid not. But there’s got to be something in the fridge.”
”There’s got to be,” Wesley agreed. He knew what Doyle was thinking, but he had other plans, and he intended to see them through as well. ”I believe butter would be sufficient?”
”There’s butter?” Doyle lit up, and his steps became rushed as he approached the kitchen. ”You could have told me.”
”I believe I just did,” Wesley replied. His legs were longer than Doyle’s, but he still found himself failing to keep up pace with him. When he reached the kitchen, Doyle was already there, taking the box of butter from the refrigerator.
”Now this is what I call helpful,” Doyle said to the box. He reached out and put an arm around Wesley almost absentmindedly. ”Just a bit of melting, and we’ll be ready to go.”
”Actually, I was thinking...” Wesley started, and then interrupted himself as Gunn entered the kitchen.
”What are you doing with the butter?” he asked, then seemed to regret the question. ”Forget it.”
”We’re just preparing ourselves for future battles,” Doyle said with an innocent face, and that really made Gunn look as if he wanted out of there as quickly as possible.
”Huh. I’ll be guarding these floors, but if you want to take a piece off my hands, say 212, I’d appreciate it.”
”Thank you,” Wesley said, surprised by Gunn’s change in attitude. 212 was a corner suite and thus a perfect place for privacy. It was still partly furnished, and although there were no sheets in the old bed he was certain it was soft enough to be comfortable. He gave a surprised grin, but Gunn just waved it away with a mutter and left the kitchen. And Doyle, well Doyle obviously didn’t know what the hell was going on.
”What’s all this about 212?” he asked.
”I’ll show you.” Although the suite wasn’t far away, it was too far for Wesley at this point. He made sure to touch Doyle through the whole walk, while he pondered to himself how he was supposed to say what he wanted. During this short time they had spent together, Doyle had established himself as clearly a top, and Wesley didn’t mind that, it was just... well, he was still a man.
”What are you thinking about?” Doyle put his hands on Wesley’s buttocks and moved in closer, a classic approach. The butter fell to the floor, but since the box was still closed it didn’t matter. ”It wouldn’t by any chance be...”
”No.”
”Doyle frowned. ”What do you mean, no?”
”Well, I...” There really was no way of saying this. ”I think it’s my turn. Don’t you?”
Doyle withdrew immediately, but only with his mind. His hands were still firmly were they had been placed, only now very tense. ”Reasonably, yes.”
”But you’re not going to be reasonable?”
There was only a slight hesitation in Doyle’s expression before he nodded. ”Of course I am.”
”Good.” Wesley knew that ideally, he would have to sort this out with Doyle before anything happened, but if this, as he suspected, was about the demon, then there was no guarantee that awkward talking would help. Sex might not either, but it was a whole lot more enjoyable. He let his own hands cover Doyle’s, and then moved all four up to face level, sliding them over Doyle’s neck and his own. Then he released Doyle’s hands to take care of his shirt, which was after all an extremely unnecessary item. He didn’t have Doyle’s wish to explore everything with his mouth, but that pale little body was quite lovely to touch just with your hands. Touching the rough lines on Doyle’s wrists he was reminded that he wasn’t the only one escaping from loneliness and desperation, and he found himself wondering what death was like, if Doyle had wanted to return to it. Now was not the time to ask, though. He kept undressing Doyle, enjoying the sensation of being in charge this time, although, to be fair, Doyle did return the favour.
”Butter,” Doyle reminded him, and Wesley picked it up from the floor, only bowing down the briefest of moments before returning to Doyle’s body. That chest was really out of this world. Perhaps the general population would find it too skinny and pale, but Wesley found himself holding his breath as he ran his hands through the thin lines of hair and the soft skin beneath it. He put down the box of butter on the bed and dug his fingers into it, smearing a lump of butter onto Doyle’s chest.
”I think you need a basic course in biology,” Doyle said, sitting down on the bed. Since he and Wesley still hadn’t let go of each other, Wes followed as well, trying not to crush Doyle’s legs in the process. He was well aware that Doyle wasn’t really all that small, and even less fragile, but he couldn’t actually feel it. Which was strange, considering how much safer he felt with Doyle around.
”I’m just melting it,” he replied, running his buttery fingers down while enjoying the sparkle of lust in those ocean coloured eyes. ”Body heat and all that.” He leaned forward and kissed Doyle. It was gentler than anything they had shared before, but Wesley was in charge this time and it was his decision. He moved over to rub Doyle’s back as well, and got a laugh in response.
”What’s next, bread crumbs?”
”What’s next,” said Wesley, ”is that you roll over like this...” He aided Doyle in doing this. ”...And then I kiss you right here,” he concluded, letting his mouth work its way down between the shoulders.
”Oh!” Doyle moaned in a tone that made it very clear what sort of word could have come next. Wesley grinned a little.
”Enjoy it while it lasts,” he said, echoing Three’s words in the fight before.
There was a muffled snort from below him. ”I never expected her to have a sense of humour.”
”Showing a bit of speciesism, are we?” Wesley teased, continuing his activity. At another time or place, he could have pointed out that anyone trying to get along with a completely foreign species a lot smaller than themselves would come off as rather harsh, but right now he was too busy preparing Doyle for the penetration.
The change in Doyle’s body from aroused to enduring was so slow Wesley didn’t even notice it until it was too late. He could see the tension building up but didn’t know why or what to do about it, not with his cock up a tight ass and demanding more and more of his attention. It took some of the joy away, and when he was finished he lay back, hurt by the fact that Doyle hadn’t climaxed, hadn’t turned.
”What’s wrong?” he asked Doyle, who seemed more relaxed now that it was over.
”Nothing. Why?”
The carefree tone didn’t fool Wesley. For a moment he had been worried that Doyle had cracked again, but he usually didn’t try to hide those times. Then again, he usually couldn’t.
”You didn’t seem to enjoy it much.” He grimaced within at the girl-like whining he was displaying. ”Did I do something wrong?”
”Course not. You were fine.” Doyle rolled over on his back and stroke Wesley’s cheek.
”But you didn’t turn.” The penny finally dropped. ”You didn’t want to turn.” He sat up straight and grabbed his pants that were lying at the foot of the bed. ”You bastard!”
”What?” Doyle sat up as well, astonished at Wesley’s reaction. ”What did I do?”
”You and your stupid vanity...” Wesley almost choked on his words.
”Vanity? Hey wait a minute! Don’t try to tell me you’d feel too hot with a green spiky creature in your bed.”
”I would...” Wesley managed speak calmly. ”I would be happy that I could please my partner.”
”Well, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a charity institution,” Doyle snapped. He tried to lie down, but Wesley yanked him up to his feet.
”Of all stupid, ignorant, bigoted half-breeds,” he muttered.
Doyle’s eyes widened. ”What did you call me?”
Wesley didn’t listen, only dragged Doyle into the bathroom. There was no light bulb, so he left the door open, but the images in the old mirror were clear enough.
”Turn.” When Doyle only looked aggravated, Wesley repeated, ”Turn for me.”
Doyle opened his mouth to speak, but changed his mind and shook on the demon face. Wesley moved up behind him and turned him towards the mirror.
”Brachen demon, fully grown but quite young,” Wesley said. His voice and eyes were impassionate, but the hands moving over Doyle’s features were anything but. ”Definitely no more than fifty.”
”Fifty?” Doyle said, but he was actually smiling, in spite of his discomfort.
”The expected life span of a Brachen is...”
”Please don’t tell me,” Doyle quickly said, and Wesley shrugged.
”Alright then. The skin is slightly too pale, but the eyes are of a good, healthy colour, as are the spikes.” Wesley let his fingertips investigate the spikes further. He had never actually touched Brachen spikes before and found that they weren’t so sharp he couldn’t touch their tips without harming his skin, as long as he didn’t press. ”Firm, yet of a soft texture. Perfect, I would say.”
”You’re making fun of me,” Doyle said and withdrew a little.
”Never.” Wesley’s voice was serious. ”You’re not human. It doesn’t matter how much you hold back during sex, you still won’t be. But for what you are, you’re perfectly normal. And I happen to find you handsome.”
He leaned forward and kissed Doyle’s neck carefully between the spikes. It felt more or less the same in demon form, which surprised him. The only difference were those spikes, and he wondered to himself how they would taste in his mouth. Doyle slowly moved around to kiss him back, without turning back. That was definitely a first. Wesley carefully moved his lips over Doyle’s face, slipping one of the spikes into his mouth and sucking it. There was a roughness to the spikes that was only noticeable to the tongue, tiny barbs that gave resistance to movement and new sensations to the kiss. Doyle drew a shaky breath, and Wesley’s mouth curved in triumph. It was too much to ask that Doyle would be fine about this, but at the very least he was enjoying it. ”You know, I never expected that my Watcher training would come to this.”
”Really? I thought orgies were a naturalized part of an English education,” Doyle deadpanned, and Wesley burst into laughter. In his surprise, he forgot to be careful, and a spike grazed his lip. At his yelp, Doyle immediately became serious again.
”Christ, I’m sorry.”
”My own fault, really.” Wesley licked the blood away from his lip and returned his attention to Doyle’s face.
”I really should take a shower,” Doyle said, finally turning back. Wesley felt slightly disappointed. He was starting to enjoy the demon side.
”We probably both should,” he replied, trying the faucet to the old shower a little to see what would happen. It made a noise like the sky falling down, but there was water. ”Shall we?”
”Wes, you’re not a nice guy,” Doyle said, stepping into the shower.
”Thank you.” Wesley took off his pants again and went after him.
”Wasn’t a compliment.”
”I know.” They still had more than an hour. Sex again would be asking too much from both of them, but a nice shower was an entirely different matter. They stood there in the half-darkness of an unlit bathroom, rubbing the butter off their bodies, and even the short moment when Doyle lost track of time and space couldn’t change the feeling Wesley had that it wouldn’t ever get any better than this.
”The lab’s empty,” Gunn said, sitting down in Cordelia’s office, where they were gathered for the time being. ”Any idea where everything went?”
After the few weeks that had gone by, the effects of their actions were beginning to show, and this was what they had started to look into. The A.I. people were all there, as was Three, and Johnny was expected to come soon.
”Four people that seem to have been involved with this were caught by the police,” Cordelia said. ”Various reasons. What I don’t get is why now, when they haven’t before?”
”Wild guess, because they could pay before?” Doyle said, and nobody could argue with the cynical assumption.
Cordelia shrugged. ”Everyone else seems to have disappeared. A few gave up their apartments first, but the rest... who knows?”
”Two corpses were found in an alley,” Angel said, and although his voice was quiet there was a hint of danger in it. ”They had been skinned after the kill.”
Everyone turned to look at Three, who was sitting silently with her face turned down and her hands in her lap. Considering her lack of human body language it was probably unintentional, but she looked remarkably pious.
”I thought your people never left a corpse?” Wesley said slowly.
She didn’t lift her head as she replied, ”We made an exception.”
It was clear that to her, there was nothing more to be said. And what were they to do, chide her for it? She was not an employee, and besides, it was utterly unlikely that she had been the one holding the knife.
”So...” Wesley said, finally breaking the silence. ”Any idea what happened to the prisoners?”
”Johnny was supposed to find out,” Doyle said. ”He said he was running a little late.”
”There have been words of easy prey,” Three said, ”but nobody seems to know for certain.”
”Easy prey?” Gunn asked.
”Confused. Not fighting.”
”Doped up. Mental,” Doyle added, trying to sound casual.
”Possibly,” Three agreed.
There was a banging on the front door and Cordelia left to open it, while the others yet again fell silent. Soon she returned with Johnny Trash, a younger bum, and a small purplish demon who looked more than nervous.
”We were just waiting for you,” Angel said.
”Yeah I know,” Johnny replied. ”I was about to leave when I heard from Roe about Ducky’s discovery. Since it’s out first real progress I thought it was worth the delay.”
”I found him on my corner,” the young man explained, ”which didn’t seem so smart in broad daylight. Scares people off, for one thing.”
”His name is Javi,” Johnny filled in, ”and it appears he’s Chicano.”
Wesley frowned. ”That’s a type of demon I don’t believe I’ve heard of.”
Doyle was visibly tense, but still had to laugh at that comment. ”Mexican, Wes.”
”Oh.” Wesley grimaced in embarrassment. He had been around long enough to be aware of that word, just not in connection to demons. ”¿Qué te falta?” he asked the demon.
The reply was so long and fast and with such a peculiar accent that Wesley shook his head in confusion and turned to Angel. ”All I caught was something about spiders under his skin.”
”That’s a classic,” Johnny muttered, shaking his head.
”So we know he’s on dope,” Gunn said. ”Doesn’t mean they’re the ones who did it.”
”From what I understand, he’s from Mexico City,” Johnny said. ”LA isn’t exactly his territory.”
”And my corner certainly isn’t,” Ducky added.
Wesley asked another question, this time also telling Javi to take it slower. He listened to the reply and translated as good as he could. ”He was near the border, and a car hit him. Humans took him away and put him in a room... sticking him with needles to make strange things come. Sometimes good things, sometimes very bad.”
Doyle stood up and left the room, clearly shook up. Wesley wanted to follow, but Javi was still talking, and this was important. ”But one day the humans stopped coming. He became very hungry and felt the spiders crawling. After a while he could hear the smell of someone who had died, and he was hungry enough to break the restraints and eat the corpse.” Wesley swallowed. ”Then he found his way out.”
”Was there anyone still alive?” Gunn asked in a low voice.
”¿Había algún... uhm... todavía vivo?”
Javi nodded slowly. ”Créo que sí.”
”He thinks so.” Wesley took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. ”If you’ll excuse me...”
Gunn turned to Ducky. ”Exactly where is that corner of yours?”
Wesley left the room without hearing the answer, looking for Doyle. He found him in the lobby, with a bottle of vodka calming down his shaking hands. There was no use in saying things like ’you shouldn’t be drinking’. What else could he possibly do?
Wesley sat down next to him and silently pulled him into an embrace.
”Never expected to find another,” Doyle mumbled into his shoulder.
”I know. I’m sorry.” And that was so wrong, so not enough, but it was all he could say.
Doyle moved around enough to take a deep gulp, and it hurt Wesley too see that, enough to let out a pleading ”Doyle...” even though he didn’t want to.
”Just shut up! All of you!” Doyle loosened himself from Wesley’s arms and put his hands up to his face, still holding on to the bottle so his fingers whitened.
”There’s just me here.”
”No.” Doyle shook his head violently.
”Yes, there’s just me.” Wesley stroke away a long dark strand of hair from Doyle’s face. Doyle moaned and rocked his body, half there, half not. ”The rest isn’t real. Do you understand?”
”It’s real.”
Wesley was surprised that Doyle argued; he had thought the half-demon too far away for contact.
”It’s always there... doesn’t matter if I’m sleeping or working or what I do, it’s still there.” Doyle kept shaking his head as if it physically hurt. ”Even when there’s no hallucination, there’s still the memory.”
Not knowing what to say, Wesley just held unto Doyle with all the strength he had. ”Maybe you should go home for a while.”
”We have to find the prisoners, don’t we?” Doyle protested.
”Yes But I don’t think you should come.”
The look Doyle gave him could have cut through stone. ”I don’t need your protection.”
That pride ran so deep, and it was so completely unnecessary, because Wesley wanted Doyle to need his protection, just like he needed the protection Doyle could give him. But then, Wesley had other things to hold on to and maybe didn’t need his pride as much as Doyle did. That could wait, but finding the prisoners couldn’t, and if Wesley knew one thing, it was that Doyle was simply not going. ”You shouldn’t return. I’d say the same for Angel or Gunn or Cordelia... or myself. There are times when it’s good to get back up in the saddle, and there are times when it isn’t. I suspect it’s going to be rough enough for the rest of us. You shouldn’t put yourself through that.”
”Arrogant shithead,” Doyle muttered, standing up. ”All right, I’m heading home. If I’m asleep when you come around I want you to wake me so I can bonk you into next Sunday.”
Wesley smiled and reached out his hand to touch Doyle’s face. Moving his hand over the mouth he found his fingers being caressed by the soft tip of a tongue that just as quickly disappeared as Doyle stood back and put on his jacket. ”And that would help, would it?”
”You have no idea.”
They waited until after dark before going to Ducky’s corner, both for Angel’s sake and to make the demons less noticeable. Javi had to come along to show the way, and Three in case fighting would be needed.
”So,” Ducky said, jumping out of the Angelmobile, ”This is it.” He looked around, and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully when he saw a red Mercedes driving slowly on the other side of the road.
”What is it?” Cordelia asked, clearly worried it might be one of the enemies still lingering.
”Nothing to worry about.” Ducky turned to Johnny as the only person he knew. ”You don’t need me any more, do you?”
Johnny looked at Angel, who shook his head, although he really didn’t want that young man to go to the Mercedes at all.
”No, it’s okay, kid, you run along. Give my best to Roe!”
”I will!”
Ducky waved his goodbyes and walked up to the car, which disappeared from sight as soon as the young hustler had jumped in.
”Are you sure that was a good idea?” Angel asked, and Johnny shrugged.
”He’s not part of my gang. And even if he were, I never interfere with things like that.” He turned to Javi and patted the unhappy demon on its shoulder. ”Do you think you can find the way?”
Wesley translated into Spanish and Javi nodded, swallowing hard. He started walking down the road and pointed in the direction he wanted them to go, all the time speaking in both Spanish and his native tongue. Judging from his appearance he was still in abstinence, and it was obviously cruel to make him come along. Problem was, they didn’t have any choice.
Finally he stopped short and pointed towards a broken cellar window across the street. ”Allá.”
”That’s good,” Johnny said soothingly. ”Now you stay here with me, while they go inside, okay?”
Obviously the demon didn’t understand much of that, but he sat down next to Johnny in the shadowy place between two houses. The rest proceeded towards the building. From the broken window came a smell so strong Angel was certain the humans could feel it too. Abstract scents of fear and despair mixed with sickness and the overwhelming death. He looked down at the window, where insects had already started to gather. ”Cordelia.”
She looked down as well. ”You have *got* to be kidding.”
”You’re the only one small enough,” Wesley agreed in a low voice. ”Try to find some way to let the rest of us in. Another window or any sort of entrance.”
”I’m not calling that an entrance,” she said, already lowering herself down. She tried carefully to avoid the shards of glass. ”You know, there are flies down here.”
”There are dead people down there,” Angel said gloomily, and she glared at him.
”Well thank you so much for those encouraging words.”
Soon, she had disappeared from view, and they waited anxiously for any sign from her. After an eternity of strained silence, there was a scream from the inside that made them all jump. They quickly kneeled down in front of the window. ”Cordy? Are you okay?” Gunn hollered.
There was no reply, and he started to take off his jacket. ”I’ll try going down.”
”You won’t fit,” Angel said automatically.
”Well, I’ll fit better than you.” Gunn stuck his feet into the hole, and Wesley wondered if they would be able to pull him out if he got stuck halfways Winnie-the-Pooh style. Then there were more screams, until finally the door further down the street starting making a great racket, and Cordelia stumbled out. Gunn quickly hauled up his feet again and all the guys rushed over to her.
”Are you okay?” This time it was Wesley who asked the question.
”Yeah... They’re not all dead... But I don’t know how they live.” She was actually crying. Cordelia Chase, who had seen it all.
Gunn frowned in concern and turned to Angel, who was standing in the doorway with a closed expression. ”What is it?”
Angel shook his head, unable to explain the mix of scents, and stepped inside. The others followed close behind. There was nothing in the hall, and so they proceeded downstairs to the rooms Cordelia had crossed.
Simple beds filled the room, with demons tied down to most of them. Some of the demons were so thin you could see every bone in their body. They must have gone without food or water ever since the shutdown of the lab. Wesley moved past the first body, which was clearly dead, and stopped by the second, whose glazed eyes were still moving slightly, trying to focus on the people moving around.
”Nani,” it whispered, and although it was a hideous thing, Wesley took its hand, touched by the plea. The demon blinked and tried to speak again. ”Nani... ye cer cemda...”
Wesley understood enough of the language to know that the demon who called him ”mother” wanted food, but he had no words to reply with, and he knew the demon wouldn’t survive a meal. Or survive at all, for that matter.
”This one will live,” Three declared, talking to a demon that was smaller than her, but still bigger than the humans. She released him from his restraints and asked him a question in her own language. As a reply, he sank down to the floor. She spoke again, annoyed, and pulled him back up, then turned to the others. ”I will keep him as my brother.”
They stared at her. Angel, who had been checking out a still warm body and come to the conclusion that yes, he was dead, asked, ”Are you sure?”
”I am sure. His kind are hunters, like mine. I must still find another, and a daughter for my cousin. If there are that many that will live.”
Wesley looked down at the demon he was holding, that still drew shaky breaths, but not for much longer. Most of the demons still alive seemed to be dying, which only made sense, since the strongest had escaped while they still could. Maybe a few of them could be saved by healing spells, but even in that case, where would they go? Since the demon no longer seemed aware that anyone was present, Wesley slowly released his hand and moved on through the different rooms. In the one with the broken window, he ran into Gunn, who was going in the other direction, visibly shook up.
”I found the demon Javi had been nibbling from. Not a pretty sight.”
Wesley stopped short, no longer apt to go into the room. ”Was that what made Cordelia scream?”
”Well, if it wasn’t, I’m not sure I want to know what was.”
They walked back together, through the rooms in the basement and up the stairs. Neither said anything, because there was nothing that could be said in the face of all this. And it could as well have been Doyle. For the first time, Wesley found himself grateful that Doyle had suffered that cardiac arrest. It may have messed up his mind, but it was quite likely it had also saved his life.
”I’m kind of glad your boy isn’t seeing all this,” Gunn finally said. Seeing Wesley’s expression, he lightly punched him on the arm. It was the first time they’d touched since their quarrel.
It was late enough to be morning when Wesley finally made his way home, but Doyle was still awake, watching TV in the living room. There was no way he was sober, but when he looked up at Wesley, his eyes were still clear enough to ask questions. Since he wasn’t ready to answer any, Wesley just kicked off his shoes and sat down next to Doyle on the sofa, wrapping himself around the other man. Doyle leaned back, obviously not eager to talk either, and turned his attention back to the TV. Wesley frowned.
”I didn’t know they showed ’Relic Hunter’ at this time of night.”
”They don’t. It’s recorded.”
”You record ’Relic Hunter’?” Wesley put that information among all other things he didn’t know about Doyle. ”What on earth for? It’s historically inaccurate, has pathetic plots...” He noticed Doyle’s weak but clearly amused smile. ”It’s the woman, isn’t it?”
”Who, her?” Doyle gestured towards the TV and for the first time showed any sign of inebriation. ”Please. Talk about main character syndrome. The world revolves around her, so she doesn’t have to be any fun. No, but that assistant, you know, he’s something. Quite sharp, and charmingly fumbling... and that fantastic accent...”
Wesley kissed him softly on the neck, and he silenced, sighing deeply.
”That bad, was it?”
Wesley wouldn’t answer that, only held Doyle tighter, and traced the lines on his wrists like so many times before. For the first time he wondered if Doyle hadn’t had the right idea after all. ”Is there a heaven?” he asked, knowing he had to find an answer to that.
Doyle didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the question, which was another sign he had been drinking a bit too much after all. ”Yes. No. Yes.” He thought about it. ”Do you mind if I don’t tell you about it? It’s a memory I want to keep, and I can’t do that with words all over it.”
”I understand,” Wesley said, but he felt a bit disappointed.
”It’s nothing like what the priests tell you, that’s for sure. But you don’t have to be afraid of it, Wes.”
Wesley thought about that, still caressing the scars. ”Do you wish you hadn’t come back?”
”Not when you’re holding me.” Doyle turned around and kissed him hard, a kiss full of whiskey and tears. Wanting to forget what he had seen, Wesley kissed back, but he couldn’t get past the images of starving, sick demons. He forced himself to think of other things, and recalled what Doyle had said about priests.
”Are you catholic?”
”Technically, anyway.” Doyle looked up, clearly not anticipating the subject.
”Irish, Catholic, male, half-demon. And the wrong class, too.” According to his upbringing that made Doyle unworthy on all accounts. Yet he was strong enough to go through every day with painful memories that sometimes took over his world, and to lead a normal life most of that time.
”Not what daddy would have wanted?”
”Bugger him.”
”I’d rather bugger you.” Doyle sighed. ”But I don’t think I have the energy.”
”Me neither.” Still entangled with Doyle, Wesley lay down. There really wasn’t much room, and he quite counted on being kicked if Doyle managed to fall asleep, but going into the bedroom would mean letting go, and that was an impossibility. He released one hand for as short a period of time as possible to turn off that annoying TV show, that was all. The diminutive size of the sofa made him feel like he had a Doyle-blanket, but that was remarkably comfortable.
”What’s going to happen to them?” The question was low and hesitant, and Wesley automatically held on a bit closer.
”Three’s people are taking a few in. Johnny’s helping out too.”
”Johnny’s a saint.” A short silence, then, ”Some are dead, aren’t they?”
The number of corpses had gotten higher while they were still working to set free the ones that lived. There had been no way of bringing them back to wherever they belonged, and so they had been transported out of public sight and piled up to a funeral pyre. To some of them, that might very well have been traditional. Wesley hadn’t tended to the fire, but as he was leaving, he felt the smell of burning flesh and knew he’d never look at bonfires the same way again.
He held Doyle in silence, thanking whoever reigned in that Heaven which did and did not exist for giving him this man. He didn’t know why Doyle lived when so many had died, but he thanked them for it over and over again.
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