"I'm a little creaky but I'm not blind quite yet," he answered with a quick little smile. Yes, he'd noticed. That changed very little.
He let out a sigh at the real question, though, glancing down at Scott.
"I was planning on it, to be honest. No where else I've got to be at the moment, so unless I get an emergency signal from home, I'm doing what I can to help."
He pointed at one of the loops holding Scott to the bed.
"Wouldn't do to let him wake up and wrench something, after all."
He was concerned about Sand but when it came to that, he wasn't sure what he could do. Sand was... well, he was much like his mentor: something of an enigma who kept his cards very close to his chest. He hadn't always been that way, but Alan supposed it had something to do with the weight of his visions, something the nightmares did.
He'd asked Wesley about it once, what they were like, what made them so terrible. After all, they saw horrible things often enough, unfortunately. What was it that made him look so haunted?
I don't just see the crimes, Alan. I connect with the minds of the criminals, see into the pits of their souls so I know them. So I can find them. It's important work... but I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
It was something he wondered about sometimes, if Wes knew that at his death, his visions would be passed on. He didn't think so, most of the time. Especially when he saw Sandy at his worst, strung out, awake for over a week or more...
When he saw that, he couldn't imagine Wesley knowingly doing that to Sand. He'd spent most of his life trying to cure the boy, considered him his son the same way he'd considered Dian his 'wife' even if they'd never formalized it, and he'd never forgiven himself for what had happened in that lab all those years ago. Wesley hadn't been perfect, none of them were perfect for goodness sake, but of all of them, he'd never been needlessly cruel. No, he had a feeling Mordru or not, Wes would have tried harder had he known what it would do to his golden boy.
Thoughts still swirling on the issue of Sand, on this strange and very possibly brilliant plan from Michael, he tilted his head.
"Just let me know if you need me to do anything. I don't want to take up space in your medical bay as a nuisance."
no subject
He let out a sigh at the real question, though, glancing down at Scott.
"I was planning on it, to be honest. No where else I've got to be at the moment, so unless I get an emergency signal from home, I'm doing what I can to help."
He pointed at one of the loops holding Scott to the bed.
"Wouldn't do to let him wake up and wrench something, after all."
He was concerned about Sand but when it came to that, he wasn't sure what he could do. Sand was... well, he was much like his mentor: something of an enigma who kept his cards very close to his chest. He hadn't always been that way, but Alan supposed it had something to do with the weight of his visions, something the nightmares did.
He'd asked Wesley about it once, what they were like, what made them so terrible. After all, they saw horrible things often enough, unfortunately. What was it that made him look so haunted?
I don't just see the crimes, Alan. I connect with the minds of the criminals, see into the pits of their souls so I know them. So I can find them. It's important work... but I wouldn't wish it on anyone.
It was something he wondered about sometimes, if Wes knew that at his death, his visions would be passed on. He didn't think so, most of the time. Especially when he saw Sandy at his worst, strung out, awake for over a week or more...
When he saw that, he couldn't imagine Wesley knowingly doing that to Sand. He'd spent most of his life trying to cure the boy, considered him his son the same way he'd considered Dian his 'wife' even if they'd never formalized it, and he'd never forgiven himself for what had happened in that lab all those years ago. Wesley hadn't been perfect, none of them were perfect for goodness sake, but of all of them, he'd never been needlessly cruel. No, he had a feeling Mordru or not, Wes would have tried harder had he known what it would do to his golden boy.
Thoughts still swirling on the issue of Sand, on this strange and very possibly brilliant plan from Michael, he tilted his head.
"Just let me know if you need me to do anything. I don't want to take up space in your medical bay as a nuisance."