Chapter Six

"Wait," Wesley cringed at the bare word and hastily added, "Please. If I may, I'd like to..."

Angel looked around patiently from the bedroom doorway. "Spit it out."

Wes picked up one of the manacles with its length of chain that had, ten minutes or so ago, been attached to his ankle. "Might I take this down with me?"

Angel's expression didn't seem to change, but Wes nonetheless gained an impression that Angel was a little perplexed or taken aback by Wesley's request. However, "Sure," the big vampire said, and walked out of the room. Wes followed behind carrying the manifest bonds of subjection in his hands like a little boy with a security blanket.

He tried very hard not to analyse why he was doing this.

Downstairs, Angel went to collect some blood from the kitchen, leaving Wes studying the office layout. By the time he returned, Wes was in the process of shoving a desk closer to the bookcase.

"What are you doing?"

Wesley froze. Angel sounded more bewildered than angry, but Wes had acted without permission and he knew it. "I'm sorry," He turned to face Angel properly. "I should have asked. I was arranging things so that the books and my workspace were within a chain's length of each other. There's a brass gas tap here that we could use as a tethering point."

Angel placed one of two mugs of microwaved blood on the bookcase. "Wes, you don't need to be chained while I'm with you."

"I know," Wesley replied in a patient tone. "I thought it was better to be prepared in case you had to leave in a hurry." He sighed softly at the continued puzzlement Angel was evincing. "I'm sorry. I'll move things back the way they were."

"No, leave them." Angel went over to the other desk and sat down, sipping his drink. "So what's the plan?"

"With the research?" Wes checked, although Angel was unlikely to be deferring to him about anything else. He took the blood from the shelf and sat down with it. "Well, first we must discover the nature of what afflicted us. There are many possibilities and avenues to explore, but I believe I can categorise them all into four types, which should make our investigations a little easier." Wes paused as Angel was staring at him in a decidedly strange way. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah," Angel smiled softly. "Keep going."

"Hmm. Well, the first type would be malicious entities such as Billy Blim, or the Thesulac demon who was inhabiting this place when Angel Investigations first came here. Or alternatively, possessing spirits completely taking over our minds and bodies. So basically, I'm referring to entities that could be deliberately using power to influence or control our actions. Related but distinct to these would be category number two -- innate powers and influences used unwittingly, such as those of Jhiera and her ilk."

"Uh-huh." Angel looked thoughtful. "Wonder what happened to her."

A small twinge of jealousy went through Wes at the thought of Angel and the Oden Tal woman, and he moved on quickly. "Thirdly, we have to consider drugs and chemical effects, such as the Doximal you were once poisoned with, only something that would produce a psychotic reaction in humans also. I believe there are some derivatives of ergot that could match the symptoms. However, I have no memory of the intense pain and convulsions that normally accompany St Anthony's Fire. Do you?"

Angel shook his head. "If it were a drug or poison, then it had to be in the champagne. That's the only thing we all had."

"Yes, or in the air. Vampires may not respire as such, but they... we still take in air to speak. Other mycotoxins such as those extracted from Fly Algaric are a possibility. The Vikings purportedly used that mushroom to induce their battle frenzies, and it was the original source for LSD. Which, admittedly, doesn't have a reputation for provoking berserker fits."

"PCP does," Angel pointed out.

"Hmm, Angel Dust," Wes nodded. "Yes, that could be someone's idea of humour. Well considered." They shared an uneasy smile. "The final category is magic. I think Lorne's memory recovery spell for Cordelia is a very good example of how completely magic can affect our minds."

Angel looked glumly at the bookcase. "That's a whole lot of research."

"Right then. Better get started, hadn't you?" Wes grinned in reply, and then belatedly remembered his place. "I'm sorry," he apologised humbly. "I forgot for a moment."

Sitting in this familiar environment, involved in this activity, it was all too easy to forget what he was now. And he couldn't help but notice Angel seemed happier when Wes acted like his old self, even when that meant Wesley was assuming authority. But the new vampire understood all too clearly what a precipitous path he was walking. And he knew that the moment he went too far, he'd be slapped back down with force and fury.

"It's okay." Angel seemed saddened. "Hand me a book."

Wesley selected several volumes from the shelf and placed Whitaker's Compendium in front of Angel. "Many kinds of demonic and spiritual possession are detailed in there." Angel opened the heavy volume and began to read the closely packed print.

Switching on the computer, Wesley commented, "It's worth noting that we didn't damage furniture or equipment at all in our misadventures. Well, unless you count the blood stains everywhere of course. We're going to need a small fortune in cleaning fluid."

There was a slight growling noise from Angel. Glancing over, Wes saw that he was frowning unhappily at him, and Wesley sighed, realising his mistake. "Angel, I really *do* care about those we've lost. I'm just having a few problems remembering the, um, souled requirement for delicacy and tact. I'm sorry."

"You're saying that a lot today," Angel pointed out.

Wes grimaced. "Am I in trouble?"

There was a shake of the strong head. "You're trying; I can see that."

Wesley rubbed at the corners of his eyes. He rather thought that Angel was trying hard too and deserved some reward. He'd have to think of something. A small internal voice reminded him that he would be rewarding his abuser and rapist, but Wes was already very tired of that voice. He was, if nothing else, a pragmatist. This was a different world from the one he'd inhabited as a human, with different rules, and it was utterly pointless trying to apply the old rules set to the new paradigm.

Angel passed something across to him. "Here, maybe these'd help?" It was Wesley's glasses.

"Oh." He was somewhat surprised. "I don't think I need these anymore. Do you want me to wear them?"

"Nah," Angel said flatly, but Wes thought the other vampire seemed disappointed. Looking carefully at Angel, Wesley very deliberately put the glasses on. His visual acuity immediately dropped several notches, but Angel rewarded Wesley with one of his rare grins. Wes felt full and warm, and he grinned back.

Determining to keep the specs on, at least while Angel was around to see them, Wes offered, "Thank you for taking care of my needs." He opened a book to begin the researching process, and so didn't see Angel's reaction to the words, but his sire's voice was gentle when he spoke.

"Help yourself to more blood when you need it. I want you healed up."

"So do I," Wes smirked, looking down to obscure the expression. "I have things to look forward to. If I'm good."

The was a definite smile in Angel's voice when he emphasised, "*If.*"

There was about five minute's silence as the pair continued to search through the chosen volumes. The only noise was the occasional turn of pages. Then Wes softly murmured, "I want to please you," and he thought that just maybe his vampire hearing caught the tiniest of whimpers from his sire. Perhaps he had, and perhaps it was just hopeful imagination, but the thought that maybe he could get Angel to whimper was enough to make Wesley instantly hard.

"Get on with your work, boy." And yes, there was a roughness in Angel's voice that Wes was already beginning to associate with arousal. With his head bent low over his book, Wes allowed himself a moment of glee.

"Yes, sir."

Wesley did what he was told, and despite his desire, he found himself getting as deeply involved in the search for answers as he always did. That much about him hadn't changed then. Knowledge was still an endless well of fascination. Books were still doorways into lands where time stood still and information flowed into his brain's highways and byways, simultaneously soothing and stimulating.

Wes quickly discarded the idea of demons or spirits with innate and unwitting powers influencing them, as the only creatures he could discover -- that could induce the kind of psychosis they had fallen into -- would have been hard to miss. And even if Angel and he had somehow forgotten the presence of such a being, there would be clear residues left behind.

It was going to be difficult to research spells, as there really was little that couldn't be done with magic if the practitioner was powerful or unscrupulous enough, so Wes decided to leave that category until last. Angel was busy with Whitaker's and possession, so that left toxins and drugs. Wes reached for the AI copy of A Witch's Biochemical Guide to Toxicology, a thorough and strangely cynical exploration of just about every poison known to man and demon.

He was just turning the page from the chapter on mycotoxins, which he'd had such high hopes for but had turned out to be full of no-cigar matches, when Angel broke the studious silence with a question.

"How are you feeling?"

Wes blinked, returning slowly from the world of spore powders and fungi brews. "Fine. I'm fine. Is there something you need? Something you'd like me to be doing?"

Angel looked as if he could answer that in many ways, but to Wesley's disappointment, Angel chose only to say, "What you're already doing is good. Just wanted to make sure that you're, you know, fine."

Wes tried hard not to chuckle as he confirmed again, "I'm fine." It was rather gratifying that someone cared how he was. Especially as that someone was Angel. "Are you *sure* there's nothing else you want?"

"Wes..." Angel warned, but there was still good humour in his eyes. Wesley decided not to push the matter, however, and got back to his work.

It was getting easier to act the way Angel wanted. It wasn't that Wesley's demonic needs were less strong now, although obviously the blood craving was currently greatly diminished, and it wasn't that Wes had suddenly grown a new conscience to remind him how to behave. It was simply that he knew intellectually what Angel wanted, and Wes wanted Angel pleased as that was the route to his own pleasure. Effectively, he considered, Angel had become a form of soul-in-situ for the vampire he had made.

There was something both ironic and bizarrely romantic about that. Romantic in the older sense of course. There was nothing Hallmark about the relationship he had with his sire.

Moving speedily through the chapter on animal kingdom venom and secretions, as it didn't seem to hold anything useful, Wes found himself perusing recreational drugs and in particular the entry on Phencyclidine -- Angel Dust. The symptoms they'd shown *could* be explained by significant PCP ingestion, but the trouble was that the reaction to the drug was variable, and Wes rather got the impression that the end result had been desired and therefore something not to risk on an unreliable agent. Still, it was very close.

Following a hunch, he turned to the computer and typed in a search to a private database he'd paid a small fortune to have access to a few months prior. He watched as the results filled the screen and then clicked on a link. He read the page that appeared carefully twice and then said slowly, "I think I've found it. Known unimaginatively as 'Natural Born Killer', it's a mix of phencyclidine, certain herbs, and a magical curse. It fits what happened to us exactly."

Angel's voice was rich with relief as he closed the Whitaker's. "Good job, Wes. Knew I could count on you to figure it out."

"We mustn't be hasty," Wesley warned. "I need to prove it, but if this is it, you were correct about the champagne. I need the glasses we drank from to analyse the residue."

"Oh." Angel winced. "They all got broken, and I threw out the pieces when I... cleaned up. Maybe I could find them? Or we still have the bottle..." He stood, clearly offering to fetch the evidence for Wesley.

"The bottle may be useful; it depends at what point the toxin was added." Angel left the room, and Wes went to the cupboard to remove the microscope. Having been very careful since the encounter with Billy Blim, he slipped his hands into thin latex gloves from a box of disposables. He prepared a slide, and when Angel returned with the magnum bottle, Wes used a pipette to transfer a drop of the dregs to the glass.

"Can I read?" Angel asked, indicating the computer.

"Of course," Wes answered, as he added a drop of a disclosing agent. "Please don't move from that page however. I need to compare results." He bent to view the slide through the eyepiece.

"I'll look later. When will you know for sure?"

"In less than half an hour I will know if the toxin was in the bottle." There was a pause and then Wes said cautiously, "Angel...?" as he looked up.

His sire, who was leaning against the edge of the desk he had previously been sitting at, responded with a curious look and, "Yeah?"

"I know it doesn't mean... I mean..." Wes sighed. He couldn't work out a way to delicately say what he wanted to express. "I need to be able to talk bluntly about this." Angel nodded, granting permission, so Wes continued. "Even if we hadn't killed each other, we would all have died. This toxin mix would invariably be fatal to humans."

Angel turned away, and Wes had no idea what the other vampire was feeling. He kept quiet and went back to looking into the microscope, allowing Angel some recovery time. But Angel interrupted. "So the aim was to kill us all and make us suffer first? Jump to their strings?"

"It would seem that way. Well, no death for you; not for a vampire. But the rest of us, yes. If this is indeed what we were poisoned with, as seems likely."

"I'll kill whoever did this."

"Yes." Wesley kept his thoughts private. It had been Lilah who had brought the champagne and served it. She had drunk it herself, toasting Wes with a sultry smile meant only for him. None of this made much sense at all, but Wesley was sure that Lilah had been neither suicidal nor desirous of his death, regardless of how she had felt about the others.

Angel was studying him, a hard look on his face. Alarmed, Wes asked, "What is it?"

"You're right."

"About what?"

"You *are* going to hate me for what I've done. When you're souled again."

Wesley badly wanted to deny this, but couldn't. "You could leave me as I am..." he suggested quietly, looking down.

In two strides, Angel was in front of him, taking up his whole field of vision. Unable to stop the reaction, Wes cowered away. Thick-fingered hands grabbed his face to either side and pulled him roughly around to look Angel in the eye. "I never want you to say that again. You hear me?"

"I hear... heard. I'm sorry."

"Christ, you say that so much now. Why couldn't you ever say those words when you were alive, Wes?"

"I... I cared more then."

Obviously disgusted, Angel shoved Wes aside, and he fell against his desk, just catching the microscope before it toppled. He looked miserably at his sire's back, and even though he knew how childish his words would sound, Wesley murmured, "I don't want to hate you."

Angel whirled around. Wes studied his shoes as Angel asked in a low voice, "Even after yesterday?"

Still looking down, Wes said in an even quieter murmur, "*Especially* after yesterday."

There was a groan, then Angel was back in Wesley's personal space, but this time he was holding Wes to him and kissing him hard. Wes initially just let it happen, too surprised to respond, but then kissed back with almost equal vigour, rubbing his growing erection against that of Angel's.

When Wes found himself released, he was yearningly hard and dizzy with desire. And Angel? Wesley had never seen him looking quite so... urgent. It fuelled his own need exponentially. "Please..." he breathed. "I'm healed, I promise."

To Wesley's utter disbelief, Angel shook his head. "We will. Today, we will. Trust me. It's just... there are things we have to do first."

Wes felt like weeping in his frustration. He complained sullenly, "Well-fed and well-fucked, you said."

"Don't push it, boy. I know what I said. You'll be both of those things, unless you keep pissing me off. So get on with your work."

Closing his eyes briefly and trying hard to relax, Wes went back to the microscope. Angel sat down at the other desk and lifted the telephone receiver.

"Calling anywhere interesting?" Wes asked in an attempt at a casual tone.

There was silence, and Wesley looked up. Once Angel had locked gazes with him, he answered simply, "Sunnydale."

***

It took Angel a good five minutes to steel himself enough to be able to dial Buffy's number. As he listened to it ring at the other end, he wondered if Buffy or Dawn would answer, and how he'd explain to them why he needed to get Willow's number. It then occurred to him that he should have spent those five minutes figuring out what he was going to say.

The phone rang three times and then a familiar voice said, "Hello, Summers' residence."

"Willow." Angel breathed a sigh of surprised relief. "I thought you were in England."

"Angel? Is that you? And I was, but I'm back."

"Yeah, it's me."

"You're not evil again, are you?" Willow asked immediately, sounding suspicious.

"Um... not exactly." Angel hadn't thought he'd be having this bit of the conversation so soon, and his ability to think on his feet wasn't one of his better talents.

Willow was already continuing, "Although I guess if you *were* evil, you wouldn't admit it, so that's probably one of those questions that works out better in my head than... okay. So you're not evil."

"I'm not evil," Angel said. "Why does everyone always think I'm evil?"

"Hey, I was just asking," Willow said. "And it isn't like I'm not intimately acquainted with the downfalls of being evil too. But I'm glad you're not. Evil, I mean. Because that's the last thing we need, on top of everything else."

"What everything else?"

Willow sighed, and Angel could almost picture her tucking her hair back behind her ear. "The First is back."

"What! Since when?" Just hearing the name sent a bolt of fear through him -- he'd never forget what it had been like, being haunted by the faces of those he'd killed. Angel looked up and caught Wesley giving him a mild look of concern, and he tried to smile a little bit.

"Since... well, we don't know that exactly," Willow told him. "But it's here, and it brought some friends. Bringers, the whole nine yards. A whole golf-course full of evil."

"What does it want?" Angel asked. "Other than to wreak havoc?"

"The Bringers are going after the potential Slayers. They've been arriving from everywhere -- China, South American... Giles brought a few from England. They're all coming here."

"The Bringers?"

"Well, them too, but no -- the potential Slayers. You know, the ones that might... if anything happened to Buffy."

"Or Faith," Angel pointed out, while trying to avoid thinking about either of the Slayers being dead. "Why there? And why Giles? I mean, I know he's a Watcher -- or used to be -- but what about the rest of them?"

Willow said, "Well, actually, the rest of the Watchers... they sort of went kaplooey. The ones that weren't killed by the Bringers, I mean."

"They went what?" Angel felt like Willow was running around him in circles.

"Somebody blew up their headquarters and... well, let's just say that Watchers don't do a very good job of training potential Slayers when they're in little teensie pieces."

"Oh. Okay, that's... not good." All of the Watchers, dead? That meant Wesley and Giles were the only ones left, and Wesley was... again, watching him. Again with the concern. Angel ran over what he'd just said aloud to see if Wes would have been able to figure out what was going on, and decided no. He hoped.

"Still with that talent for understatement, I see," Willow said.

"So a bunch of potential Slayers are in Sunnydale?" Angel wondered how it made sense for them to come to the place where the thing was that was trying to kill them was, if they couldn't protect themselves.

"In Sunnydale? Heck, they're all here at the *house.* And let me tell you, fifteen girls in a house with only two bathrooms? Not a pretty sight."

"I can..." Okay, no, he couldn't imagine. He didn't *want* to imagine. "So how's, um... everyone?"

"Buffy's okay, Angel. There's nothing wrong with you asking about her. She's, you know, busy. She's trying to train all these girls and... well. She's busy. How are things there?"

Oh, God. "Well, actually... that's why I'm calling. I... have some bad news." Angel closed his eyes and forged ahead, and his voice broke as he said, "Cordelia's dead." He opened his eyes, and Wesley was giving him a look of sympathy, which was a little more than Angel could take just then. He turned slightly away from Wes.

"Oh," Willow said, and he could hear the sorrow in her voice too. "Oh, no, Angel, I'm so sorry. How...?"

"That's the hardest part. It was... I don't know if it was Angelus, exactly. But something... we're still trying to figure it out. We all went... crazy. Some kind of killing lust. Everyone's dead." He couldn't list their names individually -- it was too hard, too much to deal with. Saying Cordelia's name had been hard enough. "And... Wesley..."

"Wesley too?" Willow sounded shocked. Which was fair enough under the circumstances. "And Gunn? And that nice girl, Fred, that you rescued from that other dimension? Everyone?"

"Not exactly," Angel repeated, unable to stop himself from turning to look at Wes again as he spoke. Their eyes locked just as he said, "I... I turned Wesley. He's a vampire."

"Oh my... Angel! How could you do that?"

"I didn't know what else to do." He sounded desperate, he knew, but he wanted to get across to her the fact that he knew he might have made a mistake. "He was dying... and everyone else was dead, and I thought... I thought... I needed him."

"It must have been awful." Willow's voice was full of sympathy, sympathy that covered up the shock and warmed him. "Were you still all evilish when it happened?"

Boy, wouldn't that have been nice, to be able to blame it on Angelus. "No. No, I was me. I knew what I was doing... at least, I thought I did."

"So you want me to do the spell? The re-souling spell. Right?"

Angel blinked in surprise, and then mentally kicked himself for not realizing that *of course* Willow would be able to figure out why he'd called. She was smart. Of course she'd know. "Um, yeah. He's... I haven't let him do anything. Not anything that he'll, you know, have to feel bad about. Well, there was this one guy, but he... yeah. Anyway. The spell would be great." He tried to sound as humble and grateful as possible. It wasn't hard.

"This isn't exactly a good time," Willow said. "I can't... I want to help, Angel, honest I do. But there's no way I can take time out from the girls and everything here to deal with it. I mean, first I'd have to find a Thesulan Orb, and believe me that's not going to be easy. And... I just can't leave Sunnydale."

"What if I found one?" Angel asked, desperately. "What if I got one and brought it there to you? Then could you do it?"

Willow didn't respond for a few seconds, and then Angel could practically hear her nodding into the phone. "Yeah. If you can get the orb, and bring it and Wesley here, then... oh."

"What, oh?"

"Um, nothing!" Willow said brightly, falsely.

"Willow. What is it?"

"Well... Spike's here. You know that, right?"

"Yeah. Figured he was still there, sniffing around Buffy. He's always had a thing for Slayers." Angel refused to listen to the little niggling voice in the back of his head that suggested that maybe Spike's feelings were a bit more complicated than that.

"He... Angel, he has a soul."

Good thing he didn't need to breathe. "He has a... okay, I don't think I got that. Say it again?"

"Spike has a soul. Last summer, he went to Africa, or somewhere, to some... guy, I guess. And he went through some trials or something, and he got his soul back."

Angel needed more than a minute to adjust to the fact that not only was he no longer going to be the only souled vampire, but that it was apparently some kind of trend. "Why?"

"I think..." Willow hesitated. "I don't know," she said. "You'd have to ask him."

"Yeah. I'll do that." Angel scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to come to terms with this new information, trying to get himself back on track. "Right. So I get the orb, and you'll do the spell?"

"Sure will. You got the components, I've got the mojo." Willow's confidence seemed slightly forced. "And you know, Angel... I did some looking into the whole happiness clause thing -- and, well, you know I'm a lot more powerful now. And spells, they're kind of like... cooking. Take out one ingredient, substitute something else. The clause doesn't need to be about happiness; it could be about, I don't know, something unimportant. Like... like a food allergy, since we're going with the whole kitchen analogy. And you vampire types don't need to eat food anyway, so not like it's going to be a big hardship if the clause says no peanut butter, right?"

"Um... right?"

"So if I can leave it out... the happiness part of it... you'd want me to do that?"

Not even needing to think about the answer, Angel said automatically, "Yeah. S'gonna be hard enough on him, without him worrying about something like that."

"And... that means I might -- and I say *might* because I'm not sure, so don't get your hopes up -- be able to take yours off too." Willow sounded like she knew this was something hard to talk about.

"That's... I'll have to think about that," Angel told her. His initial instinct was to say no, but he didn't have to look any further than the newly-vamped Wesley to know that his initial instincts weren't always, necessarily, the right ones.

"Okay. Well, unless anything, you know, end-of-the-world-y happens, I'll be here." Willow paused, and then said, "Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"It'll be okay. You did the best you could."

Too bad that was never enough, Angel thought, but all he said was, "Thanks, Willow. I'll call you." He hung up the phone slowly.

After a minute or so of silence, Wesley offered, tentatively, "It sounds as if that conversation was a bit more than you'd bargained for."

Angel nodded and rubbed his temples. "Yeah, that'd be one way of putting it."

"If you'd..." Wesley hesitated.

"Wes," Angel told him impatiently, "Respect doesn't mean silence. You have something to say, just say it."

"All right. I was going to say that if you'd like to talk about it, well... I'm more than willing to listen. In fact, if we're going to be together for a long time, I'd like to think we'd be able to talk about things." Wesley's expression was mild, but he wasn't able to completely hide his curiosity.

"Willow can do the spell once we get our hands on an orb," Angel said shortly. "That's all you need to know."

"Fine," Wes said, and gestured at the champagne bottle on the desk. "Well, since I'm more than willing to share with *you,* it would seem the champagne is our culprit."

Angel went over and picked up the bottle, turning it in his hands. It seemed wrong that such a comparatively fragile object had contained something that had caused so many deaths. "Lilah?"

"No. It couldn't have been. Why would she...?" Wes seemed to be holding something back -- probably distress over Lilah's murder, as well as the fact that they were considering the possibility that she might have had something to do with what had caused it.

"Well, she's the one who brought the bottle. But you're right, seems weird that she'd do something like that. If nothing else, she'd have know that she was putting herself in danger." Angel thought back carefully; he was almost sure she'd had some of the champagne too, although he hadn't been paying real close attention.

Wesley stood up and took the bottle from Angel's hands; gently, but until he did, Angel hadn't even realized how tightly he was clutching the glass. "Someone else must have doctored it," Wes said. "The questions are who and why?"

"For us to all kill each other?" Angel suggested, unclenching his fists.

"Until you were the only man left standing," Wesley said. "And then possibly to take advantage of your emotional state in the aftermath?" He dropped his eyes to the desk and put the champagne bottle back down. "You regret turning me," he said quietly.

Surprised, Angel could only look at him for a minute. "Yeah," he said finally. "And no. I'm sorry I had to -- I wish none of this had happened. And every time I look at you, I'm gonna *remember* what happened."

"I'm a constant reminder," Wes said, his tone bitter.

Angel thought that, for once, he understood what was going on inside Wes' head. "Of *my* failures," he said. "Not... not anything to do with you."

"No, of course not. I'm just a walking advertisement for your mistakes. That shouldn't bother me at all." Wes looked as distressed as he sounded, his posture lined with tension.

"Wes..." Angel said, frustrated. "*Wesley.* Is this because I didn't want to talk about what Willow told me?"

Shaking his head, Wesley closed a book on the desk and shuffled some papers into a neat stack. "No, regardless of what you might choose to believe, I'm not that manipulative. This is about what we're actually discussing."

"So, what? You want me to say I'm thrilled that I thought I had no choice other than to turn you into something most of me hates being?" Angel was saying more than he wanted to, probably, but it also felt good to get it out. "You want me to say I'm glad that you're walking around as a vampire instead of a human? Because those would be lies, Wesley."

"No, I don't want you to lie to me." Wes' voice was soft again, but it was soft with something other than control. "But it might be nice to think that you prefer having me here at all, in any form."

Angel stared at him. "Well, why the hell else do you think I turned you?"

"Because I was the only one left?" Wesley suggested.

"No, because I needed you." *Because I wanted you* remained unspoken.

"Oh, well, that makes me feel a great deal better. Good to know that I can be of service." Wesley flipped through some of his papers briefly, and then muttered, "Since that's all you want from me."

"Wes." Angel didn't say anything else until Wesley finally stopped and looked up at him, expression wary. And then, he didn't know what to say. "You're... my friend. It wasn't just about wanting to... use you."

"No?"

"*No.*"

Wesley ducked his head, and when he raised it and met Angel's eyes this time he looked a little bit calmer. "All right. That's... good to know."

"Okay." Angel smiled a little bit, but then, realizing that he'd been letting Wes control the conversation in ways he probably shouldn't, took a step around the side of the desk and grabbed onto Wesley's wrist. "I wouldn't," he said carefully, emphasizing each word, "want you to get the idea that you're the one in charge here."

Something flashed behind Wes' eyes. It might have been fear.

"You're upset," Angel continued, before Wes could say anything. "I get that, so I'm going to let your little attempt to manipulate me slide. This time. But I wouldn't want you to think I didn't realize what you were up to."

"I understand," Wes said, nodding slowly. "I... apologize if I was out of line."

"Well, I'm not an unreasonable kind of guy. People get upset, they have a tendency to want answers. You wanted to hear me say I don't just want you because you're good with books? Okay, you got me to say it. Twice, actually." Angel tightened his grip on Wes' wrist to near-breaking force, watching as Wesley struggled not to wince, and then released him. "But I know you're gonna make sure that kind of thing doesn't happen again."

"No, Angel." Wes looked at him steadily. "It won't happen again."