Pausing in front of the small mirror in his room, he straightened the Windsor knot on his tie, then ran his hands over his hair to ensure it was perfectly in place. Not that there was anybody to notice. Other than a perfunctory visit from Cordelia, he'd been left to his own devices. His only other contact with the outside world had been the telephone called he'd received that morning. There had been no response to the message he'd left on Mister Giles' answering machine. Not that he'd expected one, of course. But still...
Sighing, he straightened up, ensuring his self-assured look was in place. One of his fellow students at Watcher training had accused him of looking like a prune, but he felt it gave him a dignified look. It bespoke a man of intelligence. And if things weren't quite as one hoped, well, who would know by the expression of the man facing him in the mirror. He nodded. "Right." Turning, he collected his overnight bag and exited the room.
The corridor was filled with people bustling about; Medical staff attending to patients; Visitors, mainly parents, seeing to the injured. But they all brushed past him, as if he were invisible. He most likely was to these people, as he had been elsewhere in his life. And those who had seen him viewed him as an inept fool. An impression he'd seemed to bring with him to America. Oh well, he'd be home soon. His steps slowed as he recognised one of the people standing near the exit.
He was leaning, actually, his back pressed against the wall. He was dressed more casually than Wesley had seen him before, a soft leather jacket covering a woollen pullover, his hands resting in the pockets of some soft casual jeans. His head was bent, as if contemplating the loafers on his feet. As if sensing the other man's presence, he looked up and nodded. "Wesley."
"Mi.," he cleared his throat, "Mister Giles. I-I hadn't expected you."
"Even though you left a message on my machine?" The older man had obviously been practising that sardonic turn of phrase since arriving in America.
"Yes, well." Not sure what else to say, he looked around him. "The others?"
"Out celebrating. They weren't up to it last night."
"Ah, yes." He nodded in understanding. "The defeat of the Mayor is worth celebrating."
"Either that or blowing up the school." He straightened, his stance indicating Wesley should join him. They began to move toward the entrance. "Shall I take your bag?"
Wesley gripped the handle tightly, feeling an unreasonable fear that if Giles took it he may not see it again. "No, thank you."
The two continued on in silence for a few moments. "What will you do now?"
"Do?" He hoped his nervousness was not obvious, but could not guarantee it.
"There is no reason for you to stay here, now. What are your plans for your immediate future?"
Wesley shrugged, unsure how to respond the very question he'd been asking himself. "I'm not sure. As you say, there is nothing for me here. And the Council." he caught his breath, ashamed of where his actions had brought him, "...they fired me."
"Yes." Wesley looked at the other man in shock. It was as if Giles had already known, or at least expected. "Well, you did stay to fight after they'd turned their backs."
"I-I'd explained to them that I only offered when it was obvious Buffy would not change her mind."
"And I'm sure they advised you that if you hadn't acted so hastily she would have returned to the Council before attempting to fight the Mayor." Giles lifted his eyebrow in admonishment. "Surely you expected it considering how they'd treated me?"
"But I'm not like." Wesley stopped, partly because he'd raised his voice, and partly because he'd realised how rude what he'd almost said, would have sounded out loud.
They were now in the entrance foyer. The doors were just a few steps away, yet Giles stopped. His lips lifted slightly. "In the eyes of the Council, you are exactly like me. A rebel."
"Bu-but I didn't do the things you did. I didn't run away, or raise a demon." If Giles was surprised at Wesley's level of knowledge about his history, he didn't show it. "I've done everything the Council has requested of me."
"It only takes one incident, Wesley, and then you become tarnished with the same brush as I."
"Well that isn't fair." He didn't realise how petulant he sounded.
Giles chuckled slightly. "I bet it makes you wish you had rebelled when you were younger." He paused for a moment. "So, have you decided what you're going to do?"
Wesley shrugged. "Return to England as soon as possible."
"And then? Crawl back and beg the Council for a second chance? Take the dirty jobs they give you and be forever grateful? Accept that you'll always be a failure to your father?"
Wesley tried to mask how close Giles had hit the target, but he felt his back straightening and his features tightening. "What would you have me do? You've made it obvious that I'm not welcome here."
"Actually, I said there is no reason for you to stay. But you're right. You won't be accepted here, either." He paused, as if weighing his next words. "I believe that you're more like me than either of us would care to admit, Wesley. If you've been branded as a rebel, why not start acting like one?"
Wesley considered himself an intelligent man, but he wasn't sure he was accurately following the conversation. I don't."
"There is no place for you here, nor is there one for you at the Council. Believe me, they'll never fully accept you back. Time to make your own way the world."
"How? As what?"
Giles shrugged. "You have several skills and talents. Unfortunately, they are useful for only one field. I also think there's a darkness in you. It's been suppressed by years of Council indoctrination, but it's there. Given a chance it could take you far."
"I-I still don't understand what you expect me to do."
"Don't go to England. Just go. Doesn't matter where. Look for some adventures. Get into some scraps. Learn to fight dirty, you'll need to know how."
"And then what? As you and your friends witnessed, I'm not the best of fighters."
"Because demons and vampires don't respect the rules of the Marquess of Queensbury. Learn to stop being a gentleman, and become a man." Giles took a set of keys out of his pocket. Wesley automatically opened his hand as the other man let them go. He grasped the metal tight in his fist, feeling as if he'd just been passed a lifeline. "Your transport is waiting outside the door. Somewhere out there is where you belong. You'll find it when it's time. In the meantime, have fun."
"I-I don't know what to say." He felt humbled at the generous gift of the man before him, and of the faith this virtual stranger had shown.
"I'm not offering you an easy road. You'll never be understood. That dark part of us will be feared. You'll need to make decisions that others aren't capable of. And you'll always be on the outside. That's our fate, Wes. To not belong, no matter how much a part of it we are." He nodded, and began to turn away, before pausing. "Oh, and I have a message from Buffy. 'You don't just scream like a girl.'"
Wesley felt an inner joy at his parting words, the weight on his shoulders increasingly lightened. With such a casual line, he felt as though he'd been told he was one of them; a hero. But before he could utter his thanks, his saviour walked away. Only a final line thrown over his shoulder was Giles' farewell: "And Wesley, it's an automatic."
Sighing, Wesley looked down at the item clenched in his fist. Slowly, he loosened his fingers until he could see the keys clearly resting on his palm. They obviously belonged to a vehicle of some kind. He had no idea what Mister Giles had gotten him, but it was more than likely a serviceable second hand car. He wasn't sure if he was ready to take the older man's advice, but it would be useful if even to take him to the airport. The weight on his shoulders much lighter, a smile on his lips, and a spring in his step, Wesley finally exited the hospital.
It was where Giles had said. Standing in front of the hospital, it's polished black surface shining in the midday sun. He looked around, hoping there'd been a mistake. Surely he wasn't expected to use that thing? What would the Council say if they saw him? The smile became a full grin. He had always wondered what it felt like. And what better way to mark his independence, his rebellion against his old world?
His bag stowed carefully in the storage compartment, Wesley turned his attention to the seat. Pressing his body against the soft leather, he turned the key. The engine roared satisfactorily in the quiet car park. Checking his safety accessories were attached correctly, he prepared to move off. His foot pressed gently against the accelerator, he guided his vehicle toward the exit.
Only one man took note as Wesley Wyndham-Price exited the hospital car park. He had a feeling, however, that there would be many others who would pay a great deal of attention toward the younger man. That was the thing about destinies. They find you, no matter how many wrong turns you took. And Wesley was headed straight toward his on a motorbike.