Wes snippet, rated PG
Dec. 20th, 2003 11:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gilascaveJust some random scenery, while I get my fingers and brain limbered up for this "fic" thing.
He went home, ostensibly because it was time to renew his visa. Wesley’s fairly sure that Wolfram and Hart could have extended it – indefinitely, infinitely – had he asked. But he also needed to go back to his parents’ estate, and that was the reason he’d given when his friends had asked.
They hadn’t asked why, the reasons were obvious. Only days after he’d shot-- He’d rung his parents within hours of it all. Spoken with his father, or, more precisely, been spoken at by his father for several minutes before polite manners had required he let them get back to sleep.
As far as he could tell, his father had forgotten all about the phone call. His mother kept mentioning it, as strange and unexpected as this visit home was. Every time Wesley turned around, he saw her, just inside the doorway, just exiting the room, always with a perplexed look on her face that was meant to be hidden, but showed all the same. He’d been here four days and his father hadn’t said a word to him about the call.
Why should he, since Wesley hadn’t even tried explaining why he’d rung. Assuaging his guilt with an attempt to reach out and convince himself he would never…not really…
That he’d meant it, and would do it again if he had to.
His mother has taken advantage of his visit home to reintroduce him to all the People He Ought Know. Two social dinners, one actual party planned for the weekend. God help him, but he suspected she would be arranging for one or more suitable young ladies to be in attendance. Her fondest wish that he marry, move back to England, and take up law.
He found it highly amusing that he had, in a sense, already had done so. Except for the bit about England.
And marriage.
Perhaps it wasn’t so amusing, after all.
Wesley fended her off with little more than vague comments. She was satisfied; it wasn’t his happiness she was interested in, after all. But it didn’t look right for the only son to never settle down and have children.
He’d felt a stab of guilt, at that, and wondered if he’d really loved Lilah that much. He knows he never thought of Fred that way – never had a chance to want it more serious than ‘will she look my way.’
But he ignored his mother’s pointed remarks and busied himself at aimless pursuits around the house. Exploring rooms he hadn’t seen since he was a child, reading books from the library he’d still had memorized, walking the grounds as though he cared if the fences were in good repair.
He saw his father occasionally, passing each other in the hallways or ducking into a room before they were forced to do more than nod and say ‘good day.’ Wesley found himself, once, at the end of the hall watching as his father studied a sheaf of papers in his hand. He’d raised his hand, pointing his finger. Perfect aim. He’d bent his thumb down and the sound of the pistol shot cracked in his ear. His father hadn’t looked up, hadn’t noticed Wesley watching him long after he let his hand fall away.
Wesley had gone down to the kitchens and chatted with the cook’s girl, until lunchtime.
He went home, ostensibly because it was time to renew his visa. Wesley’s fairly sure that Wolfram and Hart could have extended it – indefinitely, infinitely – had he asked. But he also needed to go back to his parents’ estate, and that was the reason he’d given when his friends had asked.
They hadn’t asked why, the reasons were obvious. Only days after he’d shot-- He’d rung his parents within hours of it all. Spoken with his father, or, more precisely, been spoken at by his father for several minutes before polite manners had required he let them get back to sleep.
As far as he could tell, his father had forgotten all about the phone call. His mother kept mentioning it, as strange and unexpected as this visit home was. Every time Wesley turned around, he saw her, just inside the doorway, just exiting the room, always with a perplexed look on her face that was meant to be hidden, but showed all the same. He’d been here four days and his father hadn’t said a word to him about the call.
Why should he, since Wesley hadn’t even tried explaining why he’d rung. Assuaging his guilt with an attempt to reach out and convince himself he would never…not really…
That he’d meant it, and would do it again if he had to.
His mother has taken advantage of his visit home to reintroduce him to all the People He Ought Know. Two social dinners, one actual party planned for the weekend. God help him, but he suspected she would be arranging for one or more suitable young ladies to be in attendance. Her fondest wish that he marry, move back to England, and take up law.
He found it highly amusing that he had, in a sense, already had done so. Except for the bit about England.
And marriage.
Perhaps it wasn’t so amusing, after all.
Wesley fended her off with little more than vague comments. She was satisfied; it wasn’t his happiness she was interested in, after all. But it didn’t look right for the only son to never settle down and have children.
He’d felt a stab of guilt, at that, and wondered if he’d really loved Lilah that much. He knows he never thought of Fred that way – never had a chance to want it more serious than ‘will she look my way.’
But he ignored his mother’s pointed remarks and busied himself at aimless pursuits around the house. Exploring rooms he hadn’t seen since he was a child, reading books from the library he’d still had memorized, walking the grounds as though he cared if the fences were in good repair.
He saw his father occasionally, passing each other in the hallways or ducking into a room before they were forced to do more than nod and say ‘good day.’ Wesley found himself, once, at the end of the hall watching as his father studied a sheaf of papers in his hand. He’d raised his hand, pointing his finger. Perfect aim. He’d bent his thumb down and the sound of the pistol shot cracked in his ear. His father hadn’t looked up, hadn’t noticed Wesley watching him long after he let his hand fall away.
Wesley had gone down to the kitchens and chatted with the cook’s girl, until lunchtime.