(    “I don’t find it the least bit surprising that you’re alone.”   )
  It’s been two weeks, three days, and twelve hours since he’d spit in Wesley’s face, and had that spit back in his own. It’s not even a statement he can argue. He’d wanted to say that he could have the company of others if not for Charlie – like he was doing some great thing, sacrificing his social needs for the safety of humanity… But he’d be a fucking liar.
  Truth is, people just didn’t like him. And he honestly didn’t really like people either. But for all his abrasive attitude, he wishes that there was someone to listen to his tangents. That there was someone else that saw the world’s complexities as a challenge to be solved, and found no greater joy than just accumulating knowledge for knowledge’s sake. It could be argued that Charlie is his constant companion, but there’s a difference between just a physical presence and an engaging, intelligent one.
  Which is why when his old-ass work laptop chirps with a Skype call, he only rolls his eyes a little bit. There’s only two people that he Skypes with. Or one, considering he cut ties with Clementine when Charlie decided her soul looked like candy.
  “Spencer Tarek, what the fuck do you want?”
  “Nice to see you too, Lee. Just following up on that inscription I sent you.”
   “Your documentation and photography skills are still deplorable. I could barely make anything out. Plus, I’ve been busy with my own thing.”
   “Work thing or--? Actually do you even have any other things other than work things?” Spencer leans in close to the webcam, large brown eyes distorting slightly with the choppy connection. He means it affectionately, but to Levi it strikes a nerve.
   “I hope you trip and fall in an excavation hole, get trapped under rubble and have to cut your leg off.” Levi retorts viciously. He stews for a moment to Spencer’s raised eyebrow, and then he cracks. He supposes they are friends, to a degree. “…I had a rather unusual visitor.”
   When nothing else is forthcoming, Spencer lifts his open palms to encourage him. Levi sighs, takes his glasses off and massages at his temples. Where does he even start?
  Fifteen minutes later, his previous research partner more or less has an edited version of his encounters with Wesley Starks. Spencer rocks in his office chair and chews on the stir stick from his coffee, pensively (a habit which used to drive Levi fucking up the wall, but since he can’t reach over and rip it out of his mouth, he lets it slide, just this once).
   “I mean, it’s fucking insane, isn’t it?” Levi prompts.
   “Yes. …And no. Wait, WAIT, WAIT, before you freak out and go all Super Saiyan on me, listen. I’ve got this friend who studies particle theory and—“
  “Don’t. Even. Say. It. Tarek. I will fly to Wales, and strangle the life from your eyes, so help me.”
  “We’re scientists. We have to entertain the theoretical. The possibilities. It’s what SCIENCE is, Lee.”
  “Thank you for taking my nightmare so incredibly fucking seriously, asshat. I have papers to mark. And I’ll get back to you on your inscription.” He slams the laptop cover to Spencer’s protests. Spends the next minute with his face in his palms, muttering angrily to himself. Glances between his fingers at the clock in his dingy office. 6:47 in the evening. He should go home.
  Better yet, he should go home and not think about Wes at all. How infuriating that other man was, without even having a history with him. The strange dreams that have been plaguing his miniscule amount of sleep. (   Wes, Levi and Charlie in a boat, drifting down the river Styx. Charlie playing a mandolin and serenading them as they talk about the newest issue of New Scientist, West with his socked feet in Levi’s lap. A lit cigarette trailing ashes in the black water. And even with all the death around them trying to climb into the rocking vessel, they keep talking, eyes on each other.   )
  There’s the sound of footsteps outside his office. Heavy set, and purposeful. Levi thinks it might be the janitor, although he doesn’t usually come down to the basement at night. Even the staff have bought into the idea that Professor Bradley’s office is haunted. Grabs at his messenger bag and coat, chair rolling back with a squeak against old, checkered tile. “I’m just own my way out. Give me a moment.”
  And then who comes through the door but Wes.
  Levi heaves an almighty, irate sigh. Runs his clenched fingers through his messy, dark hair. “Are you kidding me, right now?”
  Charlie decides to make an appearance, making a disturbing little noise of glee.
   “You make a point to tell me that nobody wants to be in my company, but you keep seeking me out. What the fuck does this say about you?”
