Unwanted Gifts (2/2) by WesleysGirl Sitting on the leather seat of a luxury car lost some of its appeal when there was a pistol shoved against your rib cage. Wesley tried to stay calm. A little visit to Lilah, and hopefully he'd be able to convince her that he was on her side. Angel. He'd be fine, he was a vampire. No doubt it was still exceedingly painful to be shot - Wesley remembered the feeling well enough himself - but he'd heal. And quickly. The two men in the car seemed to have no inclination to speak with him, so he sat silently and waited. Since he didn't fancy being shot in the gut again, he didn't entertain any notions of trying to jump out of the moving vehicle. After some time had passed, the car slowed and then pulled into an underground parking lot. Wesley found himself being manhandled into an elevator, which went up three floors and opened onto a hallway. Then they went into a furnished apartment that gave the distinct impression of being only for show - it didn't feel lived in. It was a stage, Wesley realized. Waiting for the show to begin. A door opened and Lilah came in. She was dressed in a wine-colored power suit and shadowed by a young woman Wesley hadn't seen before. "Hello, Wesley," Lilah said. "Glad you could make it." "Lilah," he said. "What, no questions? No 'Why am I here?'" "I assume I'm here because you want something." "Oh, I want lots of things, Wesley. And I'm used to getting what I want." She gestured to a chair. "Sit down." "I'm perfectly comfortable standing, thank - " Wesley stopped as the thug who was still next to him poked him in the ribs again with the semi-automatic pistol. "Right, sitting down then." Lilah walked over to him and ran a hand across his shoulders. "This is Sara," she said, waving her hand in the young woman's direction. "I've decided it would be best for her to take the visions from you." "Really," said Wesley. He tilted his head and regarded the young woman thoughtfully. "And what do you think, Sara? Do you think it would be best?" Her hair was a brilliant red and feathered around her face, and her hands were small, but she looked strong. It wasn't physical strength that would sustain her, though. Sara looked up, but at Lilah, not at him. She didn't answer him, so he turned his attention back to Lilah. "What are you going to do with the visions, assuming Sara can take them from me?" "Oh, I can think of a few uses," said Lilah. "Really. Are you considering taking up a life of crime-fighting? Protecting the innocent? Making amends for your past behavior?" She chuckled. "Tell yourself whatever allows you to sleep at night, Wesley." "No, I want to know. What are you going to do with the visions? If you've got control of them..." His mind was racing and there was a quivering in his gut. "If you have control of the visions, you're Angel's only link to the Powers." "Your mental prowess never ceases to impress me. There's no pulling the wool over your eyes." The corner of Lilah's mouth curled up. "Yes, I do think Angel would find us rather... necessary, if we were his connection to the Powers That Be." "You're going to blackmail him," said Wesley. "Oh, Wesley...blackmail is such a harsh word," she said. "I like it." Wesley was smart enough to know that by now she had figured out that he was reconciled with Angel and the others. She'd known enough to assume he wouldn't be able to be persuaded to side with her and do the blackmailing himself. It didn't seem worth his effort to try to convince her otherwise. "What are you going to do when Sara is no longer able to continue having the visions?" "Oh, you mean when she burns herself out? We'll replace her with someone else, I suppose. The real question is, what do we have to do? Tell me, Wesley... how did Cordelia give you the visions? We knew that the Irishman gave them to her just before he died - but we never could figure out how. And then we were all ready to buy that girl's pretty little eyes - it would have made the whole thing so much simpler, don't you think? - until you and Angel came barreling in and rescued her." She stopped herself and circled around him again. "So tell me... how did she do it?" "Oh, they arrived in a nice little gift-wrapped package," said Wesley. "With a ribbon on top." Lilah stepped forward and slapped him across the face, hard. His cheek stung, but he smiled at her. "Why, Lilah. Don't tell me I've figure out how to get a rise out of you." She bent down and pressed her cheek to his so that she could speak directly into his ear, her lips almost touching his earlobe. "Don't forget that I know how to get a rise out of you, too." She stood back up and moved away. "I've got Greg here all ready to help me out on this one, Wesley. I won't let him kill you - not yet, anyway - but he could put a couple of bullets into your less-necessary parts, if you need persuading." Wesley didn't know if it was going to work, in any case. Cordelia had tried more than once to give the visions away in the first weeks after Doyle's death with no success. "She kissed me." Lilah looked stunned for a brief moment, and then she laughed. "You're kidding. You mean to tell me that's all it took? No spells, no magickal incantations? The princess just kissed the frog and got herself a precognitive prince?" "Essentially, yes." "It can't be that simple." Wesley shrugged. "I don't know that it will work again. But that's what happened." "All right." Lilah gestured at Sara. "You heard the man. Kiss him." Without hesitation, Sara approached him and pressed her lips to his. It was a clinical, dry kiss. Long enough to get the job done, but not a fraction of a second too long. Sara smelled of lipstick and citrus. Wesley felt sick. Sara pulled back and looked at him, and then at Lilah, expectantly. "Did it work?" asked Lilah. "I have no idea. I didn't know that Cordelia had passed them to me until I had the first one." It occured to Wesley, belatedly, that he should have tried to convince her that it had worked so that he could leave. But she probably would have wanted some form of proof, in any case. He didn't think it had worked. Only time would tell. "Shit," said Lilah. "Could be a while." "Yes, well. If you'd care to let me go in the meantime, you could always ring me if anything were to happen." Lilah smirked. "I think we'll have you stick around until we know for sure that it worked." He slouched back in the chair. She was right, it might be a while. * * * * * When Wesley woke up he had one of those moments of complete disorientation. He didn't know where he was, what time it was, or even what day it was. After a few seconds of confusion he realized that he was lying on a still-made bed in the picture perfect apartment that Lilah had brought him to. He sat up and discovered that he wasn't alone in the room. Sara was sitting on a padded chair in the corner near the window, watching him. Her face was impassive, her posture both relaxed and defiant at the same time. Wesley blinked. "How long was I asleep?" he asked. He now had a vague recollection of giving up on late-night television and stumbling into the nearest bedroom. The young woman didn't move, but her eyes flickered to the clock across the room and then back to him. "About five hours." Her affect was flat, but her voice held a hint of interest. Wesley turned and looked at the clock himself. Six. In the morning. For the first time, he found himself actually wishing for a vision, just to bring an end to this enforced vigil. "I'd really prefer it if you wouldn't sit there staring at me." She remained where she was, her eyes on his face. "What's it like?" she asked finally, just when he'd given up on her. "What? The visions?" Sara nodded. "Bloody awful. Truly. You won't enjoy them." "I will." "You're sadly mistaken if you think so." She searched his face. "No. I like pain." She shifted forward on the chair, leaning toward him, and pulled up one shirt sleeve, baring her arm. It was covered with thick scar tissue that looked like burn scars to Wesley, although some of the scars were shaped. Branded. "You did that to yourself?" She shrugged. "Some of it. Had it done. There are people who will pay to hurt you - and I like it, so we both win." "People like Lilah." "Her?" Sara scoffed. "Yeah, she's paying me. But she doesn't know anything about real pain." Wesley thought that she was trying to look tough, and she was at least partially succeeding, but she also looked very, very young. "How old are you?" "Why?" Her eyes flashed in annoyance. "Because I'm curious. Fifteen? Sixteen?" "God! No, I'm eighteen. Totally legal." Wesley realized who she reminded him of. "You can't keep on like this, you know." "Yeah. I know." "Even if you didn't get the visions - and if you did, they will kill you, sooner or later - you're going to end up dead. Is that what you want?" He was surprised at how easy it was to say these things to her, because he didn't know her and wasn't worried about upsetting her. He would have liked to be able to convince himself that he didn't care what happened to her, but that was only partially true. She shrugged again. "I don't care." "I find that difficult to believe." "Whatever. Believe whatever you want." She shifted in the chair again, turning her body slightly away from him and looking out the window. "How did Lilah find you?" Sara didn't respond. All right then, clearly the sharing portion of the morning was over. Wesley could deal with that. He didn't have much of a choice. He went out into the living area. Glenn or Greg or whatever the hell his name was was sitting in front of the television, one hand on the pistol as it rested on his thigh. He looked at Wesley as he came into the room. "Food in the kitchen," he said. "Coffee, donuts." "Where's Lilah?" Glenn/Greg jerked his head toward the closed door on the other side of the room. "Conference call." Wesley went over and stood outside the closed door. Glenn/Greg didn't get up or look concerned. Without knocking, Wesley opened the door and stepped inside the room, which was set up like an office - desk, two chairs, phone, laptop computer. Nothing personal, nothing too permanent. Glenn/Greg, still looking unconcerned, got up and brought his gun over, loitering in the doorway. Lilah looked up at the two of them and said into the air, "Hang on a minute, gentlemen." She pushed a button on the phone and looked expectantly at Glenn/Greg. The man just continued to stand there. Exasperated, she said, "What, Greg?" Greg gestured with the pistol. "You want me to keep him out of here?" She rolled her eyes at Wesley. "No, it's fine, Greg." She pushed the button on the phone and went back to her conversation. Greg continued to loiter and Wesley listened as Lilah told the men on the other ends of the phone line what had happened the night before - Wesley being kissed by Sara, their waiting to see what came next. "And have you found out anything on your end, Matthew?" she asked. A pleasant tenor voice responded. "We still haven't been able to find out how the visions are transferred, but it sounds as though you have that covered on your end, Ms. Morgan." Lilah grinned. "Yes. Assuming we aren't being played." She glanced at Wesley meaningfully. "It sounds like you'll find that out soon enough. We've found a few methods that might work - one involved an extensive spell. The other, as you know, is the removal of the Seer's eyes, but you said you were only interested in trying that as a last resort." Wesley could remember the look of terror on Cordelia's face when he and Angel had found her in the hotel room at the Hotel Ramsey. She'd been waiting for that demon to remove her eyes with what looked like a medieval torture device. He closed his own eyes for a moment. Last resort, the man had said. There was still time. Lilah had just finished saying something - he'd missed it. Matthew responded. "Actually, we've discovered a rumor - unsubstantiated at this point - that there's a mage somewhere on the east coast who can cast spells that protect the human body from deterioration caused by magical overload." "A spell that would prevent my new Seer from needing a brain transplant after a year or two?" asked Lilah. "Now that could come in handy." "Yes, we're trying to track the man down now. I'll let you know as soon as I have anything concrete." "Good work," said Lilah. "Patrick, Matthew, keep in close contact with each other and with me. Don't leave me wondering what you're up to." Charming. Greg moved out of his way as Wesley left the office and went into the kitchen. When he came back out Sara was in the living room, watching him again with those strange greenish eyes that didn't reflect her thoughts. He sat down on a chair and sipped his coffee, which wasn't hot enough and was too strong and reminded him of Fred, who for some reason liked her coffee black and bitter. This time he had nearly twice as much warning - at least six or seven seconds - and that was enough in which to lean forward, put his coffee cup on the table, and lean back again. There was a little gathering feeling at the base of his skull, as if all of his blood vessels were expanding to hold more blood, and then that inescapable light washed the room away from him and everything was different. And more than a little bit fuzzy around the edges, but that didn't matter because as always the focus of the vision was smack dab dead center. Wesley didn't have enough unused brain left at that moment to realize the humor inherent in that thought - everything was sharp and then blurry and he was seeing what someone else saw as he - or she - walked. It was reminiscent of that film about the Blair Witch - he was seeing a camera's eye view. The walking seemed innocent enough, even if the swinging motion was enough to make his stomach churn. A somehow familiar, ratty blue truck came into view. A hand - a brown hand - was gripping the door handle of the truck - he heard a sound behind him - and he started to turn. A very large, brick-colored demon with at least six fingers on each hand and at least four horns on its head stood still for long enough for him to get a good look at it, and then flew toward him with a speed he hadn't expected. One arm reared back and then struck him in the shoulder - and good lord, the thing was strong, even stronger than it looked - and he was hurtling through the air toward the side of a building. He felt the sickening crunch as his head hit the wall, and then with a swoosh he was back out of his - the other person's - body, and the familiarity of the truck became clear. Gunn lay on the cement, sprawled, broken. "No, no, no," someone was muttering. It was his own voice. Gasping, Wesley pushed himself from a sprawl to a more normal sitting position in the chair and looked around. His head was a bolt of pain and the feeling in the pit of his stomach when he remembered the way Gunn had looked made Wesley feel ill. All right. He needed to remember that it hadn't happened, yet. He could still fix things. When he looked up, Lilah and Greg and Sara were all watching him. Lilah's lips were pursed in irritation. "It didn't work," she said. "No, obviously not," said Wesley. "I need a phone." "What did you see?" Lilah looked curious despite herself. "I saw my friend about to be killed by a demon. I need a phone, now." "Angel?" asked Lilah. "I think he can take care of himself." She smiled slightly at Greg. "Assuming he's recovered from yesterday's little injury." "Not Angel," rasped Wesley, his throat feeling raw again. His head was throbbing. "Gunn." "Oh, your little street friend? Isn't that sweet of you to be worried about him." Wesley stood up, a bit shakily, and shot Lilah a glance that would have melted steel. "Do you think I want these visions? I don't. But I need to do something about them. Let me use the phone, Lilah." "What are you going to do if I say 'no?'" Wesley couldn't help it. He pictured Gunn as he had seen him in the vision, lying broken on the pavement, limbs sprawled. He hadn't seen blood, but he could imagine it. If this vision came to pass, Gunn could very well die - if the blow to his head didn't kill him, the demon probably would. It was all a ridiculous exercise in bad timing. "If you want me to cooperate and help you figure out how to take the visions, you won't say no." "How do I know you haven't been playing with me all along? I knew it had to be more complicated than a kiss." Wesley's brain was churning at a rate faster than he could consciously process thought. What would buy him the use of the phone? Should he be honest and say that he had no idea how to give Sara the visions, and promise to do whatever it took to pass them on? Or should he lie and say he'd been lying before, and that he would tell her how to acquire the visions if she let him use the phone? Lilah was too sharp, and he was taking too long. "If the kiss didn't work, I don't know how to pass the visions on," he said desperately. "But I'll help you find out what will. You can keep me here until I help you find out." "You think I hadn't considered keeping you?" said Lilah. "If there were a way to do it long-term, I certainly would. You can be... amusing enough, in your own way. But no... eventually the heroic vampire would come and find you. I wouldn't be able to hide you away forever. Or even long enough." "Let me use the phone. I won't try anything - just let me warn my friend." "No," said Lilah. "It's no skin off my nose if the street urchin dies. One less lackey for the vampire with a soul is a good thing in my book." Wesley moved forward quickly, grabbing Lilah by the throat. He squeezed as hard as he could, which was hard enough to cut off her supply of air. She sputtered and Greg raised his pistol at Wesley's chest. "Let her go," said Greg. "Now." "Let me go, Wesley," she gasped out, her hands flailing at him ineffectively. "We can make some kind of arrangement." "No," he said. Wesley glanced at Greg, who still had the gun trained on him. "I'm just going to take Lilah here into the other room and make a phone call. Once I'm done, I'll let her go." "No," Lilah whispered. Her voice was quiet. But loud enough. Wesley didn't have time to react - Greg quickly dropped the muzzle of the gun toward his leg and squeezed the trigger. The sound of the gun firing wasn't as loud as he would have expected. He barely had time to think 'not again' before the bullet ripped through the outer section of his right thigh just above the knee, the pain a slice of liquid fire that somehow washed away the fog in his brain that still lingered from the vision. Before Greg could move again, Wesley's free hand - the one that wasn't locked onto Lilah's throat - shot out and the heel of his hand made contact with the end of Greg's nose, slamming upward and in. Greg made a tiny squeak and fell to the floor with both hands clasped to his face. In an instant Wesley had released Lilah and scooped the gun off of the floor. He backed away far enough that he could effectively threaten all three of them with the gun. He could feel hot blood running down his leg, but didn't spare it a glance. It was too important that he not remove his eyes from these people for a second. Sara was standing quite still, looking at him. She didn't look as if she felt threatened or afraid or, for that matter, much of anything. Lilah had an expression on her face that was half smirk, half frown. As if she were impressed and annoyed at the same time. Greg groaned and rolled about on the floor for another moment, and then sat up, tears and blood streaming down his face. He started to reach a hand toward his ankle, and Wesley pointed the pistol directly at him. "No, I don't think so," Wesley said. "Remove the weapon very slowly, and slide it across the floor to me." A flicker of doubt traveled across Greg's face. "I assure you, I'm an excellent shot," said Wesley. "And I won't hesitate to kill you." He kept his peripheral vision trained on Lilah and Sara as he watched Greg unbuckle the second gun that had been holstered to his lower leg and slide it across the floor toward him as he had directed. He bent down slowly, ignoring the pain in his thigh, and picked the smaller pistol up off the floor. "And now I believe I'll be going," he said as he tucked the second gun into the waistband of his slacks. "I'd say that I appreciated the hospitality, but then you did kidnap me." Wesley backed slowly away from them toward the front door. He opened it without turning around and backed out into the hallway. None of them had moved. "Don't follow me," he said. "Don't have anyone else follow me. You won't like the results." He closed the door to the apartment. Immediately he headed down the hallway toward the elevator. He didn't intend to use it - he didn't want to be trapped if Lilah had had anyone waiting outside - but the stairs must be at the end of the hallway, as well. Walking down the two flights of stairs to the main lobby was sheer torture, but he managed. His slacks were wet with blood, but he didn't seem to be losing too much. He didn't have time to stop and check now - he'd do that later - but he suspected it wasn't a serious wound. He wasn't sure if Greg had been trying not to hurt him badly, or if he'd just been a lousy shot. He peered around the edge of the stairwell's fire door before entering the lobby, but there was no sign of anyone. All was quiet. Perhaps Lilah hadn't been viewing the situation as one which required maximum security. Holding the gun partially tucked under his arm so as not to alarm passers-by, Wesley stepped back out into the sunshine. Wesley managed to walk two blocks from the apartment building until he reached a convenience store. There was a bench out front, and a pay phone. He thought he had some time before the demon in his vision would attack Gunn, so - sit first? Or call? Afraid that if he sat down he wouldn't be able to persuade himself to get back up, Wesley limped to the phone. He tucked the first weapon into his back of his slacks along with the second one and pulled his shirt out to cover both. He dropped some change into the slot and dialed Gunn's cell phone. It only rang once before he heard the blessed sound of Gunn's voice on the other end of the line. "Yeah?" "Gunn, it's me." "Wes! You okay? Where are you?" "I'm all right. I don't know where I am, exactly - " There was the sound of the phone being wrestled out of Gunn's hand, and then Angel's voice. "Wes? Wesley, are you all right?" "Yes. Are you all right?" Wesley remembered the pool of blood underneath Angel's body yesterday afternoon. He shivered. "Yeah, you know - I'm a fast healer. Where are you? Gunn can come pick you up." "No," Wesley said urgently. "Don't let him go, Angel. Do you hear me?" "Yeah, I hear you, Wes. What's going on?" "I had a vision, earlier. Gunn, being attacked by a demon when he went to get into his truck outside the hotel. Keep him there until it's dark and you can go out with him. Please." "Okay. I've got it. Can you jump in a cab and get back here?" "Yes, I suppose so." "Do it. And be careful - get back here in one piece." The concern in Angel's voice warmed Wesley, more than he cared to admit. He hung up the phone and flagged down the next taxicab that drove by. The driver glanced back casually as Wesley opened the door and then did a double-take. "Christ, buddy! What the hell happened to you?" Wesley looked down at his leg - his slacks were torn and bloody, but thankfully blocked his view of the wound. He didn't want to see too much. "It's nothing," he said. "You want the hospital?" "No, thank you. Corner of Wilshire Boulevard and Norton, please." Wesley shifted just enough to dig the bottle of pills out of his pocket, winced, and then grimaced as he dry-swallowed two tablets. The cab driver was watching him in the rearview mirror, but Wesley didn't have the energy to reassure the man that he wasn't going to die or overdose or whatever else might be concerning him. Oh, possibly the blood all over the back seat of his cab. Wesley unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, leaving him wearing only a t-shirt. He wrapped the shirt around his leg and pressed a folded section down over the wounded area to slow the bleeding. The question that was really concerning him was whether Lilah was going to come after him again. He thought she might, if she could figure out a way to get the visions from him for her own gain. On the other hand, he didn't think she'd go so far as to remove his eyes. But maybe that was being overly generous on his part. The conversation with her colleague about the man on the east coast who might know a spell that would prevent his brain from turning to mush, though - that was valuable information. He might not want the visions, but if he was stuck with them, it would be nice if he could survive for longer than a year or two. He didn't fancy ending up like Cordelia had on her birthday. His leg was starting to hurt. The initial pain had been hot, but then once he'd started moving he'd been able to block it out. Now it was burning again, with the ache that accompanied a wound that wasn't life-threatening but would probably leave quite a scar. Wesley wasn't sure he liked that he was able to identify different types of injuries so specifically. A close relationship with pain hadn't been part of the original job description. The rest of the ride passed in a blur as the pain in his head and the pain in his leg fought sarcastically with each other. Neither was able to win out over the other. He just sat quietly and observed while it happened, grateful to be sitting and still alive. When the cab pulled up near the corner Wesley pointed the front door out to the cab driver, who obligingly stopped as close to it as he could. Wesley thrust some money through the slot, aware that he was tipping outrageously but feeling justified because A) he was still alive and B) he had bled all over the man's back seat. Holding his wadded up, bloodied shirt under his left arm, he limped up the walkway. Gunn and Fred came quickly out the front doors to meet him. Fred's face fell when she saw Wesley. "Oh, you're hurt!" A frown creased Gunn's face as he noted the two pistols stuck into the rear waistband of Wesley's pants. "What the...? Lemme take those for you," and he plucked them from their place as the two of them led him into the lobby, where Angel was waiting anxiously, looking for all the world as if he'd spent the last twenty minutes pacing. He practically jumped to get his hands on Wesley, and supported him on his way to the couch. "Shit," said Angel. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" He knelt at Wesley's feet and tried to get a look at his injury through the torn space in the fabric of Wes' slacks. "It's not serious," protested Wesley, even as he started to tremble in a delayed reaction to everything that had happened. He was safe here. "These are history anyway," Angel muttered, and ripped open Wesley's slacks, to which he'd obviously been referring. He ran his hands over Wesley's skin just below the wound, and then took the first aid kit from Fred, who'd gone to retrieve it as soon as they'd come in. He looked up at Wesley. "You're shaking." Over his shoulder to Gunn - "Get a blanket or something." "I'm fine," said Wesley. "No, you're not fine," said Angel, as he pressed a wad of gauze over the now sluggishly bleeding gash in Wesley's leg. "But you're right, it's not serious. Bullet?" "Yes. I think I got lucky; either that, or he was a lousy shot." "Either way you got lucky," said Gunn, draping one of the throws that Cordelia had liked to keep around over Wesley's shoulders. He couldn't stop shaking. After a moment, Fred sat down beside him and wrapped her arms around him. Her warmth gradually diffused through the blanket to him, and he began to relax. Angel was taping some fresh gauze pads over the wound. His touch on Wesley's skin felt too intimate. "Just grazed you. Could probably use a stitch or two, but I think it'll be okay," he said, leaning back on his heels. "So it was Lilah?" "Yes," Wesley said, forcing himself back to the present from the calm, mellow place he'd managed to drift into. "She'd gotten all excited about the thought of having a Seer of her very own, apparently." "She was gonna keep you?" Gunn asked, sounding indignant. "No, she was rather hoping I might be able to give the visions to an employee of hers. Once she started thinking about the fact that Cordelia had given me the visions, she thought it would suit her purposes for me to give them to someone else." "Please tell me she didn't have to shoot you to get you to kiss some guy," Gunn said. Wesley almost grinned. "No. And it was a girl. She said she was only eighteen years old. And already working for Lilah. Poor thing." Fred moved the arm that was around Wesley's chest, but let the one around his shoulders remain. "Angel said you had a vision about Charles." "Yes," he said. "Being attacked by a demon, when he went out to get into his truck." Wesley looked at Gunn to make sure that he was paying attention. "Therefore, don't go out to your truck until after dark, when Angel can go with you. And yes, I had the vision right in front of Lilah - again. That was when we discovered that the girl hadn't been able to get the visions by kissing me." "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?" Fred asked tentatively. "Both," said Wesley. "Neither? It's complicated. It's probably a good thing, because it means that we don't have to worry just yet about what Lilah wanted to do with the visions." "So how'd you get shot?" said Gunn. "I tried to strangle Lilah in an attempt to persuade her to let me use the phone to call you and warn you, and her henchman took offense to my hand on her throat, apparently." "You got shot because you wanted to warn me about your vision?" Gunn sat down, rather heavily, on the couch next to Fred. He looked dazed for a moment, and then his face cleared and he smiled at Wesley. "That's twice, English. Don't let it happen again." Wesley found himself smiling back, wryly. "I'll do my best." Angel finished packing the supplies back into the first aid kit. "What did Lilah want with the visions?" he asked quietly. "Pardon me?" Angel looked up at Wesley. "You heard me." His voice was low but intense, and his eyes were dark and unreadable. Wesley knew that he'd already guessed and was just waiting for confirmation. "Yes, of course you're right. You understand how her mind works." "She was gonna use them against me." "Essentially. She thought she'd have you at her beck and call if you needed her to provide the information about the visions. You'd have to do what she said - if you wanted to help the innocent, earn redemption." "Bitch," Angel growled. "Well, yes, but we'd established that some time ago, hadn't we?" said Wesley with a hint of good humor. "She's gonna regret this," Angel said. "Let's worry about that later, okay, man?" said Gunn. "Right now, let's focus on saving my ass from some demon. What'd it look like, Wes?" * * * * * It had only taken an hour of research for Wesley to identify the demon that was going to attack Gunn. Then, despite his five hours of sleep at Lilah's mystery apartment, Wes had been exhausted and had slept upstairs in the hotel, on Angel's bed, for most of the day. Now, several hours later and dressed in a too-large-around-the-waist, too-long pair of spare jeans that Gunn kept at the hotel for emergencies, Wes sat on the couch and drank the tea that Fred had made. It was too weak and too sweet, but he appreciated the thought and drank it anyway. Angel came back into the lobby, sword swinging casually from one hand and looking pleased. "All set," he said. "You were right - I cut off one of its arms and it started squealing and thrashing around. Fred could have killed it. She and Gunn are on their way back to his place, safe and sound." He eyed Wesley carefully. "You okay?" "Yes, of course. You agreed that it's not a serious injury..." "Wasn't talking about your leg." Angel put the sword back into the weapons cabinet. "Ah." Wesley put down the book he'd been flipping through and smoothed its cover with his hand. Which was totally unnecessary, but which made it look as if he had something to do other than stare at Angel, which was what he wanted to be doing. "And again, yes. I'm fine." "You sure?" Angel came over and stood next to the couch, bouncing on his heels. "Yes. Are you sure you're all right? You seem rather..." Wesley wasn't certain there was a polite word for it. "Hyperactive?" Angel shrugged. "You know - excess fight energy. Adrenaline's all up." Bounce, bounce. "Can I ask you something?" "Sure." Bounce. "How do you feel about Cordelia leaving?" The bouncing stopped. "What?" Wesley echoed Angel's earlier words. "You heard me." "Yeah. Yeah, I did." Angel sat down on the couch. "I don't know. Confused? Sad. Frustrated." "Were you - are you in love with her?" Angel's eyes widened. "No. Well... maybe? I thought I was. But how did you...?" "Well, you know - when she came to my flat to give me the visions, and she said I needed to tell you that she loved you..." "Oh." Angel leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Did you think she meant, like, loved me, loved me?" "Um... yes." Wesley couldn't force down the last few sips of the now-cold tea in his mug - the liquid was thick and cloying. He balanced the mug carefully on the couch between himself and Angel. "That's definitely the impression that I got." "Huh." Angel stood up, and then sat back down again. "Really." He stood up again. "Huh." "You didn't realize she felt... that way, about you." "No. I mean - yeah, I kind of hoped she did." Angel started to pace in front of the couch. "Are you sure, Wesley? Because, you know, when you told me what she said, before, I just thought... you know, that it was her way of saying - goodbye. That she was telling me she loved me as a friend." "You knew that already," Wesley pointed out. "Yeah, but it wasn't... it's not the kind of thing we say to each other, you know? At least, not unless we think the world's gonna end or something." Wesley smiled fondly. "Yes, I remember. Cordy was glowing that day, wasn't she." Angel stopped and stared at him. "You smiled." "Yes?" "No, I just - I can't remember the last time you smiled - a real smile, I mean." "We've none of us had a real reason to, have we." Wesley couldn't help but recall everything that had happened in the past months. It seemed like a horrible dream, and yet it was all too real. Angel sat back down again. "Guess not. But you're right - she was glowing. Like she was all lit up inside." "You do love her." "Of course I do, Wesley. I love her courage, and I admire her dedication to a cause that she certainly never asked to be involved with. I love her because she's part of my family - same as Fred and Gunn. Same as - " Angel stopped abruptly. "Of course I love her. Lorne even said something about it being mutual - my feelings for her." Wesley thought his heart had stopped for a moment there, but apparently it continued to beat despite himself. "It sounds complicated," he said, and the words sounded flat even to his own ears. Angel's hands were clasped together on his knees, one thumb rubbing against the back of the other. "Well, yeah. Relationships are like that. I love her like - like I loved Drusilla and Spike, because they were mine in a way Darla never was." He shook his head. "I thought that I loved her - that I was in love with her. You saw the way that she was with Connor, Wesley. She loved him, and I could see some kind of future, you know? A mom for Connor, living like a family. And then everything was so fucked up - Connor was gone, and then Cordy came home and then Connor came back. And she was still like that with him - this maternal, womanly version of Cordy that I hadn't expected and she just knocked me on my ass." He slowed to a halt. "But she couldn't have been in love with me." Wesley didn't see the point of continuing to insist that she had been, as he didn't really know and there wasn't any real need to convince Angel even if he had. Cordelia was gone. "I mean, she's Cordelia!" Angel continued after a moment, when it had become clear Wesley wasn't going to respond. "She's all about - you know, money, and prestige, and how stuff looks. She complains constantly about my fashion sense. There's just no way..." Wesley frowned. "A moment ago you were yammering on about how courageous and dedicated she is, and now it sounds like you're saying she's shallow and money-grubbing." "No, I just - " Angel sighed. "Yeah, well, like I said - relationships are complicated. I had plenty of time down at the bottom of the ocean for thinking, and - well, I thought I was in love with her. I did. Now, I'm not so sure." Wesley could understand that. "Do you miss her?" Angel asked. "Yes. But I was..." God, this was hard. Why had he started this conversation? "What?" "I was going to say... I was missing her already. She left me first." Try as he might, Wesley couldn't keep the hurt from creeping into his voice. "That was probably my fault." "It was hers, as well. She chose not to come and hear my side of things." "I think she was trying to be... you know, loyal. To me." "Right." No hiding the bitterness here, either. "I know that Fred talked to her, about you, after she came back from her vacation. Fred wanted Cordy to visit you. But I think Cordy was worried that I'd be pissed off - and I'm not saying I wouldn't have been - and Fred and Gunn had said that you were okay. Maybe she thought it was easier to just let it be." "Easier for her. And I wasn't okay, Angel." Admitting that was harder than he'd thought it would be, but letting the words out felt cleansing, somehow. "I know," Angel said. "And... for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I was - I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to get from one minute to the next. I was totally focused on losing Connor, and I was so mad at you..." Wesley rubbed his leg right above the bandage through the thick denim of Gunn's borrowed jeans. "I know. I'm sorry, too." "What do we do now?" Unable to contemplate any further discussion, Wesley stood up stiffly. "Well, I for one would like to get some more sleep. Fred said I was welcome to use her room for the night if I didn't want to drag myself home." "I didn't mean... I meant, about us." Angel clearly wasn't ready to let the subject drop, but he moved with Wesley as he started up the stairs, one hand under Wesley's elbow in support. "What is there to do?" "I mean... are we friends again?" Wesley stopped halfway from the top of the stairs and turned to look at Angel incredulously. "Shouldn't that be my line? I never stopped being your friend, Angel." Angel let go of him and moved sideways, still on the same step but suddenly a thousand miles away. Emotion was flashing behind his eyes, one flicker and then another, like a pinwheel spinning 'round. "Then - yeah," he said finally, and the distance between them closed in a heartbeat. "If you're still my friend, even after everything that's happened. Yeah." Wesley turned to continue up the stairs, but inside he was smiling. "Gunn said something about... there being a lot of water under the bridge," he offered. Angel snorted. "Have to be a hell of a big bridge to go over all that water." The smile slipped out onto Wesley's face before he could stop it. It felt good. * * * * * Wesley woke up at two a.m. and realized immediately that he was lying on Fred's bed, which was an immense improvement over having woken in Lilah's apartment. He had one of the nagging after-vision headaches that would burrow at the edge of his brain just enough to prevent him from going back to sleep. He grabbed the borrowed pair of jeans from the foot of the bed and felt for his pill bottle in the pocket. Then he remembered that he had taken the bottle out of his own slacks in Angel's room earlier. It was probably still on Angel's bedside table. He put the jeans back on, tightening his own belt at the waist enough to prevent them from slipping over his non-existent hips. He walked down the hall to Angel's room. Should he knock? Or just sneak in quietly in case Angel was sleeping? Trying to find a middle ground, he knocked very softly and then pushed the door open. Angel's bed was empty. Angel was curled up in a chair, a book in his hands. He put the book down on the floor as Wesley came in - face down, which would damage the spine, noted Wesley - and stood up. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and in the low light of the bedroom the marks from where he'd been shot the day before looked more like bruises than anything else. "Hey. What's up?" Wesley forced himself to look at something, anything, other than Angel, and focused instead on the bottle of pills. He walked over and picked it up, gestured with it. "I forgot these in here, earlier." "Oh." Angel rubbed one hand against his abdomen unconsciously. Wesley found himself staring, again. He couldn't stop himself. A pull, like an invisible cord stretched taut between the two of them, drew him over to Angel's side. "Those look like they'll be gone in another day or so," Wesley observed, brushing the tips of two fingers across one of the marks in a whisper of skin on skin. Angel shuddered and caught Wesley's wrist. "Yeah, well - like I said. I'm a fast healer." Wesley didn't try to pull away. He didn't try to move closer. He just stood where he was, with the feeling of Angel's hand locked around his wrist. Until Angel released him. Wesley backed away a few steps, toward the door, his heart jumping in his chest. And not necessarily in a bad way, but it was too soon. "Wes?" There were at least a half dozen questions in that one word. Wesley wasn't nearly as eloquent in the ways of silence, but he did his best to answer all of the questions in one sentence. "We're fine, Angel." He backed through the doorway into the hall. "Good night." * * * * * Two days later: It always seemed to happen at the most innocuous times. He would be washing some dishes or picking a catalogue up off the rug or, heaven forbid, actually having the audacity to brush his teeth, and then *wham.* Visual and auditory attack, followed in most cases by having to pick himself up off the floor with sheer will power, and in some cases by a celebratory round of vomiting. In the bathroom, if he was lucky. And yet, somehow, it gradually became normal. Fascinating, really, what the human animal could become accustomed to under extreme circumstances. Wesley groaned and rubbed at his jaw with the back of his hand. For the most part he'd been fortunate so far - he hadn't cracked his head open on any lurking furniture - but this time he must have landed face first. There was something wet on his hand and he thought it must be blood, but when he brought his hand higher so that he could see it, he discovered that he'd only been drooling. Charming. All right. The routine had begun. Step one: Get up. He lifted himself off the floor of the office and stumbled to the nearest chair. Sank down into it, still rubbing his sore jaw. At least he didn't seem to have loosened any teeth. Step two: Pills. He took two with the last sip of coffee that had grown cold in Fred's mug, abandoned on his desk earlier in the day. He'd gotten into the habit of taking them as soon after a vision as possible, especially if no one was around, because he didn't like the looks the others exchanged when they saw him downing the medication. He understood Cordelia so well now. Step three: Information exchange. Wesley went out into the empty lobby and stood there for a moment. His brain was working at about half speed, slowly churning out what he needed to know. Ah, yes, Gunn had gone out to pick up dinner. Angel was... either upstairs, or downstairs. If Wesley's brain had known which, it was unwilling to provide the answer. He wished he could remember. The sound of a door opening, and then Fred came around the corner. She recognized the look on his face immediately. "You had a vision." He nodded. "Gunn's still out, is he?" "Yes. Angel's downstairs, though - do you want me to get him?" "Please." Wesley went back into the office and picked up the book that he'd dropped onto the floor at the start of the vision. It seemed undamaged. He put it on his desk and then went over to the bookshelf and regarded it thoughtfully. Where was that book on demons from the Bit'ara dimension? He knew he'd seen it somewhere recently - ah, there it was. He leaned against the bookshelf and started flipping through the book. Angel came into the office, shadowed by Fred. "What did you see?" He stopped a couple of yards from Wesley, giving him plenty of personal space. Since the incident the other night he'd been careful not to crowd Wesley, which Wes appreciated more than he could say. And of course what Wesley could say was nothing, because Wesley had no idea how to broach the subject of their potentially mutual - what? Attraction? It had been the middle of the night, Angel had been shirtless and looking like a pale god, Wesley had touched him, and Angel had grabbed his hand. Stopped him, it had seemed. Right. Nothing to discuss. Oops, except for the vision he'd just had. "It was a young man being attacked by some kind of Bit'ara demon. I haven't been able to identify it yet - the demon, I mean." "Where? When?" "Out at that old stone building - the one that used to be the asylum? And quite soon - within an hour or two, I'd say, from the position of the moon... although that's certainly not a reliable measure under any circumstances..." Gunn came around the corner carrying a large paper bag. "Hey! I got chicken! Finger lickin'-good... and we're not gonna get a chance to eat it, are we?" "Sure you are," said Angel. "Just - in the car." "We'd best go at once," Wesley agreed. For once the pills he'd taken seemed to be doing some good. "I'll bring the book with us and try to find the proper species on the drive." Step four: Resolving the situation. They checked the trunk of the car to make sure they had what they needed as far as weapons went, and headed out. Gunn and Fred ate a quick meal in the back seat, passing a chicken leg up to Wesley who tried to eat it without getting the book in his lap all greasy. "I'm starting to wonder if I've got the dimension of origin all wrong," he fretted. "These all look mostly right, but I'm not sure any is the exact one I saw." "Well, pick the one that looks closest and tell us how to kill it," said Gunn. Wesley rifled through a few more pages and settled on one line drawing. "All right - most of them seem to die in the normal ways - destroy the brain, puncture the heart - which is located in the center of the chest just below the chin." "Center of the chest below the chin?" asked Gunn. "Well, yes - it doesn't have much of a neck, you see." Wesley held the book higher so that Gunn and Fred could see the picture from their vantage point in the back seat. "You didn't mention that it had ten arms," said Gunn. "Didn't I? And actually there are twelve appendages, but they're more tentacles than arms, really. And they function as mouths - the mouth on the face is for breathing, although Bit'ara demons don't derive the same things from the air that we do..." Wesley tried to focus on the more important aspects. "In any case, the tentacles are very powerful - if it gets ahold of you with one, cut it free immediately. These demons can suck a big hole through your arm or your chest - they've been known to remove internal organs through a small hole in the flesh." "What about fire?" asked Angel. "Oh yes - fire will work. We have the flame thrower in the trunk - I was thinking Gunn might...?" "You got it," said Gunn. "Hope I don't need to remind you to be careful where you aim that thing," said Angel, glancing into the rearview mirror. "Nope." "What about me?" asked Fred. "Stay in the background," Gunn said. "If we get into trouble, we'll let you know - otherwise, let us handle it. This isn't a small one." They arrived and parked the car. Wesley glanced at Angel. "Leave your coat in the car," he said, and then winced as he realized he was talking like a man in charge. "If we're going to be putting the flamethrower to use, best not to be a larger target." Angel shrugged out of the wide-sleeved cotton jacket he was wearing and threw it onto the seat without comment. They headed up the hill toward the deteriorating building. It had been unused for years, and looked a bit like a place that would be haunted. Which it was, or at least would be soon, Wesley supposed, if only briefly. "What would somebody be doing, up here?" Fred asked quietly from behind him. "Nothing good," said Angel. Wesley almost smiled. "Getting into trouble, no doubt," he agreed. "Now everyone be quiet for a moment. We don't want to be surprised." Following Wesley, they crept up to a large door, which wasn't closed. Angel was directly behind him and slightly to the left. He could hear the sound of Gunn breathing softly and the rustling movements of Fred's long sweater. His heart was beating just a tad too quickly, but in an anticipatory way that made him feel like he was vibrating just under the skin. Wesley glanced back over his shoulder at the sky to check the position of the moon, which was just about where he'd seen it in his vision. His leg brushed against the sword Angel was holding low toward the ground. "Any time," he whispered, and knew that Gunn and Fred had heard him. There was the sound of Gunn adjusting the strap of the flamethrower, that right strap that always twisted just a little bit and caught at your neck. Wesley crept forward and through the doorway, with the others just behind him. That first hallway smelled of dust and and mildew and papers sat too long in piles until they ceased to be individual pieces of paper at all. It was very dark - there were no windows - and yet Wesley stopped and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to listen to something inside of himself. He opened his eyes again and started moving down the hallway. The door he turned to was about twenty yards down the hallway, and the doorway opened into a very large room. A row of windows set high on the walls just below the ceiling allowed the moonlight from outside to filter in, bathing at least the front half of the room with a silvery light. The room was so empty it echoed - there were a few chairs lying abandoned, tipped over, against the near wall. The smell here was still of dust, but also of decay and a fresher, sharper smell. Just a few inches behind Wesley Angel growled, very, very softly, and Wesley knew what that smell was. Blood. An echoing growl, much louder, came from the opposite side of the room, from the shadows. One bit of the shadow separated from the others and moved toward them at a dizzying speed. Before Wesley had time to think the demon was upon them, tentacles waving and enormous mouth (and why did it need that big a mouth, when it didn't use it for eating?) gaping and snarling, and all of the sounds echoing throughtout the room so that it sounded as if there were a dozen demons instead of just one. Wesley raised the crossbow in his hands and pulled the trigger - the bolt hit one of the flailing tentacles close to the creature's body and nearly severed it. The thing screamed in a low tone that made the pit of Wesley's stomach ache, and black blood splattered onto the floor around them. Wesley didn't have time to do anything else - another tentacle whipped out and knocked the crossbow from his hands. He rolled to one side to retrieve it, and when he got up he saw Angel hacking at the thing with his sword. The low-toned screaming continued. Three of the tentacles were now on the floor, and the one that Wesley had hit was dangling uselessly. Fred stood in the doorway, watching. Gunn had fired up the flamethrower and was waiting for the right moment to use it. The demon was so fast. It looked as if it would be clumsy, but it wasn't. Angel sliced at it again, opening a wound in its side this time, and Wesley followed with another bolt, this one hitting the side of the thing's head but glancing off as if the creature's skull were exceedingly hard. The demon knocked at the sword and Angel almost dropped it. Before he could recover his stance a tentacle had grabbed onto Angel's arm and attached itself there. Angel made a noise that could have been described as a moan. Everything was happening very quickly, but suddenly time seemed to slow for Wesley and he took advantage of the phenonmenon while he could. Raising the crossbow again, he fired a bolt that neatly severed the tentacle that was attached to Angel's arm. Black blood fountained and at the same time the creature moved back a fraction of an inch and Gunn yelled, "Angel, down!" and instinctively Wesley dropped the crossbow and tackled Angel to remove him from the line of fire. Which of course was rather like tackling a statue - Angel's body in its fighting stance was weighty and solid, his center of gravity low. Wesley had a moment to wonder if he could have actually budged the vampire at all, and then Angel reacted and continued the motion that Wesley had started and they both slammed into the floor, Angel rolling as they fell so as to take some of Wesley's weight. The hit was still bone-jarringly hard, and the momentum of the fall carried them another full rotation until they fetched up against a chair, Angel mostly on the bottom and the demon's tentacle on his arm wrapped around them both. They looked up in time to see the demon fully engulfed in flames, the orange and yellow flickers casting an eerie glow on Gunn's face as he continued to feed the fire with the flamethrower. Fred was several feet behind him, peering around the edge of the doorway and watching as the creature burned. It wasn't even moving anymore, not the slightest twitch. Gunn cut the flamethrower off abruptly and with it the light in the room was dimmed by a third. The demon continued to burn down - it was probably less than half of its original size now. Wesley pushed himself away from Angel onto his knees, and taking Angel's wrist in his grip, yanked the tentacle off of the vampire's arm. Angel made a face. "God, that's disgusting." "Are you all right?" Angel lifted his arm up to inspect the ragged hole that the tentacle had left in his sleeve. When he rolled the sleeve up, the edges of the oval-shaped wound were serated and it looked deep, but strangely it wasn't bleeding. "Yeah, I'm okay. Weirdest thing I ever felt." He stood up and gestured toward the back of the room. "Blood." Wesley scrambled to his feet and he and Gunn followed Angel back into the shadows, with Fred trailing behind. The light from the burning corpse of the demon was fading now, and Wesley almost stumbled over Angel when the vampire knelt down on the floor beside the body of a young man. Wesley put out a hand to brace Gunn from crashing into him in turn. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, so thick that Wesley could almost taste it. He wondered what it was doing to Angel, whose sense of smell was so much stronger than theirs. It must be nearly overpowering. His eyes slowly adjusting to the light, Wesley crouched down next to Angel and saw that the darkness on the floor that he had thought merely shadow was, in actuality, blood. The body of the young man was covered with it, his clothing poked full of holes as though the demon had been using him as a tentacle-pincushion. He was lying on his side facing them, and the staring eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses told all of them that he was dead. Not even cool yet, in fact - when Angel rolled him over, he still had the floppy muscle tone of the recently-dead. "He's dead?" asked Fred in a soft voice. "Oh yeah," Angel replied shortly. "If the blood loss and all these holes in him didn't kill him, I'll bet this did..." He rolled the body further, so that it was facing away from them and they could all see the large, uneven hole in the back of the skull and the raw bloody space where the brain had been. * * * * * They were all quiet for the first ten minutes of the drive back to the hotel. It had always been hard when they hadn't been able to prevent what Cordelia had seen in a vision, but this was the first time it had happened since the visions had passed to Wesley. He tried to be circumspect. Sometimes things happened for a reason, and sometimes things happened and there was no reason. It wasn't always possible to be the victor in every situation. But Wesley had to work hard not to think about what the last moments of that young man's life must have been like. Granted, from what they'd found strewn around the scene it did seem likely that the man had summoned the demon himself. As if she had read his thoughts, Fred asked, "Why would he have summoned that thing?" "I don't know," Wesley sighed. "To see if he could? That's often the reason young people begin to dabble in the occult - curiosity, a desire to see what they're capable of." "But didn't he know that the demon would try to kill him?" "He may not have thought that far ahead. Or perhaps he believed he was prepared to handle it, and didn't discover that he wasn't until it was too late." Angel shifted uncomfortably behind the wheel. He looked like a man who was trying very hard not to follow a conversation. "Why don't we call it a night?" he said suddenly. "Gunn, I can drop you off if you want." "Cool. You sure? It's only half past seven." "Well, yeah. Don't you think, Wes? This was enough for one night, right?" "Most definitely," said Wesley. When they pulled up in front of Gunn's place, Fred climbed out after him. "I'm gonna stay with Charles," she said shyly. "I'll be back in the morning." "And we'll take care of that anonymous tip thing," Gunn said. Later on in the evening the police would receive a call from a pay phone saying that there was a body up at the old asylum. They said their goodnights and Angel turned the car to head to Wesley's apartment. After a moment, he said, "Wes?" "Yes, Angel?" "I'm - I know I should have said something before, but... I'm sorry about the other night." Sorry for what? thought Wesley. And then, "Sorry for what?" "For, you know, scaring you." Wesley was dumbfounded. "You didn't scare me, Angel." "Are you sure? As soon as I grabbed your wrist, you... just froze. And I could smell it on you - the fear - or, I thought I could..." Angel glanced at him in confusion. "And your heart was beating too fast." "I'm sure it was," said Wesley, remembering how he'd backed out of the room without taking his eyes off of Angel. "You weren't scared? Because I wasn't gonna hurt you." "That's good to know." Wesley smiled at him. "And in case you don't recall, I was the one who touched you, first. I rather thought I'd offended you." "What? No." Angel seemed torn between watching the road and looking at Wesley. Apparently making up his mind, he pulled the car over and put it into park. "Offended me? Are you serious?" "Well, yes... I touched you, and then you grabbed my wrist. Of course that's what I thought. But I wasn't afraid of you..." "You were afraid of something else." Wesley exhaled heavily. "I suppose maybe I was." "What?" "The situation?" Angel spoke slowly, as though he were trying to clarify something he already knew the answer to. "The situation. You... touching me. And me liking it. That situation?" "I -" Wesley stopped. He was too uncomfortable to even think about looking at Angel, so he looked down at his hands instead. There was a bit of dried blood on the edge of his thumb. "I don't know what to say. If you liked it, then... why did you stop me?" "Because I wasn't sure it was deliberate - I mean, I wasn't sure that it wasn't just a friend thing, you know? And if it was just a friend thing, I didn't want to let you keep doing it, when it was making me..." Angel trailed off. "This is extremely awkward, isn't it." Wesley's fingernail scraped at the dried blood, flaking it off in tiny flecks. "Wes." Angel waited, and when Wesley continued to look at his hands, repeated his name again. "Wes. Could you just look at me for a minute?" Wesley dragged his eyes up to meet Angel's, but couldn't sustain the gaze for more than a moment or two. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I'm... this makes me very uncomfortable." "Okay." Angel said. "Then don't look at me. But there are a couple of things I have to say, and the first one is - I do like it. When you touch me. And if... if it makes you nervous, or uncomfortable - knowing that, I mean - then I'm sorry. But I think it's better for you to know. I don't want there to be any more secrets between us." Wesley couldn't respond, and after a moment Angel went on. "And the second thing is - I don't want to do anything that scares you. So if me touching you is a problem, I need to know that." Now Wesley couldn't stop himself from looking up at Angel, and he knew that his desperation was probably clear on his face. "No - that is, I don't - oh, hell." The urge to hide was overwhelming, but it wasn't as though he were going to jump out of the car and run off down the street screaming. Tempting a thought though that was. Wesley dropped his face down into his hands and took a deep breath. Angel waited patiently. Wesley looked up again. "This is very, very difficult for me to..." He couldn't finish. "I get that," Angel said. "And - this isn't a conversation that needs to be wrapped up now. If you need some time, that's okay." He put his hand on the gear shift to put the car in gear and start driving again. Before Wesley could stop to think, his own hand flew out and gripped the back of Angel's. "No," he said, and the desperation had crept from his face into his voice, which was hoarse and gravelly again. "Just - wait." "Okay." Angel turned his hand slightly and rested it on the seat, with Wesley's still gripped onto it. They weren't quite holding hands. Minutes ticked by as Wesley thought of, and then rejected, various things that he might have said. Part of the problem was that he was afraid, of what might happen if he was willing to admit to what he wanted. Angel's skin against his palm and fingers felt cool and comforting and oh so right. It was distracting. "I don't know what to do," Wesley admitted finally. "Not that that isn't completely obvious." "Yeah, I got that, too," said Angel. He slid his hand sideways the tiniest bit, freeing up his thumb so that he could rub it gently across the edge of Wesley's smallest finger. "I'm not sure I should do this again," said Wesley, in a voice so small and rough that anyone without vampire senses would have had to strain to hear it. "Do what?" "Get close to you." Wesley looked at their hands entwined on the seat. "I won't - I can't promise that I'll never hurt you again, Wes," Angel said. "Because I might. You of all people know how complicated things are. But I don't want to hurt you. I'll do my damndest not to." "It's not just that," Wesley protested. "I hurt you, as well. I just - I want to be sure of what we're getting into." "I think you know. Maybe that's the problem." "It very well could be." "I don't want to lose you again, Wes. I've lost enough. Your friendship is more important to me than... you know, getting closer." Wesley felt ill at the reminder of Connor. Every once in a while, for a few minutes at a time, he forgot about the baby - and the boy - and each time when he remembered it was like a hole had reopened in his heart. Which in turn reminded him... "How's your arm?" Angel tilted it so that his elbow was pointing toward Wesley and they could both inspect it at the same time. The hole was still there, but was filling in and was probably half the size it had been. Wesley ran his fingers gently next to the wound, wondering again how the vampire's body was able to repair itself so quickly, and a fine tremble ran through Angel. "Oh, I'm sorry," Wesley apologized immediately, withdrawing his hand. "Is it very painful?" "No," Angel said. "It doesn't hurt. Just - the touching thing again." "Of course," said Wesley. Sometimes he could be so dense. And even as he thought that he needed to be more careful, pay more attention to what he was doing, his hand, of its own volition, stole out and stroked Angel's arm again. The skin just below the wound was the same temperature as the night air - warm, but not overly so - and felt alive. Which it wasn't, and still... Angel submitted to his touch for almost half a minute before shuddering more violently and grabbing Wesley's hand. His voice tight, he said, "Don't start something here, Wes. I can take a lot, but don't mess with my head." "I wouldn't do that," Wesley said quietly. A pause. "Yeah. Yeah, I know. Sorry." Angel loosened his hold on Wesley's hand and turned it, exposing the underside of his lower arm. He ran gentle, questing fingers the length of Wesley's arm, from elbow to wrist, in a long, slow slide that ended with a careful tracing of the veins at Wesley's wrist. Wesley shivered and all of the hairs on his arm stood up on end. The sight of his veins there, just below the surface of the skin, with Angel's fingers moving over them... "I see what you mean," he said, rather breathlessly. "Glad I made my point." Angel looked at him apprehensively. "Wes... would it be okay if..." He didn't finish the question, and instead moved very timidly closer to Wesley and wrapped his arms around him, slowly, giving Wesley plenty of time to protest or move away. Wesley's heart was racing, but after a moment he gradually relaxed into Angel's embrace, resting his chin against Angel's shoulder. Angel was holding him gently, and Wesley could tell that he was trying to be as non-threatening as possible by the way he was slightly tense, waiting to react if Wesley seemed ready to end the hug. "It's all right," Wesley said softly, and Angel relaxed, his arms tightening around Wesley protectively. "That really freaked me out tonight," Angel admitted after a few moments. "What did?" "Finding that kid." "Yes, it was unfortunate that we weren't able to arrive in time to save him. But you know, Angel, that we can't always prevail in every situation..." Angel interrupted Wesley's speech but didn't move away from the embrace. "Not that. I mean, yeah, I was upset that we didn't get there in time. But... you really didn't see it?" "See what?" Wesley suspected that he was being dense again. "He looked like you. He looked a lot like you. Hair, eyes..." Angel's arms tightened a bit more around Wesley. "Even his glasses were like yours. And how he died... that could be you, Wes. Any time. Humans aren't meant to have the visions." Wesley pictured the young man's body, sans brains. "I know. But I'd imagine we have some time - it was more than a year before Cordelia began to have serious problems, and almost another year before the - incident on her birthday. I've only had the visions for a few months." Angel pulled back so he could look at Wesley's face. "You aren't worried?" "Of course I'm worried, but it's important that we focus on what we can actually expect to accomplish." "Promise me that you won't do what Cordy did - don't hide it from us. Whatever's going on, you have to let us know." "I will. I promise. You were right, before - no more secrets." "Good. We can start looking into it. There must be a solution." Wesley was thinking about what Lilah's employee (co-worker?) had said. He'd already done some checking around, and narrowed the potential east-coast spellcaster down to a few individuals. He was hopeful, but not quite ready to say anything about it yet. He'd know when the time came to do something about the situation. "You okay?" asked Angel, one hand cupping Wesley's face. "I'm fine." And impulsively, Wesley leaned forward the few inches required to close the gap between them and pressed his lips to Angel's. Only for a fraction of a second, and then he started to draw back. Angel made a small noise in the back of his throat - not a whimper exactly, just a little sound - and brought his other hand up to hold Wesley where he was. His hands were gentle, not forceful, but they were enough to stop Wesley from pulling away. Angel leaned in to capture Wesley's mouth with his own, kissing him very, very softly. Wesley let the kiss linger for a moment, and then drew back reluctantly. Angel let him go. "So..." Wesley said after a moment. "Yeah," Angel said, and then left him the space to get distance if he needed it. "So. Back to the office, then?" Wesley asked, knowing that he was taking the easy way out and yet infinitely relieved despite his cowardice. "We let Gunn and Fred have the rest of the night off, and you want to go back to work?" Angel put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb out onto the street. "I do have paperwork to catch up on. And it's nice to be able to do it when the hotel is quiet - no interruptions." "It seems quiet without Cordy," Angel said. "Yes, it certainly does. I hope she's happy, whatever it is she's doing now." They arrived back at the Hyperion and Wesley followed Angel into the lobby. Before the front door had even swung closed behind them, Angel was frozen on the steps. "Angel?" "Blood." "Well, yes, it's on your clothes, and..." "This is different. Someone else's blood." Angel glanced back at him. "Wait here." Wesley didn't, but as a compromise he followed Angel very slowly as the vampire went down the steps and cautiously into the office. Whatever Angel saw there made him stop and hold one hand back toward Wesley in a warding-off gesture. "Hang on a sec, Wes, this is..." Wesley pushed past him far enough so that he could see, and then stopped. The naked body of a woman was stretched out on the floor in the center of the office, legs and arms flung wide. Her body was split down the center from the base of her chin down into her pubic hair, skin pulled back for maximum exposure. The entire contents of her visceral lining had been removed. Wesley swallowed hard, and forced himself to look up at her face. Sara. "I know her," Wesley said faintly. "What?" "She's the girl... The one Lilah was going to have take the visions. Her name is Sara. She was only eighteen..." Wesley groped for the door frame, for something to hold onto. "Dear Lord. What have they done?" * * * * * There was actually far less blood than Wesley would have anticipated. Angel said that it was probably because Sara had been killed elsewhere and just deposited at the hotel after the fact. Angel had covered her with a blanket without asking once he'd seen the look on Wesley's face. "Do you think she was conscious when they killed her?" Wesley asked. "No way to tell. Why?" "I just wondered. She told me that she liked pain, liked to be hurt. I wondered if perhaps she offered... but no. I'm sure she musn't have wanted..." Wesley grimaced. "I've seen worse," Angel offered, and then looked immediately as if he wished he hadn't. "Sorry." "It's all right." Wesley paced a bit, nervous energy making it difficult for him to stay still. "They left her here for a reason." "Because Lilah's an incomparable bitch?" "That, too. But no, I rather suspect that this was meant as a warning." The telephone rang. Wesley and Angel exchanged a glance, and then Wesley went over and picked it up just as it rang a second time. "Angel Investigations." Lilah's voice. "Did you get my message?" "Yes, I did. I suppose expecting you to put pencil to paper would have been a bit much to ask." "I'm used to getting what I want, Wesley. You're rather... intimately acquainted with that fact, aren't you." "If you mean me, Lilah, then I'm sorry to have to tell you that you never had me. And if you mean the visions, and your intention to use them against Angel, then I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed again." Lilah clucked her tongue reproachfully. "Do you really think I'm going to let you disappoint me?" "Was it really necessary to kill this poor girl? And for that matter, what are you going to do now that she's dead?" "I'll just find someone else," Lilah answered, and he could picture her casual shrug. "She was convenient at a moment's notice, but since we don't seem to be in a hurry just now, I have some time to find someone... more suitable." "You have all the time in the world, Lilah, because you're not going to get me." "You can't keep running from me forever, Wesley. Would you like me to kill a few more girls in your name?" Wesley felt the blood drain from his face. "You insufferable bitch. Don't you dare blame me for your actions. I - " He was shaking with rage and heard Lilah start to say something just before Angel pushed the speaker button on the phone and motioned at him to stay quiet. "Lilah." "Angel. Your boy's gotten himself awfully worked up there, hasn't he." "He's not - Do you remember what I told you after you set your little psychic guy on Cordelia? It still holds true, Lilah. You want to come at me, you come at me, not through any of my people." "You really get off on playing the big hero, don't you? Really, Angel, my proposition here is very simple. I want the visions. You, presumably, want your friend to live, which you know he won't be able to do if he keeps the visions. Help me get them from him." "He's not interested," said Angel, refusing to meet Wesley's eyes. "I notice you don't say that you're not interested. You don't want him to die, do you, Angel? Surely it would be a fair trade, his life for your... loyalty to me." "It wouldn't be loyalty. It would never be loyalty." "You call it whatever you have to. Think about it for a few days. Maybe the next time he has one of those visions and ends up with his brain leaking out his ears..." "Goodbye, Lilah," Angel said without emotion, and pushed the button that hung up the phone. Wesley wanted to wrap his hands around Lilah's throat and squeeze, but instead he found himself staring at Sara's blanket-covered form. He could feel Angel's eyes on him. "She threatened you," Angel said. "Not me. She said she'd kill some more girls in my name." The emotions were nearly overwhelming; and then, like the snap of a shutter, there was blessed distance. Wesley wasn't sure how he'd done it - it hadn't been a conscious decision, but it felt familiar. One moment he was upset and angry and dismayed, and the next, he felt nothing. It was a relief that he couldn't even appreciate. "You okay?" Angel was looking at him strangely. And funnily enough, he was fine. He'd put everything away on a high shelf where he couldn't see it, let alone reach it. "I'm fine. What will we do with the body?" "I'll take care of it. You sure you're okay? You look..." "What?" asked Wesley, hearing the roughness in his voice. "Never mind. Let me take care of this." Angel went over and picked up Sara's corpse, still draped with the blanket, and disappeared out of the office. Wesley decided not to wonder where he was going or what he was going to do with her. Right. Paperwork. Wesley went over to the desk and started to make some notes about the evening's activities - the vision, the asylum, the Bit'ara demon and the young man's death. It was all very clinical, told from the viewpoint of someone who was merely observing, not involved. He lost himself in the words and the movement of the pen on the paper, and was mildly surprised when, some time later, he sensed someone in the room and looked up to find Angel watching him. "All taken care of?" "Yeah. If anyone's looking for her, they'll find her. Heck, even if no one's looking for her..." "I suspect she was a runaway," Wesley said. From a purely intellectual point of view, of course, since anything more instinctive would require remembering the expression on Sara's face when he woke to find her staring at him. Would require remembering her utter lack of expression, and the knowledge that she was already lost. Though, perhaps, not in a bad way. Lost wasn't always a bad place to be. "Are you sure you're all right?" Wesley felt a tiny flicker of something deep in his chest, but let the ember die. "Angel, I'm fine." "You don't sound fine." "I assure you, I am." Angel came over and sat on Wesley's desk, blocking his access to the papers he'd been working on and nudging into his personal space. "Angel, back off. I'm not in the mood." "You were earlier," Angel reminded him. "What happened?" "You mean other than a girl dying?" Damn, damn. That sounded and felt like he might actually care. "I mean, what's going on in your head?" Wesley put on his best talking-to-Lilah voice, the one that sounded intellectual and condescending and somehow never worked on her. "Angel, I'm fine, and I really don't care to discuss this further." "You're not fine," said Angel. "And to be honest, I'm getting sick of hearing you say that you are, when it's obvious to anyone with half a brain that you're not." "I'm surprised you managed to figure it out, then," Wesley said. "Fuck you, Wesley," Angel growled, jumping up off the desk. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" "Trying to get you to leave me alone," said Wesley. "Let me know if it's working." Angel's face cleared. "No," he said slowly. "Nope. Not working." Wesley's fist was clenched. "I need some space, Angel." "You don't," Angel said, as though he knew. "You're just trying to drive me away - there's a difference. You're scared and you think it's easier to get me to back off than to take the chance that things might actually work out." Wesley deflated, his earlier despair returning. "But look at everything that's stacked against us," he said, quietly. "The visions, Lilah; it's too complicated." "Only if we let it be," said Angel. "And what about the past between us?" "It's behind us, Wes. We can't keep living in the past - we're no good to anyone like that. We have to keep moving forward." "Can you do that, Angel?" "I think so. Even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming behind me." Angel smiled tentatively. Wesley was back in the world of the feeling now, and it was good and terrifying at the same time. He wanted this, but he wasn't sure he could take another fallout like the last one. "So what do you think?" Angel asked. "I think this is even more complicated than I'd realized, and that's saying a lot." "S'okay. It's all right if it's complicated. I meant - do you think you can put the past behind you?" "I can't forget it," said Wesley, and he was picturing Connor as a baby, his sweet round face and chubby clutching hands. "I know. We shouldn't." Angel sat back down on the desk again. "We won't," Wesley said, and leaned forward, slowly. Angel kissed him. It started out tentative, a little spark, but very quickly became a blaze that burned nearly out of control. Hard, bruising kisses that Wesley could feel all the way down into the pit of his stomach. Angel's hands were on his shoulders and Angel's tongue was in his mouth and it was all happening so fast. Wesley had to pull back just to get some air into his lungs. The look on Angel's face would have alarmed him if he hadn't been on fire himself. "Someone might come in. The office is technically still open..." "Upstairs," said Angel hoarsely. * * * * * Wesley closed the door to Angel's suite behind them, and before he had finished turning around Angel grabbed him, plundering his mouth brutally and pressing their bodies together. Wesley moaned into Angel's mouth and shoved him backwards, walking Angel toward the bed as they continued to exchange searing kisses. They fell down onto the bed, Wesley on top, and then rolled sideways. Angel grasped his hip and pulled him closer with one hand, all the time kissing him. Angel ground their lower bodies together, and Wesley felt and heard him groan. And then Angel was wrenching himself away. He flew across the room to stand near the kitchen. "Angel?" Wesley asked uncertainly. "Get out of here, Wesley. Now. I'm sorry - I shouldn't have let it get this far. I wasn't thinking - I can't do this. You know I can't do this." Angel stood facing away from him. Wesley looked at the way Angel was standing - shoulders down but otherwise tense, muscles taut and fists clenched. He'd waited too long - he hadn't known how to tell him at first, and then he'd been waiting for the right time, which had never seemed to come. It was here, now. "Angel. Come over here and sit down." "Wesley, I can't." Wesley slid away to the far side of the bed, sitting up and putting as much distance between himself and Angel as possible. "I won't touch you, I promise. Just... talk. I need to tell you something." Reluctantly, Angel turned around and walked back over to the bed. He sat down, not facing Wesley but not showing him his back, either. "First off, let me say that I'm sorry for not telling you this sooner. I should have. I suppose I didn't know where to begin..." Wesley sighed. Angel was staring down at a fold in the blanket, worrying at a loose thread with his fingers. "Are you listening?" "Yeah." "After Darla came back, when... when we learned that she was pregnant, and it became clear that you had slept with her without losing your soul... I did some checking. I did think it obvious that perfect happiness wouldn't necessarily be achieved through sexual intercourse or even just... er, sexual completion. But I was curious." Wesley cleared his throat. "I'm... am I correct in thinking that Darla has been the only... test case? Since Buffy, I mean?" Angel glanced up at him. "Yeah." "I thought as much. In any case, shortly after Connor was born, I phoned Sunnydale to speak with Giles, who, as it turned out, had returned to England. I called him there and asked him to look into the spell that Willow had used to restore your soul. I would have called her directly, you understand, but..." "She probably would have told you to go to hell." Angel's lips twitched in a parody of a smile. "Most likely. And as Giles was willing to play go-between, it all worked out for the best." Wesley hesitated, trying to think of a gentle way to say what came next. He couldn't. "The spell Willow used to restore your soul didn't have a perfect happiness clause." Angel looked blank. "What?" "She used the spell as Giles' friend wrote it, apparently, and it didn't include that clause. I don't know if Willow would have changed the spell herself, but regardless of whether she might have had the experience or the inclination, she didn't have the time. The spell that she cast was identical to the original in every way but the one." "I don't..." Now Angel looked confused. "You won't lose your soul, Angel. Well, I suppose there are still ways in which you might, but... they haven't anything to do with your happiness. You must have wondered... in those early days after Connor was born...?" "Tried not to think about it," said Angel, then shook his head. "No, that's not right. I tried not to be completely happy. In case it would help. Yeah, I wondered." "So. No clause. Which means you can do anything that makes you happy, Angel. Err... anything." "But that means..." A grin spread across Angel's face. "Indeed." "You're sure." "I am. Completely sure, without a doubt. You must know I wouldn't take the chance, otherwise?" "Yeah. No, of course you wouldn't." Angel had stopped smiling and he seemed dazed. "I never thought... I mean, I thought that was it for me. Until - unless - the whole Shanshu thing worked out." "It must be a shock. I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner..." "No, no," Angel said, waving away the apology with one hand. "I can see why you didn't." He stood up and walked over to Wesley's side of the bed, where Wes had been sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest in an attempt to seem unthreatening and small. He held a hand out to Wesley, who took it with what he was sure was a questioning look on his face. All thought of questioning - indeed, all thought entirely - fled when Angel, with dizzying speed, pulled Wesley to his feet, pushed him up against the nearest wall and proceeded to rip his shirt off of him. The vampire's mouth descended upon Wesley's chest, his lips and tongue marking him with saliva, teeth marking him with tiny nips that weren't designed to break the skin but only to tease. Wesley leaned his head back against the wall and let Angel do what he would. There was a brief moment when Angel's mouth left his skin, and by the time Wesley noticed and opened his eyes, Angel's shirt was also off. Wesley had seen Angel in various states of undress before, but he had never allowed himself to fully enjoy the sight of the vampire's body without feelings of guilt or shame. Now, he stared unabashedly, drinking in the taut muscles, wide shoulders, and smooth, pale skin. He glanced up at Angel's face and saw that he was also being watched. "It's been a long time," said Angel. "I know, not since Darla..." Angel leaned in and silenced Wesley with a kiss. "Didn't mean that. We've been a long time getting to this place, you and I." Wesley reached out a hand and traced his fingers down over Angel's ribcage. Angel grabbed his wrist and pressed it up against the wall over his head, holding him there. Angel took his other wrist, brought it up to join the first, and then held both in place with his own larger hand. "God, I need this," Angel said, and kissed Wesley so thoroughly that Wesley almost forgot where he was. Angel's free hand was in the small of Wesley's back, holding him close, and with his arms restrained there was nothing Wesley could do but enjoy it. Angel continued to kiss him, deeply, sweeping his mouth with his tongue as if he were trying to memorize the terrain. He moved his hand to the front of Wesley's hip, now holding him still against the wall when all Wesley wanted was to feel the length of Angel's body pressed against his. When Wesley moaned in protest at the lack of contact, Angel jerked his own body forward, crushing Wesley to the wall with his weight, grinding into him with hips and pelvis and thighs and cock. Wesley groaned and did his best to thrust against Angel in return. Angel pulled his face away from Wesley's. "You taste so good, Wes." "Yes, well, let's not get too carried away with the tasting, shall we?" Wesley managed to get out, and Angel laughed. "Don't worry," said Angel. "I told you I wouldn't hurt you." "You told me you'd try not to hurt me, and I don't believe we were talking about physical pain." Angel looked serious, and dropped his hold on Wesley's wrists. "You nervous?" "No," Wesley shook his head. "Not about a little bit of pain. I'm sturdier than I look, you know." "I know." Angel kissed him again, quick and hard. He pressed his weight into Wesley again, then snaked one hand between them to undo the front of Wesley's slacks. His fingers were slightly cool as they slipped under the front edge of Wesley's boxers. "Angel..." Wesley let himself moan the name slightly. It sounded good. In a few moments Angel had stripped both of them naked, and somehow Wesley was still standing up against the wall and he wasn't quite sure how any of it had happened. But he found he didn't care, because then Angel was on his knees in front of him, and the sight of that made everything else disappear. Angel rested his hand on Wesley's thigh, one thumb stroking the hairs there slightly against the grain, toward his inner thigh and just... barely... missing coming in contact with Wesley's balls. Wesley was sure the space between was a fraction of a millimeter, and the ghostly stroking made him want to squirm. Angel's other hand was on his waist, keeping him shoved up against the wall. Wesley felt Angel's weight shift forward, the hand on his thigh pressing more firmly for a moment, and then a cool, wet tongue licked its way slowly, almost casually across his balls and up the length of his shaft, to end its journey by dipping into the little hole at the tip. Wesley shuddered violently and grabbed onto Angel's hair. "Again," he rasped. So Angel did it again, and then a third and fourth time as Wesley shuddered and moaned and clutched at him. By the time Angel wrapped his lips around Wesley's cock and took it deep down into his throat, Wesley was nearly incoherent. It was less than a minute before he came; Angel swallowing some of it and then backing off to catch the rest in his hand. While Wesley was still panting out the aftermath of his orgasm, Angel took a step back and, making sure that Wesley was watching him, stroked his own erection with his palmful of Wesley's warm fluid. He looked at it thoughtfully. "Won't be enough," he said, as if to himself, and went over to rummage in his bedside table drawer. He came back with a small tube of lubricant and slicked himself up with it before turning Wesley around to face the wall. Wesley spread his legs at Angel's unspoken urging, felt a cool hand spread more lubricant up between his cheeks. There was the unmistakable sound of a slick hand stroking hard flesh. Angel was holding him open with one hand, and Wesley felt the tip of Angel's cock pressed against his opening. "Need this," said Angel in his ear, and the vampire's voice was tight and controlled. "Can I?" "Yes," Wesley said quietly, and although he knew Angel had heard him, there was no response. "You sure?" Angel asked finally, the control wavering on the verge of snapping. "Angel, just *do it.*" Wesley couldn't hear the snap when Angel's control broke, but the change in the room was palpable all the same. Angel grabbed Wesley's hip and slid home, pounding Wesley into the wall with what seemed like no thought for his comfort or safety. It was more exhilirating than anything Wesley had ever known. The thrusting was more than a bit uncomfortable at first, but within a few thrusts the lubricant distributed itself a bit more evenly and things got easier. There was no finesse, no gentleness, nothing but raw need and the urge to satisfy it. Angel now had both of his hands on Wesley's waist and was driving into him like there would be no tomorrow, no second chances. Everything was here and now. Wesley was shoving himself backward to meet Angel's thrusts, no longer desperate for his own release but instead focusing on Angel's. He could tell from the way his pelvic bones were being slammed into the wall that he'd have myriad bruises come morning, but he didn't care. One of Angel's hands shifted to Wesley's shoulder, causing Wes to arch his back, and on the next thrust the angle was different, deeper, and Wesley moaned in surprise and renewed desire. Angel sped up, the brutal force he was expending increasing. For a moment he seemed to have lost the rhythm, and then he groaned loudly and stiffened, his hands locked on Wesley's body, his hips jerking as he came long and hard. Wesley could feel Angel's cock throbbing inside of him, and his own cock rallied briefly at the sensation. Angel leaned in closer, pressing himself against every possible inch of Wesley's skin, licking Wesley's shoulder where a bead of sweat had formed. They were both trembling and Angel wrapped his arm around Wesley's waist - Wesley didn't know which one of them this was meant to support. "You okay?" Angel asked, roughly. Wesley didn't have the energy to laugh. "Of course." Angel's arm tugged against his belly. "C'mon, then." Wesley allowed Angel to guide him over to the bed, where they drew down the blankets and collapsed in a heap. Angel's hand moved gently over Wes's sweat-soaked abdomen in a back and forth pattern, like brush strokes, lazily. "Is this real?" he asked suddenly, sounding concerned. Wesley turned his head so that he could see Angel's face. "I certainly hope so. You weren't sure I was correct and you still went through with it?" "I - well, I knew you were sure. Figured you knew better than I did..." Angel trailed off. "I really needed to believe it was true, you know? But there was still this little part of me that didn't." "There doesn't seem to be any question now." "No." Angel rose up onto his elbow and leaned over Wesley, rolling partially on top of him and pinning him to the bed. He reached down and ran a finger down the line of Wesley's jaw, then leaned a bit further and kissed him, long and slow. He flexed his lower body gently against Wesley, who felt Angel's already-recovering erection pressed to his thigh. "Again?" asked Angel, thrusting against him. In reply, Wesley kissed him. Where before their coupling had been hard and frantic, now it was slow and gentle, unhurried. There was nothing to prove any more. The kisses lengthened and took on a life of their own. Lips on lips, tongues meeting, Angel kissing Wesley with one hand on either side of Wesley's head as his lower body moved against Wesley's. Cocks to either side of each other, glistening with sweat and pre-ejaculate, rubbing and sliding. Angel reached down and slid two fingers into Wesley. "Again?" he repeated. This time Wesley said "Yes," and drew his legs up to allow Angel access to his well-lubricated opening. Angel slid down and pressed his cock slowly into Wesley, groaning against Wes's neck as he did so. "Oh, God," Angel said. "Definitely not," Wesley replied, and rocked his pelvis upward when Angel didn't continue to move. "Oh, God," Angel said again. He pulled out part way and thrust back in, moving with excruciating slowness. Out and in, again and again, while Wesley writhed under him uncontrollably. "Faster," Wesley begged. "Angel, it's too..." "Shhh..." said Angel. "Just let it..." So slowly. There were moments Wesley wasn't sure that Angel was moving at all. "It's not..." "It will be, just be patient..." Angel had both hands on Wesley's waist, pinning him to the bed, preventing him from moving more than the tiniest amount. Wesley thought he was going to lose his mind. The tantalizingly slow thrusting was keeping him right on the edge of completion but not allowing him to topple over. His erection was aching painfully and he was gasping for air, which was strange considering he certainly wasn't exerting himself physically. He was just lying there while Angel fucked him very, very slowly. Then one of the hands was gone from his waist and wrapped itself around his desperate cock, stroking him very, very slowly in time with Angel's thrusts. Wesley hadn't thought anything could be more mind-blowingly torturous than the slow fucking, but he'd been wrong - the two tortures combined eclipsed the light in the room. Everything was black and he didn't even care if he'd gone blind as long as Angel let him come. "Angel..." he heard himself whimper. "It's okay, Wes. Now... come on, now..." And every nerve ending in Wesley's body seemed to be firing at once; it seemed like his orgasm started in his fingers and toes before rushing through his body like a hurricane, and he dimly felt Angel's cock throbbing inside of him as his own seed exploded from him. Wesley could feel his heart pounding in his ears but he couldn't see and he didn't think he could breathe, either. Long moments later, Wesley opened his eyes and trembled in Angel's arms and tightened his own arms around the vampire as if he never wanted to let him go. Angel was lying on his back with Wesley cradled against his chest, murmuring his name. "You okay?" Wesley had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Didn't you ask me that last time?" "I'll take that as a yes, then. And I'll probably ask it next time, too." "Yes, I'm fine. Very well, actually. How are you?" Angel chuckled. "Well, you know, I'm... good. Really good." "I'm glad." Wesley listened as his own breathing slowed gradually. He was very tired, but his brain was running in circles and he wouldn't sleep. He wanted some time on his own, time to think, so he concentrated on breathing very evenly in the hopes that it might lull Angel off to sleep. * * * * * After about an hour had passed, Wesley eased himself away from the sleeping Angel and retrieved his clothing from about the room, moving as quietly as he could. He crept downstairs to the office, checked his email and voice mail, and gathered some paperwork together. He couldn't keep his eyes from returning to the spot on the floor where Sara's body had been - there were still a few small blood stains there. She'd been so young, and now she was dead. He had better sense than to blame himself, no matter what Lilah thought - Sara's death was on her hands, not his. But he didn't trust Lilah enough not to come after him again, and next time he might not get off so lightly. In fact, next time he probably wouldn't get off so lightly, and some of the expense might be the lives of his friends. He needed some distance. If he weren't in L.A., it was possible that Lilah would eventually get caught up in some other scheme and move on. She wouldn't forget about him - he knew that - but she might find someone or something else more interesting, more potentially valuable. And in the meantime, even if he stayed and she did nothing, the visions would gradually destroy his brain until he died. Wesley realized he'd been staring at the floor, at the blood stains on the floor, for a long time. When he blinked, his eyes felt dry. He went back to the computer, calculating expenses and checking for flights and looking at maps. He'd need to rent a car. Two of the spellcasters were in Massachusetts and one in Rhode Island - he'd aim for those three first, and the other two, further down the east coast, afterward, assuming he needed to. He had the other information ready. For some reason he looked up, and Angel was standing in the doorway. Wesley had a strong sense of deja vu. Angel was wearing a pair of pants he'd obviously pulled on hastily, and blinking in the light. "I woke up and you were gone." "Yes, I'm sorry. I'd hoped you might get some sleep. I had... some things to do." Angel came into the office and looked at him. "What's wrong?" Wesley sighed and dropped his head down into his hands. He had a headache again, and he was already tired of them. He had no idea how Cordelia had put up with the visions for so long. "Wes? Tell me." "I have to go away." "What?" Angel actually looked mildly stunned. He took a few steps to the nearest chair and sat down. "Where?" "There is purportedly a spellcaster on the east coast who knows a spell that protects the human body from the deterioration caused by magical overload. I don't know for sure that this person even exists, but I need to find out. If it's true, and the spell works - it would save us from going down the same road that we already traveled with Cordelia." "It'd protect your brain from the visions." "That would be the hope, yes. I'm also concerned..." Wesley paused. "I don't know if she was bluffing - I'd like to think that she was, but that possibly means that she wasn't - but I don't want Lilah to kill anyone else, thinking that that's a way to get to me." "That's not your - " Wesley interrupted him. "I know it's not my fault. But I wonder, if I left L.A. for a time, if she might not turn her attention to some other project." "You don't seriously think she's gonna forget all about you just because you go away for a few weeks?" "No, not forget - but maybe get so busy with something else that her interest would wane. And it wouldn't be a few weeks, Angel... more like a few months, I'd think." "Months?" Angel definitely looked stunned now. "But we just..." "I know. Believe me, in an ideal world this wouldn't be my first choice of action. But the longer I wait to find out if this spellcaster even exists, the greater the chance someone... or something... will get to him first. And the sooner I leave, the sooner Lilah can move on - hopefully." "How soon?" Wesley looked up at him. "I have a flight out in the morning." He stood up and handed two file folders to Angel. "One of these has copies of all the information I have - where I'll be going, as best I know, etcetera. I'll have my cell phone on me at all times, and you'll need to remember to keep yours with you as well, so that I can contact you if I have a vision." "What's this other one?" Angel asked as he flipped through it. "That's... don't look at it now, Angel." Wesley waited until Angel set it down. "It's just... it's some information that I've been collecting over the past couple of weeks, about Connor. A few possible sitings of him in northern California, one in Mexico. One in Utah, of all places. None of it's substantiated, and I'd hoped for some more time to check into it, but... it's a start." "Oh." Angel didn't thank him. It was a relief. "I have some local contacts who are still looking into where he might be - I'll be sure to let you know if I find out anything. As I said, I'd hoped to be here to handle it myself, but I'll do what I can from wherever I end up." "Right." Angel looked at the file on the desk in front of him. "Sorry, it's just... been a hell of a day, you know?" "I understand." Wesley dug in his pocket for his pill bottle and took two. "What time's your flight?" "Nine. I'd best think about getting home to pack a few things - I won't need much, but..." "You look tired," Angel observed. "It's just a headache." He gathered up the papers he'd need and paperclipped them together, then straightened the desk top so that it wouldn't be a complete mess for whoever used it next - Gunn? Fred? No, probably Angel. Wesley looked around the office. Books, papers, weapons that should have been cleaned and put away but were instead lying about on shelves. The last two years of his life. Wesley met his Angel's eyes with his own. "It'll be better soon." Angel just looked at him. "Will it?" Eventually, Wesley looked away. "So. Perhaps I should call a cab..." "No. Stay." When Wesley opened his mouth to protest, Angel raised a hand. "No, I know - I just meant - tonight. Stay tonight." "Are you sure?" A pause. "Stay." * * * * * It was upside down and inside out, what was between them, and still they pretended that everything was normal. To admit to the confusion would be to give it power, power that neither of them was ready to surrender. Wesley had to fight to be in the here and now, but it was a battle worthy of his efforts. The water in the shower was hot until it grew cold, and then the cold consumed them until they couldn't deny it, and it didn't matter because they were both burning, burning. The sheets were dried with salt-sweat, and it didn't matter because they were both busy elsewhere, with hands and mouths and fingers and tongues becoming language that spoke its secrets in whispers and sibilants. Names were weapons and caresses. Desire was the ruler and they were the peasants, doing its bidding, bowing at its feet. Giving themselves up. "Wes." Hissed. "Angel." Whispered. Pounding, pounding, leaving bruises that would be weeks in the healing, bruises that would be touched each day with a sense of wonder that faded even as they did. And in the end there wasn't anything left to say. Just before the dawn's light crept over the horizon, Wesley woke to the sound of Angel putting his clothes on in the shadows of the room. He leaned up on one elbow, put his glasses on. The clock told him he'd have to leave soon if he wanted to pack before he went to the airport. Angel finished buttoning his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed to tie his shoes. Wesley reached out a hand and ran it along Angel's back, felt the firmness of the muscles under the thin layer of fabric. Angel turned slightly and their eyes met, Angel's nearly black in the darkened room. His hand came up and stroked the side of Wesley's head, just behind his ear, the sort of protective touch that spoke volumes without words. Wesley sat up, but Angel was already moving across the room to the doorway. The tension in his shoulders was clear in the dim light that spilled in from the hallway. Angel stood there in profile and didn't look in Wesley's direction again. His face, what Wesley could see of it, was expressionless. He spoke just once before he was gone. "Bye, Wes." Followed by the 2nd story in the series, Disjunction. Fan Fiction Index   Feedback to WesleysGirl