The Loft - After the attack on Phoebe.

[dr-jwilsonmd.livejournal.com]

[ooc: Set immediately after the events in the clinic post the attack on Phoebe Halliwell. What this means is that if you are unable to use magical means to get into Phale’s Shop, you can not get into the Town Clinic or the Loft either. I think this blocks most everyone except, as listed, Crowley, Maggie and Bruck.

As this is a plot point going forward I put it in Townies, Red let me know if you'd rather I move it to my personal LJ. :)

Pre-played with a_phale no IC interaction but ooc comments welcome.]



It had been a long night and Wilson was still worried about Phoebe, thinking about her case as he pulled the cargo door open and waited till Phale walked on into the loft.

"Well...that was unexpected...in a thoroughly expected manner." He said in a bit of a bemused tone. "Tea with brandy or wine?" He offered up, closing the door behind them and walking over towards the kitchen, reaching to rub at the back of his neck.

"The tea and brandy sounds lovely, James dear," Aziraphale answered, sounding tired. He followed Wilson into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as the other man set about making the tea.

"There are days when this island...greatly concerns me. Poor child."

The angel stood staring off into space for a few minutes, going over the events of the evening in his mind. He was beginning to worry for the safety of more than one individual in town.

Putting rather healthy doses of brandy in each cup before pouring the tea into both and handed one out towards the angel. Leaning against the opposite counter, Wilson took a sip of his cup, staring off at a point across the room and frowning gently.

"We do seem to be a bit of a...nexus point for all things due to conflict. I suppose it's unavoidable that there is an inherent danger simply to being here."

Wilson's words brought the angel's focus back, and he nodded. He'd made a decision, now he just had to get the young doctor to agree.

"James dear...I'm concerned about the safety of this place. Of the clinic, and your home here. I'd like you to let me help protect it."

That, was definitely not something Wilson had expected to hear. Namely because it wasn't something he'd even thought about and that realization showed on his boyish features as he blinked, lowering the cup from his lips before taking another sip of tea.

"I... I'm not sure what you mean?"

Aziraphale frowned, not at Wilson's answer but rather at the fact that the man had obviously never considered his own safety.

"You know that the bookshop is a safe place? That I can seal it off and not allow anyone to come inside, if I want?"

If held down and made to really think about his genuine obliviousness to the idea of the danger, Wilson would probably track it back to his quiet understanding and acceptance of death as a part of life.

In a profession that saw a high amount of suffering, pain and death he simply couldn't let himself dwell on it, even when it came to reference himself or he'd never be able to function as an oncologist. Now, here in Fandom where he really was incredible vulnerable when pitted against the likes of vampires, demons, angels, witches, assassins, gun slingers and the rest...he'd just never slowed down long enough to consider it.

"I...well I mean I do know that but that just makes sense. The shop is your territory Raphale, I've just always considered it a...sort of extension of you."

"It is rather. As long as I'm here, at any rate, it will remain that way. But it isn't because the building is part of me, it's because I made it my territory, as you say. It's...protected. From everything except...divine beings, I suppose." He chuckles wryly. "Or Fallen ones."

Aziraphale tilts his head to look seriously at Wilson. "Belthazor entered the clinic by magic. Through a locked door. Anyone with a similar ability could do the same."

Give it a moment...

Give it a moment....

Ding ding ding ding! We have the formation of a clue!

Wilson blinked and set his tea cup down a little abruptly. "Oh."

Taking a breath, he paused...took another breath and then, walked out of the kitchen and over towards where the big windows of the main room looked out over the back of the property. Pacing with his thoughts.

"I guess...I mean at the school they were so strict about no weapons, no violence...I know the students could magic themselves into the Clinic, I've had them do it before but...I guess here, isn't there."

"No my dear," Aziraphale said gently. "Here isn't there. Our little town is a great deal more dangerous than the school."

He moved to stand beside Wilson, putting a hand on his friend's back. "I didn't mean to worry you. It's just...I'm a little worried. Concerned that the people who did this to Phoebe may come back...or someone else may come, intending to do harm."

Standing there, quietly, Wilson rocked back a little into the touch on his back, even as he turned to look at Phale.

"I...I don't think that way, Aziraphale. Crisis situation, I'm running towards it rather than away." It was simply the way some mortals were hardwired, which was why the brave men and women, who populated the police stations and the fire stations, existed.

"But...you have a point. People who are here will be vulnerable and I can't protect them from ... well hell I can't protect them from anyone really."

"If this were any 'normal' place, I wouldn't be concerned, really. The lock on the door should suffice. But here...there are a number of people who live on this island who could easily get past a simple lock. Not to mention people like the ones who harmed Phoebe. And...you're vulnerable here as well, James. I'm worried for you, too."

Aziraphale knew full well that it wouldn't matter to the young doctor, that he wasn't interested particularly in his own safety, at least not to any further extent then locking up the door at night. But he hoped that at least by expressing his own concern, Wilson would consider his offer of protection, for both the clinic and the loft.

There was another moment of quiet as Wilson's mind worked its way back to what the angel had originally offered. What had originally started this discussion and he turned to look at his friend.

There was a part of Wilson that balked. Balked because he hated the idea of Phale having to take on 'one' more thing on his behalf. Balked because he wanted to be a supportive presence for the angel, not another drain on his resources. But then came the counter argument that an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure.

"What...what would you do?"

Tilting his head to watch Wilson and gauge his reaction, the angel answered. "I would...ward the building; I suppose is the way to put it. Create a protective barricade that wouldn't allow anyone to use mystical means to enter the building. It could be made to only be active when the door is locked, if you like. As the one on the shop is."

Setting his hands on his hips Wilson was about to simply nod when he was struck by a thought, a thought that made him distinctly uncomfortable and he wanted to simply ignore it but...it was a subtle difference that needed to be addressed.

"Can...I mean...maybe it should be active all the time, if that's possible?" Dark eyes looked over into blue and unspoken was the quiet understanding that while Phale could throw any trouble maker back out the door locked or unlocked, Wilson didn't have that luxury and if trouble showed up while the door was unlocked, he wouldn't be able to do anything about it.

As this was actually want Aziraphale had wanted in the first place, he gave Wilson a relieved smile and a nod. "Yes, it can be. I wasn't certain if you'd want that, although it is what I would prefer, if it were my decision. You're alone here, and if someone were to come in with an illness or an injury and you were caring for them..."

His let his voice trail off, certain that the doctor was thinking the same thing he was. "It's no trouble, James. And the only people currently on the island that it won't keep out are Magdalene and Crowley."

And the new sheriff, he thought. But as there wasn't anything he could do about that, Aziraphale wasn't about to share the information with Wilson.

Nudging at the hardwood floor with the toe of his shoe, Wilson eventually gave a little nod.

"That's...that's what we should do then." He admitted softly but not a breath later his hand reached out and he caught the angel's arm, turning to look at the man.

"Raphale, this isn't as I mean for us to go forward." The young doctor whispered, dark eyes searching blue. "You can't always protect me."

Because at some point there was going to be an instance where the angel was going to have to make a choice and Wilson wanted his lover to know that he never expected to be placed above or beyond Phale's duty to others.

It hurt him to admit, but Aziraphale knew his friend was right, and he nodded. "I know, James. This isn't...about protecting you from the world, or from life. It's about protecting you and the people who need you from a specific sort of threat. One that exists here and now."

His voice was quiet when he spoke, offering up the painful truth, and that if a choice had to be made, the angel would do as he was meant to do.

"I can do this tonight, now. So that Phoebe is protected."

"No." Came the immediate response and Wilson turned away from the window, pacing back into the main room of the apartment. "Absolutely not. It can wait until after you've... caught your breath."

Reaching up to grab at the back of his neck, Wilson rubbed at the tight muscles fractiously, his fingers leaving pale marks in his own skin before he walked purposefully back into the kitchen, puttering in the small area to neaten it up.

Aziraphale watched Wilson fret for a few minutes, then walked over and wrapped his arms around the young doctor. "James dear," he said softly. "I won't hurt myself. I learned a great deal from what happened before, and know that's on your mind. Let's...have a spot of tea, and sit down for a bit. And then we'll see what can be done."

It would tire him, he knew that, and probably more than Wilson would want. But he felt certain he could do it without draining himself beyond recovery...and more importantly, he felt certain that it needed to be done.

For almost seven years, James Wilson had been the wingman of Greg House. House who was such a flash personality that you couldn't help but notice him and compare anyone nearby *to* him. Compared to Greg House, James Wilson was the picture of calm, almost lackadaisical even but this was an illusion, an illusion even House himself was attentive towards.

The truth was Wilson was the higher strung of the pair. Not so much given to the mercurial mood swings of the diagnostician but in terms of temperament, the oncologist was the fractious one. It was masked behind his incredible drive, his tendency to bury himself in twenty different projects at once and his focus of what was often negative energy but sometimes that energy had no where to go and it snapped back on him, leaving him restless and anxious.

Holding him was probably like trying to hold a highly charged electrical wire, tensions radiating through the slender body, the incredible need to be doing something anything, held tightly in check by a logical intellect, Wilson's own body could become a battle ground between EGO and ID.

He knew, logically that Phale was right. Phoebe was obviously in danger, from forces beyond anything Wilson himself could deal with and if a second team were in place, it was near criminally negligent of the young doctor to deny the witch any and all possible protection.

In the end, there really was no choice. Just as he'd just told Phale that the needs of others outweighed their personal relationship, he had to accept that exact same eventuality back on himself. He just hadn't expected to get it kicked back in his teeth so soon.

Looking away, not from Phale personally but from the eventuality of the situation, Wilson gave a tense little nod.

They already know it wasn't a question of seeing what could be done. The path was already laid out in front of them, illuminated brightly by the hardship of Grace.

That tightly coiled tension communicated itself to the angel almost before he touched Wilson, and after a brief embrace, Aziraphale backed away.

"Will you make us some tea, James?" he asked gently, trying to hold back the concern from his voice. He knew that there was a fire that burned constantly beneath the serene mask the young doctor wore, and he also knew that it was burning very close to the surface at the moment.

Not waiting for an answer, he stepped out of the kitchen, moving through the living area to straighten things up for the night. His friend's agitation was contagious, and he went through the motions of creating order to calm himself.

When Wilson had told Phale that being with the angel was helping him regain his faith, he was honest. It was. But as was often the case with medical treatment for every advance there was also a relapse and Wilson knew that was happening to him now.

He was very deliberate as he went through the motions of setting up the tea, deliberate in cleaning the already dirty cups and neatening up a few of the dinner dishes. Deliberate in how he moved the hot kettle from the stove to over the cups and deliberate in the steeping of the tea -no brandy this time!

Inwardly, he raged. Outwards at first, towards Phale...towards the people who attacked Phoebe, towards Fate and towards HIM he raged furiously and then just as quick the fire turned inwards, lit as if by a back draft it exploded in a wash of guilt and a perfectionist's demand for the best and it burned everything in it's path, until Wilson was left, hands braced on the counter to keep from falling down in reaction.

Shoulders slumped a little beneath the weight of yet another failure and the young doctor's mind worked the situation until it became something he could manage.

He couldn't stop the angel from doing what had to be done. All he could do was support the man in his decision and hope for the best.

I'm getting so damn tired of taking everything on faith. Screw YOU and your @%#()@*)$@#( Faith.

Reaching up with a little chuff of unamused laughter, Wilson rubbed his hand across his face.

And that, would be why I'm going to Hell.

Picking up the tea, he turned back towards the room, calling out in a voice that sounded his usual relaxed and chipper self.

"I've got the tea made."

The cheerful voice didn't fool Aziraphale for a second. This time he let the concern show in his eyes as he took the cup he was offered, and from the armchair where he'd ensconced himself he held out a hand toward Wilson. He was well aware of the internal battle that had been raging in the kitchen, and if he couldn't know the details of it he still certainly understood what it was doing to his friend.

"Thank you, James dear," he said softly. In a way, he wondered if the nervous energy building up from their discomfort and worry could be a good thing for both of them -- giving the angel a bit extra to use in protecting the clinic. "Come and sit with me?"

There was a slight hesitation, because he knew that if he did he wasn't going to be able to pace, to try to bleed off the anxious energy still coursing through his body but there was very little he could deny the angel and so after taking a sip of his own tea, he set the mug aside and took his lover's hand.

Toeing off his shoes, Wilson carefully arranged his long limbs as he crawled onto the angel's lap and settled into the oversized arm chair with him. Then, just because it really was the only comfortable way for either of them to be at the moment, he lay his head down on Phale's shoulder.

Aziraphale was fighting a small battle himself -- because although it was comforting to him to hold Wilson in his arms, he could tell it was only serving to build the young doctor's frustration by forcing him to be still. The man's tension bled into the angel as they sat together, and Aziraphale found himself as unable to soothe his friend as Wilson was unable to be soothed.

It was an unpleasant feeling for the angel, and he frowned, turning his head to press his face into Wilson's hair.

"You're frustrated and unhappy," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I can't...help. If there were a better choice, I wouldn't do it tonight, James. I want you to know that. I wish..."

Aziraphale sighed unhappily. "I wish it didn't have to be done at all."

Shifting a little, Wilson wrapped his arm around the angel's middle and exhaled a deep breath, nuzzling his face a little more closely into the comforting warmth of Phale's throat.

"I know." He said softly, the two words carrying a weight of understanding. "It's just, distressing that you have to do this and do it now after you've already done so much and there is nothing I can do to help you."

Another breath and though his body was still tense, there was minute softening in the way he molded against the angel's powerful frame.

"It has to be done and I'm sorry for making it more difficult, Beloved."

Beloved.

It made Aziraphale smile, a warmth moving through him that soothed his tension, and he set down the teacup and wrapped his arms around Wilson. "You make it easier, James dear. And you can help me. Afterwards, when I've finished...I'll be tired, I'm certain. And having you with me then...will make it so much easier."

They weren't just words meant to pacify the agitated mortal. The angel meant them, all of them. In Wilson's presence, he experienced a feeling of safety that he hadn't believed a mortal could provide. He knew instinctively that the man would care for him -- had cared for him, truth be told. And with that memory came a realization that it had been in that moment, when the young doctor had held his hands and given him hope that the angel had come to love him.

Aziraphale drew in a faint, shuddering breath, and pulled Wilson more tightly into his embrace.

Curling his other arm around the angel, Wilson returned the tight hold, eyes closed as he simply allowed himself to enjoy his lover's strength for a few more minutes and attempted to haul his own insecurities into check to return that same Grace and power.

"There will be... a full parade of completely horrible movies for you to rest with. Life of Brian, Meaning of Life, Ten Commandments, Histories of the Worlds I promise, you'll think I'm completely irreverent when it's all said and done."

True, he'd been expecting a slightly different weekend scenario but...as long as Phale was with him, if he had to wrestle the TV into the bedroom so the angel could rest on the bed, in his arms and watch the silly movies, then that was what he would do. That was how it would be. They would do, what needed to be done and the only factor that mattered a wit was that they would do it together.

"It sounds delightful, love," Aziraphale replied softly, face still pressed against his lover's hair. At the moment, still a bit stunned from his recent epiphany, he wanted nothing more than to just hold and be held. It couldn't last for long, he knew -- there was still too much to be done. But for the moment, he would be still, and soak up the acceptance and affection that every touch from the young doctor communicated.

A delighted little shiver ran through him in response to the simple endearment coming from the angel's lips to his ears and Wilson snuggled in a little closer. That unspoken communication was strong between them and rather then continuing to talk, trying to either lighten a situation that neither of them felt light about or further stress them both with the tension the situation caused as they were both caught between duty to others and love for each other.

Instead, he lay quietly against the angel, stroking his back and his arm with a tender, loving touch that silently promised comfort and spoke to a depth of emotion that was nearly frightening as it stole his breath with its intensity.

Eventually, the angel realized that he was feeling much calmer, more ready to undertake the chore he'd set for himself. The agitation had abated, and although he knew the suppressed tension was still present in both himself and the young doctor, it was something he suspected was really always there.

Pressing a kiss to Wilson's temple, he shifted a bit, and sighed. "I should begin, James love. It won't take a great of time, I shouldn't think. And then I expect to have a nice long rest, and be waited on." He smiled his voice soft and teasing.

Wilson snorted softly and after one last second of leaning against his lover's shoulder, the young doctor shifted himself up and got off the angel's lap.

"You and Pogo are already showing signs of sharing an alarming number of qualities. Come on...I imagine you can do this from the bedroom as well as here and that just means I don't have to carry you from here to there."

Tugging on Phale's hand, Wilson led him on into the bedroom. It was quiet in the dark room and for a little bit of light, Wilson set one of the stout candles to burning before he ducked out of his shirt and climbed up onto the bed. It would be easier to hold sooth and protect positive thoughts and emotions to the angel through bare skin and he didn't want to have to be wrestling with his clothing and trying to hold Phale at the same time when it was all said and done.

Quirking an eyebrow at the young doctor, Aziraphale protested. "I haven't any idea what you mean, James," he answered, in an amused tone.

Following Wilson's instructions, the angel rose from the chair and walked into the bedroom, stripping down to his trousers just as his lover had done. He settled onto the bed, leaving room between his body and the pillows at the headboard for Wilson to sit. Leaning back against him, Aziraphale sighed, and then dropped quickly into a relaxed, almost meditative state.

Extending his senses beyond the boundaries of his corporeal form, he traced the contours of the building, identifying the space that had been claimed by Wilson, leaning the shape of it. Then he made that space his as well, layering on a boundary of power, enclosing the space until it was protected, safe from intrusion. The wards would probably not withstand a full attack, but the angel felt that was an unlikely scenario anyway. Anyone who had the ability, however, and cared to look, would see that the clinic and the living space above it were now under his protection.

When he was finished -- it took little more than a few moments -- Aziraphale sagged in Wilson's arms. His eyes fluttered, and he leaned his head back to rest against his lover's shoulder.

"Tired..." he said, sighing raggedly.

Settling himself back against a nest of comfortable pillows, Wilson wrapped his arms warmly around the angel and held him tightly through the long moments as he felt the powerful body tense, then shudder and sag with a sort of exhaustion.

Wilson wasn't sure if he somehow shouldn't have felt...something more but he quickly dismissed the thought. It was unlikely he would ever really feel much of the 'supernatural' side of his lover, except for the times when Phale deliberately laid hands on him. But though he hadn't felt the actual power that went into the warding, he could feel the utter exhaustion radiating off Phale at the moment and he reaching with his hands, carefully adjusting the angel so that he was still wrapped up in the warm security of the young doctor's arms, skin resting warmly against skin but slightly to the side so that he could release his wings.

"You are an idiot." He whispered roughly, leaning down to kiss the angel's temple, whispering against slightly damp skin. "And I love you despite it."

Aziraphale shifted a little, moving closer into his lover's embrace, burying his face in Wilson's chest. He was exhausted, although not dangerously so, but he felt unbelievably safe. His body relaxed, wings slowly unfurling to drape heavily across the bed.

"Love you too," he breathed against the young doctor's skin, raising his arms slightly to wrap around Wilson's waist, and falling quickly asleep.