Chapter Two

This was harder than Angel had thought it would be. All of it. In some ways, Wesley's apparent acceptance of his new state was more difficult to deal with than the righteous anger had been. The anger had belonged to Wesley, the *real* Wesley. The acceptance seemed foreign. Wrong.

He made his way back to the basement and stood for a long time just looking at the sheet-wrapped bodies in their painfully neat line. One good thing about an old hotel was that it had a lot of old sheets -- musty sheets, sheets that had once been white, but had gone grey with time and disuse.

Nothing stayed white forever.

He knelt next to Connor and unwrapped the makeshift death shroud from around his face. The boy's eyelids were closed, his expression peaceful now that the horror beneath had been covered up. He looked pale and painfully young.

Angel cradled his son's face in his hand, his thumb brushing over the high cheekbone that reminded him so much of Darla's, and he wept.

He hadn't cried when Connor had disappeared through the portal into Quortoth in Holtz's arms, even though he'd thought he'd never see the boy again. His despair had been too deep, his rage at Wesley too great. There hadn't been room for tears. He'd been mourning what would have been.

Now Angel mourned what was gone. He cried for Darla, who hadn't wanted Connor, but who had managed, somehow, to offer her own life in sacrifice to make room for his. He cried for Connor's defiance and their shared belief that everything was black and white. He cried because Connor had died and taken with him the chance that, someday, everything would be right between them.

In the end, when the tears had faded and all that was left was the darkness, Angel sat with his hand on Connor's face, staring at it as though he could commit it to memory that way. As though he could burn it into his brain and keep Connor alive forever.

He couldn't even bring himself to look at the others again. As he'd wrapped each of them up in turn and carried them down here, he'd had thoughts that cut as sharply as a blade. How lush Cordy's body was. How much heavier Gunn had been than he'd expected. How Lilah, in the end, had bled and died just like the rest. How Fred was like a butterfly, all delicate wings, and weighing so little that it was like she might fly away.

He'd thought Lorne should have been able to see this coming, a thought that had brought a few choice curse words to mind as well; some directed at himself and some at Lorne, and that had only brought more guilt.

It was too much; too much to deal with, too many memories. He'd have to put them away for now and come back to them later, maybe, when it was less raw.

Finally, when his brain had gone so quiet that he felt nearly asleep, Angel leaned down and pressed one final kiss to his son's forehead. He wrapped the sheet around him again, very carefully, and got up.

As he walked toward the stairs, a series of images flashed through his brain.

Another tear tracked its way down Angel's face.

Pausing with his foot on the bottom step, Angel said, "Never forget that I'm your father, and that I love you." His voice cracked on the last words.

Angel made his way up the stairs. He wasn't sure how Wes was going to react to to being forced to look at the bodies of his friends, but he'd need to get through it, whether he liked it or not. The only way Wesley would be able to move on would be if he accepted what they -- what *he* -- had done, and the only way to do that was to see the evidence with his own eyes.

Angel paused outside the door to his room to deliberately calm himself before going in. He needed to set an example for Wes, but he also needed to be matter of fact in case Wesley fell apart. He clenched his fists so hard that he could feel the tension up into his shoulders and then relaxed them and opened the door.

Wesley was where he'd left him, obviously; Angel was no novice as far as restraints went, and he knew the strength of a fledgling vampire well enough. He noted the bruises and small cuts on Wesley's face as he went closer.

"Told you I'd be back for you," he said, wincing at the sound of his own voice, hoarse with tears. He took the keys to the manacle locks from his pants' pocket and moved to the foot of the bed. He unlocked one ankle and then the other.

"Where are we going?" Wesley asked, watching Angel carefully.

Angel wasn't sure he was ready to put it into words. "You'll see when we get there." He sat on the side of the bed next to Wes and reached for the younger vamp's far wrist, rubbing it gently, but not unlocking it, not yet. "Before I let you loose, I want to make sure you understand the situation."

Wesley nodded. "You want me to tell you I won't run off? That I won't fight you? I may be different, Angel, but I'm not stupid. I know you're stronger than I am. How many times would you like me to repeat it?"

"I'll *always* be stronger than you," Angel emphasized. The sight of Wes still shackled, coupled with his own sense of control, caused a flare of arousal low in Angel's belly. Arousal that he quickly repressed. He repeated, "Always. And if you do anything that pisses me off, I'm gonna shorten your leash. You keep me happy; things between us will be okay."

Wesley's eyes reflected a hint of insolence that Angel didn't like, but he only nodded again. "I understand."

He found it interesting that Wes was a slightly better liar now than he had been, but not really surprising. "Okay, then." He unlocked Wes' wrists and stood up, watching as Wesley got slowly to his feet. The new vamp moved carefully, as if he was sore from his earlier beating, but also experimenting with his new strength. Angel wondered how long this stage would last for him. Would he learn more quickly than others had? Or would it take Wes longer because of the way he analyzed and overanalyzed everything?

"Come on. Let's go." Angel turned and started for the door without waiting for a response, expecting Wesley to follow him without question.

"What are we... oh. You want me to see the bodies." Wesley was behind him, sticking close, as if he knew Angel would want him to be.

He should have known that Wes would figure it out. Hell, he probably reeked of death at this point, and Wes' new vamp sense of smell would be in hyperdrive during these early days. "Yeah," Angel said shortly.

"That should be... interesting," Wes offered, in a tone of voice that was so intellectually curious that it made Angel want to turn around and punch him in the face. He had to remind himself that Wesley was still adjusting to the change, and that he probably didn't mean it the way it sounded. He had to remind himself that Wes didn't have a soul.

Angel didn't have to remind himself that all of these things were his responsibility. He'd make Wesley tow the line when it was needed, but there were going to be times when he needed to cut him some slack too.

He continued to walk in silence, through the lobby and then down the stairs into the basement.

"Why are they...?" Wesley cut himself off as they neared the bottom of the steps. "Angel, why down here?"

Angel waited to answer the question until he'd stopped walking, Wes like a shadow at his elbow. "Privacy. Last thing we need's someone walking in and finding a bunch of bodies in the office. Plus we're going to have to dispose of them at some point; not like I'm going to carry them out the front door."

"Ah. Of course."

Angel didn't like his condescending tone. "Just remember who's in charge here, Wesley. You question me, I'm not gonna hesitate to beat that tendency out of you. However many times it takes."

Wesley nodded. "I know." His expression indicated that he believed what he was being told.

Angel stepped to one side and gestured at the line of bodies. "I want you to uncover their faces and look at them. It's harder to accept if you don't see it."

He watched as Wesley walked slowly over and got down on his knees. Wes glanced up at him and then slowly peeled the first sheet back, exposing Fred's pale face. There were still bits of dried blood on her lips but her eyes were closed. Angel kept his own gaze on Wesley, watching the emotions cross his face one after another, almost faster than Angel could interpret them: Disbelief, sorrow, confusion, a flash of anger.

Wesley continued to stare at Fred, keeping his hands well away from her, like he was afraid to touch her directly.

"Wes? Tell me how it feels, knowing you might have been the one who killed her."

Wes' eyes were blank when he looked up at Angel. "What?"

"You heard me."

"You actually expect me to..." Wesley trailed off, unmoving, his eyes on the body again.

Angel wasn't sure if Wes was in shock or denial, but he knew he had to snap him out of it and fast. There wasn't time for this crap. Get in, get out, get it over with. He went over and pulled Wesley to his feet, his hands gentle now, turning Wes' face to look at him. "Wesley. I'm not doing this to fuck with you; it's important. You need to accept it."

"I didn't know it would be like this."

His patience, already worn thin, snapped, and Angel tightened his grip. "Well, it is. This is what it's like, Wes. Pretending it's not happening isn't going to get you anywhere."

"Fine." Wesley's eyes flashed angrily, and he wrenched himself from Angel's grasp. "It feels... I don't want to be the one who killed her," he said. "I cared for her."

"What if you *were* the one who killed her?" Angel pressed him. "What if it was you?"

Wes glanced at him. "Are you saying it was?"

"Are you this pig-headed about *everything?* I'm not testifying in court, I'm asking you a question. And I expect an answer."

"I don't want to have killed her," Wesley said quickly, as if the words were spilling out of him. He turned away from Angel. "But I don't feel as if I can really bring myself to care a great deal if I did. The thought of draining her is... immensely satisfying, in a way I can't even put words to. If she were standing in front of me right now, helpless and... I might do it again. There," Wesley said, turning back toward him, fists clenched at his sides. "Are you satisfied now?"

"I'll be satisfied when the job's done," Angel told him. "You're just getting started." He made a sweeping gesture that included the rest of the bodies in the line.

"This is all your fault, you know," Wes said bitterly, as he covered Fred's face again and then knelt beside the next body.

Only slightly irritated, Angel narrowed his eyes. "How do you figure that?"

Wesley unfolded the sheet and looked at Cordy's face. "I salvaged you from the bottom of the sea so that things would be over between us. We were even. You were the one who kept dragging me back. You were the one who came to me, wanting to know about Cordelia."

Angel snorted. "And who showed up at *my* hotel after she disappeared again? I'm pretty sure that was you, Wesley."

"I was trying to *protect* her," Wesley protested, but already it sounded like his anger was fading. "I knew you didn't know where she'd run off to. I was trying to help."

"And I'm not arguing with you about that. I'm saying you dragged yourself back to the fold just as many times as I came to you for help."

"Tell me how they died," Wes said, without looking up, and except for how impassive he was in the face of this horror, he sounded more like himself than he had since he'd woken.

Angel shifted his weight. "Fred was... someone... well. Her neck was broken and she was drained. Guess you can cross her off your list of people to feel guilty about."

"I don't. Feel guilty," Wesley said, and then an expression of surprise crossed his face as if he was only realizing then that it was true. He covered Cordelia again and moved on. "But if we're going to draw some conclusions about what actually happened, we'll need to catalogue the details. Collect data."

"Well, the details say I killed Fred. Cordy too." Angel watched Wesley as he removed the sheet that covered Lilah's face and throat, not wanting to look at the body himself. "And I..." He paused, and then forced himself to continue, "snacked on Lilah."

Wesley closed his eyes at the sight of his girlfriend -- or whatever the hell Lilah had been to him, since there'd been times Angel hadn't been sure -- and nodded. "But I'm the one who killed her."

Somehow, it was reassuring to think that maybe Wesley felt remorse about her death, or about his involvement in it. "If you remember doing it, then yeah, my guess is it was you. It's not just her throat, though; she was stabbed a couple of times."

Lilah was almost as white as the sheet that surrounded her, the bruising and dried blood on her throat dark in the dim light. Wesley brushed her hair back from her face with fingers that might have been shaking, whether in horror or deliberately suppressed excitement, Angel couldn't tell. "I remember strangling her. She was still alive when I did it. I could feel her flesh rupturing beneath my fingers, and it was... exhilarating." Wes looked up at Angel, perplexed. "That's what I don't understand. All of this happened before you turned me. Why did I do it?"

"That's what we're going to figure out. And keep your fingers out of your mouth - this isn't a buffet."

Wesley blinked and looked down at his hand. "Right. Sorry. I'm... still rather hungry." Turning his attention back to the job at hand, he examined Lilah's throat carefully and then recovered her face. His expression was sober, but still interested. "All right. You're certain that you were the one who killed Cordelia and Fred?"

He was so matter of fact about it. Angel reminded himself again that it wasn't Wesley's fault that he didn't have a soul. "Yeah."

"And what about the others?" Wesley waved a hand at him as if to say 'never mind' and moved on to the next body impassively. He unwrapped Lorne and started to look him over.

"He's all torn up," Angel offered. "Bitten... up. Not vamp bites, though. And his, um... skull's smashed in."

"I see." Wes' fingers moved through Lorne's hair, finding the sunken area that Angel had discovered earlier. "I remember biting Lilah. Do you think I was the one who...?"

"Could be. But some of the others -- Fred, at least -- had blood around their mouths. I thought it looked more like a group effort."

"Then it wasn't just you and I who caused all of this. Some of the others were affected, as well." Wesley moved on to Gunn's body.

Angel nodded. "He was, at least. A crossbow bolt killed Connor, and the crossbow was lying right next to Gunn."

There was an expression that Angel couldn't quite figure on Wesley's face. Not finding any injuries on Gunn's face or throat, Wes unwrapped more of the sheet and discovered the large puncture wound through Gunn's torso.

"All right. So we've two killed by vampire, one by strangulation, one by severe head injury, and one by massive blood loss due to stab wound. At least three or four of us definitely affected by... whatever it was. Some sort of malicious force, perhaps."

"Once we figure out who -- or what -- did this, we'll go after it. Forget all the shit you've heard about revenge being a dish best served cold; soon as we have something to go on, it's taken care of."

Wesley's eyes gleamed with excitement. "Now that sounds like something I'd like you to teach me."

"Count on it."

Wes covered Gunn back up and turned to the last body.

"*Don't*," Angel said harshly.

Wes glanced up in surprise. "I thought you wanted me to - "

"No. Not Connor." Angel could lead by example -- he could hold it together in front of Wesley, show him how to do it -- but not if he had to see his son's face again. That part of his life was over. He wouldn't, couldn't, go back.

"But Angel, how can I formulate a theory about what occurred without having all of the details at my disposal?"

"We can talk about it later," Angel said, closing his eyes.

There was a long pause with no response from Wesley, and when Angel opened his eyes and looked at him again, he knew something was wrong.

"What?"

Wesley swallowed heavily and stood up. "Nothing."

He was lying; Angel could practically smell it on him. "I know when you're telling me the truth, Wes. And I can tell when you're lying."

"And do you know when I've been sleeping, and when I'm awake?" Wes asked, with a tinge of hysteria locked behind the artificial calm in his voice. "I'm fine, Angel. Leave it."

Angel moved quickly, before Wes could react, grabbing him by the throat. He squeezed, hard enough to hurt Wesley, knowing that a new vampire would react to the threat of strangulation instinctively, his body unable to remember that it didn't need to breathe. "Tell me."

"It's nothing," Wesley repeated stubbornly, although Angel could smell the tinge of fear emanating from him.

"Tell me." Angel's voice didn't allow for disobedience.

Wes met his eyes defiantly for the briefest of seconds, and then dropped his gaze. "I didn't realize how difficult this would be," he said slowly. "What would it be like if I had a soul?"

Angel loosened his grip. "Harder," he admitted, and then told the truth in a way that he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to again. "You should be glad you don't have one. For now." He let go of Wesley and turned toward the staircase, starting up it without waiting to see if Wes was following.

***

"Time to clean up."

Angel was taking Wesley slowly back upstairs to his room, their lonely little wake apparently over. Wes felt suitably dead inside. He had... *loved* those people; all of them, in one way or another. And now they were gone, taken by a mysterious killer who seemed, somehow, to have used them all as its weapon.

During the conversation by the bodies, Wesley had sneaked a look at under Connor's shroud while Angel's eyes had been closed. The boy's face, sullen somehow even in death, had provoked a powerful flash of memory.

So Connor's death, as well as Lilah's, was his doing. It was fitting; he had to admit it. Fate proving, yet again, that it had a sense of humour.

When the memory had hit, Angel had known there was something wrong with Wes, but he had eventually accepted Wesley's artful lie and diversionary tactic. It was clear that Angel intended to keep Wes close, and Wesley felt that successful escape in the short term was unlikely, if indeed he wanted to. But if Angel discovered who had killed his son, so making a farce of that stupid bloody prophecy, Wes thought he would soon be dust.

As it was, he had in a way replaced Connor, becoming Angel's new son. It wasn't the same, obviously, but Wes had the advantage of being *all* Angel now had. The only piece of flotsam and jetsam that the Angel could salvage. And hadn't a part of Wesley always wanted this? For it to be just Angel and him, all other distractions removed?

But try as he might, he couldn't feel joyful about the deaths of his friends. Despite the way they had discarded him after the kidnapping, Wesley had still cared, fool that he was. He would miss them. And Lilah, who had never discarded him, and who had treated him, in fact, surprisingly well. She, he would possibly miss the most, because she would have found the changes in him exciting.

The others would have been offended, disgusted even, by his vampiric incarnation. But Lilah... well, she'd loved to be bitten, and she would have known how to take care of herself to make sure he didn't take things too far. Together, they could have ruled the damn world.

Wesley sighed heavily, and Angel paused outside the door to his suite and turned to look at him, apparently concerned. Wesley shrugged and gave his sire a ruefully helpless look.

"We'll find out what happened," Angel promised him, clasping a strong hand to Wesley's shoulder and meeting his gaze. "If it was some kind of attack, we'll make sure whoever it was pays the price in blood. Trust me."

Wesley did trust Angel, in this respect at least. He knew revenge would be had, and he anticipated it with bloodthirsty relish, but it wouldn't bring back the past. Perhaps that was a good thing however. He also had died, and by rights his body should be lying in a shroud of dirty sheets beside the others. The man he once was had gone, and after vengeance had been taken, a completely new existence awaited.

He smiled slightly at Angel. "I shall look forward to it."

He was rewarded with an approving smile from his sire, and his shoulder was patted before the hand withdrew. Wes found himself forcibly reminded of the bulldog and his son in the old Tom and Jerry cartoons. There was an unspoken 'That's my boy.'

Once behind the closed door of the suite, Angel instructed, "Take off your clothes," and proceeded to strip himself with a pragmatic matter-of-factness. Wesley raised an eyebrow and watched with interest until a warning growl from Angel hastened his own disrobing. He dropped the blood-stiff clothing into the bin, as there seemed very little point in keeping it.

This wasn't the first time Wes had seen Angel naked, and on the previous occasion, Angel had been erect as well as bare. Wes smiled smugly at the memory of Angel lying on top him, the impressively hard cock pushing into his lower belly and the thick hand around his throat. Of course, the arousal had been for Darla and not for Wesley, but that hadn't stopped the man Wes had been then from indulging in guilty masturbation, using the initially frightening event as his own personal pornography.

Angel grabbed his arm painfully and pulled him towards the bathroom. "Maybe we should make this shower a cold one," he said, deadpan, and Wes realised that he'd grown hard with his thoughts and in his naked proximity to his sire. He smiled; he wasn't ashamed.

Within the bathroom, Wes was momentarily off-put by the sight of himself in the mirror, or rather the lack of it. Curious, and more than a little disturbed, he reached out and touched the glass. It was as if he didn't really exist anymore. Wes rubbed at the scar on his neck. His transformation had not lost him the brands of his past, and yet, in a way, all that he once was had gone.

"You get used to it," Angel told him, and Wes jumped, realising Angel was just behind him. He looked down, not wanting to see his lack of reflective substance anymore. The pattern of the flooring caused some odd sensations to shock through him. He turned to stare at his sire.

"Did I...? Was it in here that you...?"

Angel nodded. "I cleaned up after..." They both seemed to be having problems finishing their sentences.

Angel went to the shower and fiddled with the controls, swearing quietly as the water emerged contrary to his tastes. Wesley stood behind, his arms folded, and his admiring gaze moving up and down the muscles of Angel's back and the taut, sculpted arse. It was good to be able to stare openly like this, without embarrassment and guilt. Yet again, Wes was struck by how exhilaratingly free he felt.

His cock bobbed happily, and Wesley saw no reason not to reach down and begin to stroke it. Angel, having finally adjusted the shower controls to his satisfaction, turned and looked from Wesley's face down to his hand with mounting exasperation. He smacked Wesley's hand away from his body, and Wes cried out, stepping backwards, as the blow provoked a stinging pain within his swollen member.

"You're not six years old. Self-control, remember?" Angel's bad-tempered rebuke was lessened in Wesley's mind by the fact that Angel's own shaft was suddenly half-hard. He grinned slyly.

"Sorry," he said, completely without sincerity.

Angel grasped his shoulder and pushed him towards the tub. "Get in," he ordered coldly. "Wash yourself off."

Wesley stepped under the spray, which was shockingly hot as opposed to cold, and looked down with a smile as the water at his feet turned pink. Angel stood close beside him and immediately began to scrub at himself with a handful of shower gel and a flannel. Wes watched with lascivious delight as soapy bubbles began to slide down the heavily muscled body.

Angel cuffed him. Hard. "Don't just stand there."

Wiping his now bloodied lip on the back of his hand, Wesley gave his sire a reproachful look and helped himself to some shower gel. Starting with his hair, he began to systematically cleanse his body of the blood of his friends and lover. He noted, intrigued, that his injuries from the earlier beating were already starting to fade. This new life had a wonderful transience to it. He had no reflection and would gain no more scars; nothing seemed to matter much anymore.

At one point, he paused in his activity to glance at Angel, and he was amused to notice that his sire was now watching *him* wash, a fixed expression on his face. After that, Wesley's movements became a lot more sensual.

Clean to his own satisfaction, Wesley found himself pressed against the cold tiles as Angel checked him over without a word. "Apparently, I *am* a six year old," he said dryly, as Angel dragged fingers through his wet hair, checking for... what?

"I don't want to smell them on you," Angel explained, and Wes grimaced at the thought.

It seemed he passed muster, however, as Angel backed off, nodding with grim approval. Wes felt distinctly disappointed. His cock, which had softened during the washing process, had instantly begun to harden again with Angel pressed so close, who was hardly flaccid either. "I could help you with that," Wes offered, indicating the region of his interest with a nod of his head.

Angel scowled. "Where the hell is this coming from? This isn't you."

"Bollocks," Wes replied succinctly. Knowing what he now did about the vampiric sense of smell, he realised there was no possible way that Angel hadn't known how attracted Wes had always been to him. Angel had undoubtedly understood better than Wesley himself, considering the denial he'd schooled himself in.

Or perhaps Angel meant to object to his new found sexual forwardness. Of course, Wes was meant to be playing the meek and mild version of himself, wasn't he? He sighed.

"I could pretend to still have inhibitions if it would please you. I *want* to please you." He met Angel's gaze briefly and was surprised by the intensity he saw in the overshadowed eyes. Suddenly, he found himself pressed back against the tiles again, but this time, hard lips were crushing his own, Angel's muscular bulk pinning him. It felt really quite wonderful.

Wesley moaned and squirmed against Angel, who in turn growled low in his throat. Angel thrust his tongue hard between Wesley's teeth, holding him with one hand behind his neck and another pressed to his chest. Their wet bodies slid over each other as both automatically began to rotate their hips, Wes exalting in the feel of Angel's cock hardening against him.

Reminding himself that he didn't need to gasp for air, Wesley concentrated on the feel of the kiss he had craved for so long. It wasn't a pretty affair; teeth clashed against teeth or split the flesh pressed against them. Long strings of saliva were washed away by the torrent of the shower, as their mouths parted briefly, allowing Angel to search Wesley's gaze for something before returning to his lips.

Wesley's hands, uncertain at first, now stroked in long, confident motions down the length of Angel's back, enjoying the undulations of the other vampire's frame. Made brave by increasingly strong lust, Wes moved one hand further down to grasp a hard and rocking buttock. He dug his fingers into the muscle, and Angel groaned into his mouth.

Bodies rearranged themselves, the hand on his chest moving downward. It wrapped around Wesley's cock, squeezing hard, and he cried out, arching his body forward and tipping his head back. Angel's head dipped, and blunt teeth nibbled painfully around the scar while the grip on Wesley's cock moved in rapid jerks.

"Christ!" Wesley exclaimed, his balls already tightening, and he thrust powerfully into Angel's hand.

But then the hand was gone.

And the biting mouth and pressing body, even the spray of the shower, were all gone too. Angel was standing out on the bathroom floor, towelling himself off.

"You bastard!" Wesley panted, outraged at his treatment.

Angel glowered at him. "Respect, Wes," he reminded.

"Fuck you," Wesley replied, and found himself being hauled from the tub and thrown hard against the bathroom wall. A towel hit him in the chest.

"Dry yourself off."

He did what he was told, but he was furiously unhappy. "What the hell was that *lesson* about then?" he demanded to know.

"You tell me."

"I've no idea, so it was clearly very poorly taught."

"When you figure it out, maybe you'll know the right thing to say." Angel hung up his towel and walked out into the bedroom.

Wes leant back on the wall he'd been thrown against and fought back sobs. Angel really was the most infuriating, uncommunicative, pig-headed, and desirable man he'd ever known. Being in his sire's control like this was simultaneously deeply exciting and utterly aggravating. He rubbed his hands fiercely over his face and tried to calm down, attempting to apply his brain to the problem he'd been given to solve.

What was the lesson Angel was so ineptly attempting to teach him?

That Angel was in control? But Wes already knew that. Or did he really? Wesley tried to put himself in Angel's skin, with a soulless and probably annoyingly intelligent fledgling to train. It was a situation much like when he'd first captured Justine.

The first thing a dominant sire would have to do would be to ensure the young vampire accepted, without question, the reality of the sire's authority. And there it was. Wesley was still questioning, still protesting, still demanding; the training had barely begun.

In some ways, Wes felt he was adapting to the realities of his new subordination rather quickly. He'd gone in one day from being an independent figure in the AI circle and definitely his own boss, to a subservient dependent with no say over his own actions or condition. Agreed, his acceptance of this 'fact' was little more than lip service to keep Angel happy. But if he wanted Angel happy and was prepared to keep on with the act, did it effectively matter that the submission was only skin deep?

Wes had worked hard over his years in LA to build a sense of independence and a personal authority, and now he was expected to throw it all away just because he'd had the misfortune to still be alive when Angel found him? He was glad he wasn't dead. Glad he wasn't one of those pale, clammy bodies he'd said goodbye to earlier. And he was definitely enjoying all this close contact with the vampire he'd covertly desired for so long. It was just that being sired, it seemed, was like being press-ganged. All the choices of his existence were no longer his to make. He was a child again, with an equally repressive father.

Yet Wes wasn't sure that he would run away even if he could. Angel was all his now; he didn't want to waste the opportunity. He just wished it was a little less... frustrating. Not fighting the current remained the sensible course of action however, until Wes could work out either an escape plan or a way to manipulate Angel into a more palatable form of relationship.

He walked out into the bedroom where Angel was now fully dressed and stripping the bed of dirty linen. "I'm sorry," Wes said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "Thank you for the attention you have shown me."

"There're some clothes on the bureau," Angel said, without looking around, but his voice held some warmth.

Encouraged that he was at least approaching the ballpark of 'the right thing to say', Wes pulled on the clothing left out for him. Angel's, obviously, and too big, but the shirt and pants seemed carefully chosen to not look too ridiculous on his more slender frame. He tightened the belt at his waist and pulled the shirt over it. He'd do.

Angel stretched out on the clean sheets. "Come lie down with me," he instructed softly. Wes lay down on his back beside the other vampire, carefully not touching him, and Angel rolled onto his side so that he could observe him. "You look better cleaned up. Pale, but..."

Wes turned his face to give Angel an ironic smile. "I am what you made me, even down to the clothes."

"Even this?" Angel asked, stroking a single finger over the neck scar.

"In a way, yes." He made himself not flinch at the contact. What did the scar matter now anyway? His crimes had died with Connor, providing Angel never discovered the truth about his son's death. "In an important way."

"I made you, Wes. Maybe I had a hand in creating the human you were, maybe not. But I made the vamp you are now, and that makes you mine. Understand?"

"I think so. I like being yours, so long as I'm valued."

"That's the catch," Angel said, and his hand spread flat over Wesley's throat, not hurting, just... owning. "Mine to keep, or mine to toss out like yesterday's trash. Nothing you can do either way. I need to you to get that."

"I do," Wes said, but the idea of being discarded hurt, and he rolled over, turning his back on Angel.

The hand from his throat now stroked his upper arm. "I'm not going to get rid of you," Angel reassured. "Not unless you really get out of control. Didn't sire someone for the first time in more than a century only to dust them when I get bored."

So Angel really would dust him. Of course he would. It wasn't like Wesley really mattered; it was just that everyone else had gone. The nightmare day was catching up to Wes; he was hungry, lonely and scared. Rolling back to face his sire, he looked into the dark eyes and said, "I know I have no soul now, and that the souled are accustomed to thinking of the soulless as having no right to consideration, but I am still a feeling thing. I still care. I still hurt."

"I know that." Angel replied simply. He sighed and pulled Wes to him, and Wesley relaxed as much as he could into the embrace, needing the comfort, but angry at himself for feeling like the child Angel seemed determined to treat him as. Angel told him, "I'm gonna look after you. Keep you safe. And you're gonna learn how to be a vamp, but you're gonna follow my rules."

The rules he still wouldn't tell Wes, somehow believing it better for the new vampire to work them out by himself. "If I were souled, would you still be controlling me like this?"

"Of course not."

"So the domination is to fill the gap left by my soul?"

"Could put it that way. And when we get your soul back, it'll stop."

"Oh." Wesley paused, annoyed at not anticipating this. "You're planning on asking Willow?"

Angel snorted softly and mussed Wesley's hair in an irritating way. "You didn't think I'd leave you like this, did you?"

Moving his head back, Wes answered crossly, "I had no idea." He frowned. "Angel, I cannot imagine that I'll ever forgive you for doing this. When souled again, I mean."

The big vampire frowned also. "You'll forgive me. You don't have anyone else."

Wesley knew that once Angel had made up his mind that something was going to happen, it was very difficult to convince him otherwise. But he also knew that his old souled self would have much rather died than become what Angel had made him. Of course, Angel was right about having nowhere else to go. Hadn't Wesley stayed in LA even after they'd all turned on him?

"Neither do you," he pointed out.

Angel nodded, agreeing sadly. "That wouldn't keep me from dusting you if I had to. I'd do it."

Wesley looked down. "I know. I don't want to be dusted."

"Wes, stop worrying about it. You're family now. You'd have to have done something unforgivable before I went that far. Won't let that happen. I'm gonna do everything I can to keep your conscience clean, so when we get your soul back, you don't have anything to hate yourself for."

Wesley remembered very clearly being told that Angel would never forgive him, and why. He ran an unhappy finger over Angel's shirt. "I want to be what you want me to be. You don't make it easy."

"I want you to understand the rules, not just blindly obey them."

Wes looked up and met a stern but kindly gaze from his sire. "You're setting me up for failure," he accused.

"Maybe at first. But you'll learn better for it."

"You're worse than he was." Wesley's lightly stroking fingers dug angrily into Angel's chest, and his hand was caught in a strong grip and removed.

"Who?" Angel asked, clearly perplexed.

Wesley decided to ignore the question. "So you went through this process with all of your previous offspring?"

"The rules weren't always the same, but yeah."

Angel had released Wesley's hand, and so he tentatively returned it to the older vampire's chest. "Who was the last one?"

"Spike. He wasn't mine, but Dru wasn't capable of training anyone."

"And he still hates you now, more than a century later."

Angel's tone was calm. "Spike hates me because I'm not Angelus anymore."

This wasn't the first time Wesley had considered Angelus and his activities. He saw no reason now not to ask if his theories were true. "Did you bugger him, as part of the training?"

Angel looked taken back, but he answered simply. "Yeah."

Wes looked down again, nuzzling his face into his sire's chest. "Will you bugger me?" he asked very softly.

"Do you want me to?"

"Will I get a choice?"

"I want to hear your answer."

Angel's hand was cupping the back of Wesley's neck, making slight massaging movements. "Yes, I'd like you to," Wes admitted quietly, still looking down.

"Be good then, and wait for your reward."