Dayadhvam, damyata. 

Wesley reached out his hand, pushing all the paraphenalia of sheet and water and steam to the side, choosing his words with care, as though he were picking his way barefoot through broken glass. 

"Look at me. In our own ways...for our own reasons, we're all crazy, and you're no worse than most. And I don't give my bed to monsters. I've been known, on occasion, to loan it out to friends. Well, actually, a friend, but - Look. We'll....work it out. I promise. I've never given up in my life, and I won't start here." He closed his fingers once more around Spike's wrist. "We conquer madness...the real demons...by living," he said then, trying to put what he had always believed into words. "Life is more than survival, it's not just about plodding on through the days, or keeping going somehow, or enduring. It's finding joy in life, finding laughter, or sorrow, or sheer pleasure just at being there, even at the worst of times, when it's completely inappropriate...it's realising that the sun is shining, somewhere, even when you're grieving for something lost beyond recall, or seeing a light in the dark, and knowing that what you see by its light is reality, not the shadows it creates in the corners. Friendship. Affection. Commonplace stuff that doesn't have to rip you apart to be real. That's - that's an ability you've been given, along with your soul. It's a two-edged sword, because it's hard to bear at times, but then, at others...it's hope, and that's not so bad, is it? 

Spike was actually looking at him now, instead of glancing at invisible things in the corners of the room, and that was something. "Not so..." he stopped, then gave Wesley a small smile "No, not so bad. Not at all....Friends, yeah?" 

Wesley nodded. "Yes. Definitely. Now, apparently the gas is still on, so if you help me find some candles...we can take a look at what we have here." Spike looked at him blankly, and he stifled a sigh. "The charts and maps?" 

They got candles, making Wesley's battered desk into a pool of light in the dim room, as Wesley began his rundown again. "I've outlined possible paths, as you'll see, and if we take your earlier idea about the coastal drift as a starting point..." 

Spike took a couple of the candles, headed over to the wall where Wesley had pinned up the navigation charts, and started marking points further away from where he had outlined earlier. "Here and here would be very good for drift if the place I marked earlier don't pan out. Current's strong and all kinds of stuff would wind up here where the land curves out..." 

* 

They had talked on through the day, tossing ideas back and forth as if it were something they had always done. Talked until the electricity came back on and they could douse the candles in Wes' dim apartment. Talked until it was afternoon and the sound of Wesley's voice was beginning to resemble the sound of sandpaper on wood. 

Spike brought Wes a glass of water, which he gulped down eagerly. 

"Should go back under the tent, mate." Spike suggested, but he wouldn't press it. 

"I should do many things." Wes smirked. "I tend not to." 

"Knew there was something I liked about you." Spike chuckled and returned to giving the charts a last look. 

A short time later, Wes shoved a mug into his hand, "Here, O-Pos, and then sleep." 

"Yeah... right.…" Spike took the mug, sniffed it, then took a drink, looking warily at the bedroom door. Sleep, and the nightmares it brought were enough to bring back all his earlier hesitations and doubts . "Not sure I'm ready to sleep though... You go ahead and I'll just…." 

Wes narrowed his eyes, whether it was to focus or from exhaustion was anyone's guess. "Spike. I need to be awake tonight. So do you, if you want to help. I ran out of patience approximately six months ago, so get into bed, shut up, and don't yell at me if I end up sprawled across you." 

Spike gulped down the rest of the blood like it was liquor and then stalked towards the bedroom. "Right then.... sleep.... " 

He made it as far as the door before having to give himself a pep talk. "'s not so hard... everyone does it.…" 

Wes rolled his eyes. "I don't believe human warmth is that unpleasant.  Oh well, if it is, I'll not notice if you shove me off the bed. I hope." And with that, he closed his eyes, and to all intents and purposes seemed almost instantly asleep. 

In spite of what Wes might claim, he certainly seemed to sleep the sleep of the innocent.  Spike wished that he might be able to do the same. He stripped down to his, or rather Wes's, underclothes and slipped stiffly into the bed. 

He stared at the ceiling, for what seemed like an eternity, unconsciously counting Wesley's slow even breathing. His body remained stiff, tense, as his thoughts rolled over the past day. Could it really mean that Wes intended him to stay? To allow him to help past the time that Angel was found? 

Part of him longed to return to Sunnydale, of course, but that bridge was burned beyond repairing. Burned and down, the ashes scattering in the wind. As well they should be. 

Another part of him wanted to be right where he was. Although a creature of habit, he had never been as hide-bound as his Sire. He kept up with the world's changes and would have it no other way. New things were exciting to him - always had been. Staying in L.A. boded to be a change that would keep him occupied for quite some time. 

There was a mutter, a shift and Wes sprawled across Spike and the bed. 

"Bloke is warm. Bloody warm…" Spike snuggled in closer, hoping for the oblivion of the previous night. 

* 

Wesley was nowhere near sleep. He had reached the stage of insomnia where his body was desperate for rest, and his mind refused to let go. He envisaged pushing himself down, submerging his mind to the point where it could sink beneath the weight of his exhaustion, but nothing worked. Forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly, in the hope of lulling his overactive brain into a sense of peace, he became aware that he was not the only one awake. 

Remembering how the sound and feel of someone genuinely lost in the depths of true sleep could take a bed partner with them into oblivion, he wrapped an arm around Spike, muttered sleepily and hoped that he was making a good job at faking the sleep that was completely eluding him. After a while, there was a soft sigh from beneath his arm, and he felt the too-tense, too still body beside him relax all at once, going from almost preternatural awareness to complete unconsciousness between one breath and the next. 

Tired and sleep deprived, increasingly aware of how desperately he wanted to be at the same point, and how impossible it was, Wesley continued to feign sleep, breathing deeply and trying to give what warmth he could to the cool body beneath him. 

He must have been at least on the verge of dozing off, because when Spike jerked awake with a start at one point, he jumped too, his heartrate accelerating and his breath coming in a gasp. What he heard, however, was both reassuringly in it's dream-induced incoherence, and remarkably far away from the nightmarish images he had been half expecting. Something, God help all insomniacs, about flying puppies. 

Wesley stared, before saying seriously, "Oh, I agree, they're not allowed. You should sleep and let me deal with them, hmm?" 

He was greeted with equal confusion and a (by now, sadly, all-too expected) apology for waking him, that oddly enough, came across as rather endearing from a completely confused and very sleepy vampire as opposed to the sheer frustration that a more awake and twitching one engendered in him. 

He yawned ostentatiously, lay back down, and tugged Spike back with him, as though still only half awake, mumbling something about how he must have been dreaming, and not to worry. 

Predictably, this led to a mocking, if rather sleepy laugh, and Spike muttering somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulder that Wesley obviously had bloody odd dreams - to which there was no sane response. 

Wesley opted instead to close his eyes once more, and fell back into the pattern of regular breaths that he had established previously, hoping that he appeared to have drifted back off. 

He heard Spike mutter, "Right, then," about something, and felt the vampire's arms wrap around him, whether for warmth or comfort, he would never know, before he actually did fall asleep, sliding into a dreamless dark without even being aware of it. 

* 

Spike's dreams that night had been much more pleasant, flying puppies aside. A bit confusing at some moments, mildly erotic at others. But definitely dreams and not nightmares for the first time in months. 

When he woke, it was once again to warmth and comfort and a sleep heavy body draped over his own. Wes, obviously. He had memories of that body throughout the night, arms wrapped tight at some moments, loose and relaxed at others. It was a comforting feeling, and Spike had relished it. Relished it far more than he probably had a right to. 

"Wes," He reluctantly spoke the name. "Come on, mate. Said you wanted to be up not long after sunset. Wake up, Wes." 

His call was rewarded with the coherent sound of something that sounded like: "Mffwiitz?" 

"Need to sleep longer?" Spike chuckled back at the inert form that was busily trying to burrow it's nose into his collarbone. "Can always wake you later, ya know?" 

"Glbbrstk…" was the intellectual reply and then, "No… no… Ship will be waiting. Do you need anything?" 

Spike looked down at the yawning man next to him, "No, right as rain, I am. Thanks, mate." 

And he was surprised to find he actually was. Rested. As close to sanity as he had been in a very long time and…. Hmmm… Happy perhaps? Or at least filled with some kind of purpose beyond mere survival. It was a good feeling. 

* 

Wesley was in the middle of a dream about finding a new book of prophecies that somehow didn't need translating and was being automatically transferred to his brain when he became aware that the repetition of his name was not someone trying to get his attention, but an attempt to wake him up. Since he knew that if he kept sleeping, he would be able to remember exactly what the prophecies had been, he said so. 

At least, he thought he had said so, but the amused tone of voice that enquired as to whether he needed to sleep longer implied that he had done nothing of the kind. 

Trying to work out whether it was day or night, who the hell was waking him up, and why he appeared to be talking into someone else's collarbone took him up out of his residual coma and - mostly - into awareness. 

It was time to head off to the ship. It was, in that case, night. 

And he had fallen deeply and completely asleep for what felt like (and possibly was) the first time in months, on top of an occasionally insane and definitely souled vampire. 

Not, however, the one he had assumed that he would inevitably end up in this position with (after all, who better to enjoy less-than-perfect physical pleasure with than someone who would never query your decision to leave?), but one who had been in the remnants of his life less than twenty-four hours, and was somehow making him act more like a human being than he had since he first discovered the damnable planted prophecy about Connor. 

He disentangled himself, still feeling that odd disorientation of too-little-sleep and an awakening that had come long before he was ready, and staggered off to the kitchen, hoping that he could gather enough coherence to make himself some coffee. 

Spike jumped out of bed, tugged the joggers back on and followed Wes out into the kitchen. While Wes made coffee, he heated up a mug of AB-neg. 

He couldn't believe how much better a good sleep made him feel. More alive. More sane. More…… 

The sudden clatter of Wes pulling mugs out of the dish drainer stopped his train of thought. "Coffee?" 

"Huh?" Right - snappy comeback. Obviously a good sleep had not improved his witty repartee. "Oh, no thanks, mate. This is fine." 

Wes chuckled, then took a long drink of his own coffee. "We need to leave in about 20 minutes. Your clothes should be dry, in spite of yesterday's interruption." 

Spike nodded, finished his blood and then went in to get them. 

* 

Twenty minutes later found them both dressed, and on their way, Wes' motorcycle weaving through the early evening traffic towards Santa Monica. 

60 minutes later found them boarding a ship and Wes struggling into his wet suit as they headed towards the first location they had marked for tonight's excursion. 

Another 20 and they had anchored and Spike was helping Wes load his air tanks on his back. 

Wes clipped a light guide rope onto his weight belt and turned to Spike. "Just let the rope play out slow… I'll give it a good tug if I find anything." 

"Got it, mate." Spike nodded, giving Wes a sturdy clap on the shoulder, "Good luck and ----" 

He stopped short, his head up and turning as if he were looking for something. 

"What is it?" 

"Sssshhh. Wait…." Spike's head swiveled again and he stalked toward the front of the ship. 

Wes quickly kicked out of his flippers and went after him, "Spike?" 

"Bloody Hell…. Can you hang on?" Spike's voice was sharp but distracted. 

Scowling, Wes watched as Spike prowled from port to starboard and back, tilting his head first one way… then the other. 

"Wes?" finally, an abrupt stop and a soft query. "I think you need to go farther that way… more towards the Point." 

Another scowl and a sharp-eyed look towards the Point. "What makes you think there is any more likely than here?" 

"Don't bloody know, do I? I just --- " Spike threw up his hands. "I just do, alright. Can't explain it." 

He just felt something. Some tug in that direction. It might be a hunch. It might be his insanity reasserting itself. Or it might just be blood calling to blood - his Sire's blood. 

The ship's captain looked between the two men. Two crazy Brits, hunting for God knew what… but hey, as long as they paid for the time, he'd pilot them to Mongolia if they asked. 

Wes gave a sharp nod, then turned towards the Captain. "Move closer to the Point." 

* 

The radar on the boat beeped for the first time, making Wesley jump as though it had been amplified to unendurable volume somewhere the machine and his eardrums. Solid contact. Definitely metallic. He was unable to stop himself from grinning across at Spike. 

"Not bad," he said lightly, but Spike was looking twitchy again, obviously second guessing himself, and only responded, 

"Probably junk." He shrugged, dismissive. "Could be anything down there." 

Wesley sighed, and picked up his diving mask. "Yes, it could. I'd better have a look, though. In case." 

He hated it underwater. It reminded him too much of mornings without his glasses, in the days when he still wore them, the water murky and clouding his vision, even with the clear mask that supposedly made everything visible. The weight of the water above him was all-too noticeable, the thought of all those empty tons above him already compressing his chest, despite the fact that if he shone the flashlight upwards, he could make out, faint and uncertain, the outlined shadow of the boat. 

He forced himself to look back down, scanning through the depths of swirling currents and silt, looking for whatever it had been that had set the radar off, and hoping that whatever Spike had been listening to? Sensing? What? was there. Even an old canister would be better than nothing, proof that heavy objects did get dragged to this area, an element of hope. 

The beam of his flashlight played across the bottom, catching and bouncing off metal, and Wesley forced himself to swim closer, not trusting his eyes until he was confronted with the unmistakable proof, his free hand reaching out to touch the lid of Angel's coffin, while the suddenly wavering flashlight illuminated the vampire's pale and cracked face, the face of a sea monster, Wesley thought in horror, and making it, surreally, blink. 

He tugged on the rope. 

* 

Spike would have preferred to be pacing the deck, but Wes had told him to hold onto the guide line, so there he was - holding. The feeling that had been tugging him to this spot was even stronger now. A tingle. 

No… not a tingle… more like a burn. It was the feeling that had told him years ago that Angelus was still living. The feeling that had kept Drusilla dragging him from country to country looking for her Daddy. 

Blood called to blood. It always had and it always would. 

His goal now was to see if he would be a slave to that blood, demon blood, or rise above it, use it for…. Something better. 

There was a sudden tug on the line. 

"Oi!" Spike called to the Captain. "He's found something."