When Faith first arrived in Sunnydale, Wesley knew she had no money and no place to stay. He offered to rent her a room at his hotel, but she declined. She didn't decline offers of food, so they met every morning at Denny's, and Wes bought her a grand slam along with his toast and two fried eggs. She showed up at the Library for lunch, and the two of them would go to a nearby lunch counter. He bought dinner, and an evening snack after patrol. She ate twice as much as he did, but never gained any weight.
"Yes, well, that was a rousing slay. Shall we get a drink to celebrate?"
"Celebrate what? I'm all bloody here."
"We survived another night on the Hellmouth. I rather think that calls for a celebration, don't you?"
"You do know that I'm underage, right? Like severely?"
"I certainly do. I also know of places where that doesn't matter."
"You got it, then." A pause. "Hey, Wes?"
"Yes?"
"That green one, with the spikes on it's head?"
"The Oninpebau?"
"How come cutting off its head didn't kill it?"
"There is a subgenera of demon that mimics hominid form, but is entirely...."
As Wesley strode to City Hall, he knew that his task was most likely a lost cause. Faith would probably laugh in his face, reject his offer of protection, just as Buffy and Giles had rejected all of his overtures. He knew he had to try, to give Faith a choice between the Mayor and, if not the Council or the Scoobies, himself. On balance, however, perhaps his best approach was to offer her the protection of both the Council and the Scoobies, as his own protection probably wouldn't signify. Wesley arrived at City Hall, and took a deep breath.
Faith is stretched out naked on Wesley's bed, curling and flexing and generally looking fuckable. He should be satisfied, after yesterday afternoon and last night and this morning. He isn't a teenager anymore, and it ought to be physically impossible for him to be hard again. But Faith is naked, and beautiful, and there, smiling at him.
After they fuck, again, he gets up and stands at the end of the bed. He watches her sleep. After minutes have stretched into hours, she stirs, and blinks at him sleepily.
Wesley dresses, throws Faith a shirt, and goes to make coffee.
She shouldn't be here, he thought as he stared as her pale face. His teddy bear and the flowers and balloon looked sorely out of place in the basement, or wherever long-term care is. He failed her, he knew, but he didn't know how to fix it. He should have tried harder, should have known more, should have done something. He hesitated, wondering where to put her gifts, before tucking the bear under her arm and putting the balloon and flowers on the end table, where she would see them as soon as she woke up. If she woke up.
As Faith is led to the grey room with all the chairs, Wesley follows a man dressed in navy blue down a sickly green hallway. As Faith waits for the doors behind her to lock before the doors in front of her open, Wesley signs a paper that he doesn't bother to read, and empties his pockets. As Faith sits down in front of a solid sheet of scratched plastic, Wesley crosses a room filled with murmuring people, each involved in their own life or death drama. As Faith lifts the phone, Wesley sits down across from her, and smiles.
Wesley will stand in a green field, backed by a brilliant blue sky. Trees dot the edges of the field, and there will be a knot of people standing over a hole in the ground. Wesley will cry.
He has always known that Slayers die young, but somehow, he thought his slayer would be different. At the very least he thought that she would live long enough for them to resolve their past differences. He never imagined that he will stand at the edge of her grave, and give a eulogy. He has never imagined that he will mourn her.