Satyricon au go go

Title: Making plans for Wesley
Series: Strange Love Addiction: my Wes/Angel soap
Author/pseudonym: Hellblazer
E-mail address: havisham06@yahoo.com
Rating: MA
Pairing: A/W C/W
Date: 10/11/00
Disclaimers: Don't own these characters, Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, and the rest do. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
Warnings: m/m m/f sexual references, coarse language, violence, drug references, dodgy mythology, wholesale plagiarism/homage.
Spoilers: Loosely based on Season 2.
Summary: The Ex's Strike Back.
Read: "The Dark Is Rising", Susan Cooper; "The Books of Magic", Vertigo Comics; "Hellblazer", Vertigo Comics; "Sandman", Vertigo Comics; "Swamp Thing", Alan Moore; "Starman", DC.
Listen: "Godless", Dandy Warhols; "Damage", You Am I; "Perfect Drug", NiN; "Coffee and TV", Blur.

Making Plans For Wesley

+

MAYBE IN THE NEXT LIFE

Wesley wandered lonely through the hotel, made small by the heavy and imposing art deco lobby. It was too much like an old temple and it always made his skin crawl. This was still an unhappy place. He was frowning, deep in thought, a half remembered incantation turning over in his head.

The small TV Gunn was watching fritzed and spat static as Wesley walked by.

Wesley paused by Cordelia to see what she was up to. The imac's monitor flickered and the hardrive started making unhappy noises. She slapped the plastic, annoyed, spanking its misbehaviour.

Wesley wandered off and the computer returned to normal.

Cordelia watched him go. It wasn't the first time, and Wesley knew it. He'd noticed it at his flat, too. His CD player had started to become increasingly erratic of late and his microwave absolutely hated him, though there had always been an undercurrent of hostility between them.

At first he'd blamed solar flares, or perhaps a friend of Dennis', but now he was beginning to think he was the source. Perhaps there was a reason why the Council kept to books. He was certainly no good with anything electrical these days.

Wesley was wired. He was burning like fever. He felt like he'd had ten too many mochas. Something was coming. He could feel it. Like the pressure before a storm.

"Angel? Can I see you for a moment?" he called from outside the office.

Angel grunted, not even looking up. Wesley closed the door behind him.

"What is it," Angel muttered, pacing with a folder in his hands, not bothering to even so much as glance in Wesley's direction.

"I need you."

That got Angel's attention.

Wesley pulled the folder from Angel's hands and dropped it, uncaring, onto the floor. He placed Angel's hand firmly over his own erection.

"Wes, I..." was all Angel got before Wesley kissed him, hard.

Angel threw Wesley up against the door with a thud, a thud Cordelia pretended not to hear.

Angel's teeth were grinding against his lips. Angel's palm was grinding against his groin.

"Angel, Angel, I need you," Wesley pleaded, kissing his way over Angel's handsome face.

"I know." Angel smiled darkly. He sank to his knees before Wesley and unzipped him.

Wesley leant back and groaned, his head pressing against the door, eyes closed, hands thick in Angel's hair.

Angel swallowed him whole and Wesley thrust himself deeper. Angel sucked him hard and he came, spilling into Angel's throat.

Angel sat back, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, stood and kissed Wesley briefly.

Wesley zipped himself back up and it was over, like a handshake.

Angel picked up the file and walked back around to the other side of his desk.

"Oh, this came for you." He tossed a small padded parcel at Wesley.

Wesley caught it and flipped it over to read the sender's address.

"It's from Colin, isn't it," Angel asked, affecting disinterest.

Wesley nodded. Colin must have swiped a business card from his wallet, because he'd never told him. He'd put Colin from his mind. Then the emails had started coming. Then letters, which Wesley had ignored. Now this. Always forwarded on to Angel Investigations, never his home address. It was rubbing Angel's nose in it.

"Felt heavy," Angel indicated the package. He was waiting for Wesley to open it. Wesley owed Angel that much.

Wesley's thumb skimmed the purple stamps. So, Colin had gone back to Scotland after all. Wesley tore open the brown paper, fumbling with the strong sticky tape that sealed it.

Inside the padded envelope the paper unrolled and a small circular bronze talisman fell into his hand. It felt oddly warm and familiar. Then he recognised the symbols that swirled along the edges of the wheel.

He dropped it as though stung, letting it land on the floor at his feet.

"Wes?" Angel could see all the blood had drained from his face.

"No. No. No," was all Wesley said before storming out, and Angel knew better than to follow him.

Angel stooped down to pick up the talisman. It was ice cold to his touch. He turned it over, wondering what it meant. There was a handwritten note still stuck in the tissue wrapping. It simply said: "I found this in an old shop and it spoke to me of you."

Angel reread the simple note. There was a poetry there. A longing.

Somewhere, out there, walking about, was someone who loved Wesley and maybe even more than he did, he couldn't help thinking.

Yet the gift had upset Wesley. This symbol meant something.

He wandered out to Cordelia, still studying it in his palm. He leant softly on the back of her chair.

"Hey."

"Hey, yourself."

He proffered the talisman.

"Wes got this in the post and handled it about as well as I handle crucifixes."

"I saw him shoot out of here. I assumed tiff."

"No. He was in a strange mood."

"Wes behaving strangely. What are the odds?"

Angel smiled.

"You know what I mean. Weirder than usual. Uptight, distracted."

"Yeah, I did notice," Cordelia admitted, shifting into concerned mode.

She took the talisman from Angel's hand. It felt cool. And heavy.

"This is what upset our boy so? Where'd it come from?"

"Britain."

"Figures." She turned it over, holding it up to the light.

"Let's see if we can find this piece of junk on the net. If it was purchased in an antiques store it might have a provenance, saving me half my trouble."

Angel was impressed. Cordelia was getting good at this.

"This thing, it came from that British guy, didn't it. Wesley's holiday fling?"

Angel grimaced slightly. "How did you know?"

"He's been sending Wes a stack of emails lately. One or two daily. All to Wesley's work account. Maybe his home one too, I don't know. I do know Wesley hasn't been reading them," she added, hoping that would help.

"Maybe he should," Angel remarked, fingering the talisman.

"Maybe we should?" Cordelia suggested.

Angel moved away, wanting to but not wanting to, afraid of what he would find.

"You do it," he instructed. "Let me know if there's any thing...significant."

Less than an hour later Angel's peace was shattered by a shriek. He leapt from the chair he'd been dozing on and found Cordelia slumped over, head pressed between her hands. Vision.

He caught her and held her, but she refused to be comforted, struggling in his arms to make sense.

"Wes," Cordelia managed. "It's Wes. There was a fire. He was in a bar...there's a fire...everything's burning!" She recoiled from the flames and screams. "Angel!" She clutched at him. "You have to save him. Please hurry. Don't let him die."

+

FIRESTARTER

It took Angel much longer than he thought to follow Wesley's pub crawl through the city. He'd thought Wesley would stick to one or two regular pubs, and normally, he'd be right, but Wesley had avoided his local and moved onto other bars where no one knew him and no one would talk to him so he could drink in bitter peace until he was forced to move onto the next one, becoming increasingly drunk and belligerent, graduating to dangerous and destructive, leaving a trail of broken chairs and bleeding people in his wake, one step ahead of Angel and the police. Angel finally tracked him down in an old bar by the docks, a stinking hole that made Angel pretty sure he'd never see his car again where he parked it. Stepping over the threshold he was immediately assaulted by the smell of ancient stale beer and cigarettes. The once lurid Seventies carpet was now smeared to a dull dirty brown and it was sticky underfoot.

Wesley was in the corner booth, bony shoulders hunched over, glaring at the scoured table with red rimmed eyes. He knocked another shot of vodka straight back as Angel slid into the seat opposite.

"You know," he said, holding the offending glass under Angel's nose. "This isn't even real vodka. Some Polish shit, but it's over 80% proof, so it gets the job done."

Angel had no doubt. He could ignite Wesley's breath if he wanted to.

"Fuck off, Angel," Wesley snarled, suddenly recognising him.

"No." Angel calmly refused in the tone that usually had creatures of the underworld crapping in their pants.

Wesley was either too drunk to too immunised to that tone to care.

"Go away, Angel. Leave me alone."

"No."

Wesley leant close, seething.

"When I want you, you're never around. Now I want you gone, you won't go. Is it because you think I'm in trouble? That's a real turn on for you, isn't it."

Wesley fumbled under the table between Angel's thighs, but Angel pulled away.

"Oh yeah, that's right. The knight always stays chaste on his quests. Fuck off, Angel. I don't need you."

"Are you in trouble?"

"And what if I were? Would you save me? Could you?"

"Yes."

Wesley leant back, shaking his head.

"You can't. Not this time. No one can."

"What is it?" Angel leant closer, but Wesley shook his head and poured himself another drink. He saluted Angel, mocking him, then tossed it back, and two more.

"Does this really help?" Angel had to ask.

"More than you think."

Angel glanced about. If Wesley grew violent, well, he could probably handle him and no one here would notice. Wesley had picked the perfect place for his last stand. A loud and argumentative drunk wouldn't cause the aging bikers and criminals a second glance.

"Come on, we're going." He made a grab at Wesley, but Wesley snatched his hand back.

"No. I'm not finished. I paid for it and I'm going to finish it."

"You can finish it at home."

Wesley glared at him.

"Your home, not mine. Your job, not mine. Your redemption," he stopped. "Not going back," he mumbled. "Not ever."

"Why?" Angel asked, unable to hide the exasperation in his voice. Wesley's thought processes were difficult enough to follow when he was sober.

"Don't want to save the world," Wesley pouted.

Angel sighed. It was going to be a long night.

"What's happened, Wes?"

"Nothing."

"Then why this?"

Aching eyes locked with his.

"Because I'm tired of it. I'm sick of the sacrifice. No more. I've done enough. No more."

"I thought you took an oath, that this was your sacred calling -"

The wrong word. Wesley's eyes changed to ice so quickly Angel felt a pang of fear coil up his spine.

Wesley smiled for a second, a smile which made that slight unease hammer more loudly at the back of Angel's skull.

"Contract terminated. I'm a free agent, and I'm retired, as of now."

"You don't care about fighting the forces of darkness any more, of making a difference?"

"No!" Wesley cut him off sharply. That was fear Angel was smelling. Sharp and bitter fear.

"Besides," Wesley settled back into his sulk. "What difference do I make?"

"A lot," Angel soothed, but his platitude rubbed Wesley entirely the wrong way.

"You can't even name one instance, can you?" he accused, and, to Angel's shame, he couldn't think of one clear instance, not right now. Not under pressure.

"I need you Wes, by my side. Whatever this is, we can work through it."

"No," Wesley insisted.

Angel was really losing his patience, and he never had a great store of it to start with.

"Turning you back on everything? That's your answer to whatever bug crawled up your arse?"

Wesley knocked back his shot glass, grinned and looked hard at Angel.

"Why not. You have. You've given up everything you fought for, to chase after that bitch Darla. And don't you dare tell me I took an oath to save the world from the powers of darkness. The Watchers kicked me out, after Buffy walked away from her duty. Everyone gets to walk away, do their own thing. Everyone except me. Everyone has an opinion on how I should live my life. You, the Council, the Powers That Be, even those fucking lawyers. Everyone's got plans for me. Well," he swallowed another drink. "I don't give a fuck for your plans. I'm sick of your plans. I've had enough. I quit. The world can go to fucking hell. I hear it's nice this time of year. I don't care any more."

There was nothing but blackness in his eyes.

"Did I do this?" Angel asked quietly.

"You?" Wesley gave him the most awful smile.

"You were just the final nails in the coffin. I should have known better. I was a fool to think I could come between you and just about anything. To think I might matter."

"Wes..."

"Fuck off, Angel. I quit, remember? I don't take orders from you any more. I don't have to listen to your crap any more, either. Darla, Darla, Darla. Fuck you. I was trying to run your business for you, and you couldn't care less. Go evil. I don't care. You want me to stop you? Not going to happen. Go to Hell, Angel. Go to Hell and stay there this time."

Wesley took a slug directly from the bottle. "Burn in hell," he glowered.

"Wesley, don't you think you've had enough? More than enough?" Angel urged, standing. "Come home now." He grabbed Wesley's arm, pulling him up.

"Let me go!" Wesley screamed at him. He smashed down the bottle. The table between them suddenly burst into flames.

Angel snatched his arm back, singed.

"I've had more than enough," Wesley announced bitterly through the wall of rolling flame between them. The flames leapt onto the floor and began to climb up the walls and dance across the ceiling. Wesley stood there, hands clenched, boiling over with too long held in rage. "I hate you!" he screamed. "This is all your fault!" Light fittings exploded in a shower of glass and dust above him.

"This is all your fault!"

The darts flew past Angel's head in a neat formation and thudded into the wall behind him like an act in a magic show. Angel was unnerved. There was a control in Wesley's anger, a cold control that was definitely unnerving. Somehow, psychically, magically, or both, he suspected, Wesley was doing this. All of this. This was Wesley, at last. The real Wesley. Wesley with the polite veneer torn away. Angel suspected it had always been covering something. Wesley's personality had been too brittle to have been entirely honest.

The bottles lining the bar behind Wesley began to rattle ominously in their racks, jumping around and clattering together. An invisible hand plucked the bottles from their racks and flung them about the pub, smashing against the far falls and slamming down around Angel, creating a circle of fire around him, trapping him.

"Wes..." Angel pleaded.

Angel cowered from the flames, and saw Wesley's eyes were completely dark through the fire. Wes wasn't listening any more. He was just releasing, dumping years of pent up fear and aggression in one terrible outburst. He'd become so powerful, so fast, it controlled him, not the other way around. Angel remembered what the university building had looked like, what Wesley was capable of.

"Wes, stop."

A fistful of toothpicks embedded them in his chest, circling his heart. He looked down. In the cutout shape of a candy valentine. The sick little fuck was enjoying himself. Going mad on the rush of it. Well, Angel knew how that went. He looked up, wild as hell, all Irish temper. So the bugger wanted a fight, did he now?

He leapt over the flames and landed on Wesley, knocking him down in a hard tackle, using all his strength to keep him there.

"Wesley, stop, there are innocent people here."

A second later, the sprinklers switched on, pounding them with water. Water everywhere, pouring down the walls and ceiling in rivers, flooding the floor.

"Wes! Wes! Snap out of it. You're not some tormented child, you're a grown man and this tantrum is beneath you. What was it you said about impulse control issues? "

Wesley growled and struggled beneath him.

"You want to scare me, Wes? Am I your father?"

The room rumbled and shook and the air pressed down on Angel. A solid steel bar stool flung itself violently at Angel, knocking him from Wesley.

Angel lay stunned for a moment, then rolled over and tried to sit up, bleeding from his scalp. Wesley was standing over him, mad as hell.

"Wes, please," Angel pleaded for his life. "Wes, please, I love you...don't..."

Something, the fear in his eyes, the truth in his voice...something brought Wes back to himself in an instant. All the rage, all the power, it left him like a tap being turned off, and he looked frightened and lost for a moment, before crumpling to the ground admist the ruins.

Angel grabbed him and dragged them both out a rear door into the back alley. He propped Wesley up against the wall and tried to bring him out of it. Wesley's head lolled back, limp. Angel shook him and Wesley snapped awake, then began to cry, cry like a child. Angel had no choice but to take him in his arms and hold him and soothe him.

"Wes, Wes," he chided softly. "I'm the one who's supposed to lose it and you're the one who's supposed to be the voice of reason. What's going on with you?"

"I don't know. I'm scared."

Angel played with a trail of blood on Wesley's forehead. He couldn't help himself. "You do know. What got you so worked up? What does that talisman mean? It must mean something. I saw your face when you opened it, remember?"

"I don't want to die," Wesley whispered, afraid, sad for the things he'd never get to do.

Angel recognised the tone, remembered Buffy saying those exact same words, and he knew what the talisman meant. Wesley had been chosen.

+

PROPHECY BOY

"Wesley can't die. That's not fair. Who decides these things, anyway?" Cordelia demanded.

Wesley sat on the couch on the lobby, still hunched over, still very much waterlogged, bedraggled and exhausted, already defeated. His clothes stuck to him, making him appear much more breakable than he actually was. Angel knew that for a fact now.

Angel and Cordelia were hovering over him, and Wesley very much wished they wouldn't. Nor could he tell them to go away. He'd already tried that, and it didn't work. They were concerned for him, and it gratified him in some small way. It was just that he was too tired to want to deal with suddenly being the centre of attention. He found it claustrophobic.

"Wesley isn't going to die. I won't let him. And it's not that sort of prophecy. I've seen what he can do. He can beat this. Whatever they throw at him, he can beat them."

Wesley looked up at this, his face, gaunt.

"Angel, I appreciate the vote of confidence but the simple fact is I am not trained for this. Usually they call on someone much younger..."

"You were chosen, Wes. You can't fight it."

"No, I can't," Wesley sighed. "I was afraid of this. All my life..." He looked at Angel. "I felt it, sometimes, a nagging feeling. That I should be doing something, being something..."

"You are someone. You're our Wes. And now you've got your very own prophecy," Cordelia announced brightly.

"Fabulous. An amazon gift certificate would have been better," Wesley grizzled. "I don't want to be chosen," he pouted.

"Maybe it's an emotional age thing," Cordelia put in, reminding him he was being childish.

He knew he was. He knew he'd demanded nothing but obedience and duty from Buffy and Faith. Now the shoe was on the other foot....but it had been different then. He'd had the Council, rules, regulations, sub clauses...everything had been set out, ordained, anticipated. He'd been operating on autopilot.

This...this he had no books for. Just a few vague mutterings from aged eccentrics over the years, the odd reference in folklore that may or may not be relevant. Any help he might have was hundreds of thousands of miles away. He was completely on his own, and that was something Ms Summers had never had to face.

"Are you sure this is a certain death thing?" Angel asked quietly.

Wesley nodded. "This is a sacrifice for the greater good calling. A few have survived the test, but they're legendary, the brightest and the best. I'm neither of those things, ergo..." he shrugged hopelessly. "It's not the sort of battle you win. People die trying. You must have heard some of the legends."

"Legends?"

"Arthur, for one."

"Oh."

Cordelia turned on him. "Angel, tell The Powers That Be that they've made a mistake. They can't choose Wesley. I've got a magic eight ball that makes more accurate predictions."

"Thanks," Wesley noted sourly.

"What happens if you fail?"

"Terrible things. Darkness, endless winter, crop blights, famine, disease, social breakdown. Creatures of the night free to walk and feed as they please. It's happened before: 543, 1215, 1814, 1832, 1883, 1908, 1996. You must remember, Angel?"

Angel frowned and nodded. He remembered them as good times, but he knew better now.

"Do you have any idea, you know, what, where, when?"

"No more than you do. Old Evil, that's all I know. This..." Wesley held up the fated talisman. "It's older than the Council. Much older. In fact, the Council rather disavows any knowledge, as the protagonists chosen are almost always outside the Council's jurisdiction, like me." He looked tired again.

"Maybe there's a reason for that."

"Well, it's certainly not something bestowed along political lines, which annoys them no end. I mean, the internal politics of the Council make the most outrageous Italian clans look like the Brady Bunch. And I'm including the Borgias, Medicis and Antoines in that fine group. I'm sure that the fact that you, Cordelia and I have all been picked for the team must be causing a mass outbreak of indigestion at all levels." He grinned at last at the prospect.

"Do you think they know about this?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'd be living in a fool's paradise if I didn't think they were still keeping a very close watch on everything I do. My name might have been struck from the records but I'm still active in the field. I'm not just a freelancer, dabbler, trickster or professional conman, I'm a rogue Watcher, and that's considered the worst of the worst. My alliance with you, Angel...well, we've assured a certain infamy for ourselves, if nothing else."

He smiled briefly, then grew quiet, turning the talisman over in his hands, frowning.

"What?"

He glanced up for a moment. "You didn't feel it? No, I guess not. It's a living thing. Sorry," he added. "It's warm and it...it almost sings to me. I can't hear it, but I can feel it. It's like it's saying it belongs to me. You know, like when you see something in a shop, and you have to have it because it's saying something to you."

"Oh yeah," Cordelia agreed, and Angel quirked an eyebrow, agreeing that she did.

Wesley ignored him. "Don't ask me how I know, but I know I could throw this in the ocean, and it will still come back to me."

"Do you think he knew? That he sent this to you, deliberately."

"No," Wesley sighed. "I think Colin really did just see this in the shop and think of me. That's how it works. It finds the person it wants. It sought me out. Bastard." He swore at the talisman.

"You love Colin, don't you," Angel asked, needing to know.

"Yes."

Angel tried to steel himself to this truth.

"But I want to be with you." Wesley pleaded, eyes meeting Angel's.

"He's been sending you emails."

"And that whore has been visiting you in your sleep. Don't you get precious with me, Angel. I have one, just one dalliance, whereas there are enough of your ex's in California to currently populate an entire zip code!" Wesley's anger boiled over again.

Angel tried to speak, then bowed his head in defeat. Wesley was right, damn him. The whole Darla thing had hurt Wesley so much and Angel knew it. Just when they thought they could put their respective pasts aside, she came along. It was always a woman. Hell, it was almost always Darla.

"What about that blond?" Angel suddenly remembered, and accused.

"I was drunk." Wesley snarled, back on the defensive.

"Well, that makes it okay."

"Don't you dare take the moral high ground. You obviously would much rather have wet dreams about Darla than deal with me, so don't you judge me. I'm only human, I need a bit of comfort, and, lately, I'll take it wherever I can find it."

Only human. The careless words cut deeply into Angel.

"Boys! Please!" Cordelia shut them up. "Shame on you, Wes. Shame on you, Angel. There. Now kiss and make up before Wesley gets himself killed."

She was right, but all they managed to do was glare at each other.

+

Angel walked slowly down the stairs, head in a book. He glanced up as he reached the bottom step and met Cordelia's concerned expression. It amused him a little, that expression was usually reserved for him.

"How is he?"

"I gave him some aspirin and put him to bed. He went off to sleep almost instantly. I guess it's been a rough day for him."

"Your hand, it's burnt," Cordelia finally noticed.

Angel flexed it instinctively. "It'll heal. Rough day for me too," he admitted. "Wesley singed me. Just enough to sting."

"Well, you probably deserved it. You have been neglecting him lately. A lot."

"I know." Angel flipped over the page and kept walking, Cordelia tagging along beside him.

"I'm trying to read up on telekinesis, pyrokenisis, whatever" he explained to her. "It's supposed to be exacberated by unrequited or thwarted passions. Most commonly associated with love sick adolescents."

"That's our boy. He's a late bloomer." She looked at Angel. "So this is like your fault? You obsess over some bimbo and Wes goes all Carrie on us out of spite? Take him out to dinner and stop this. Somewhere expensive."

"It's not that simple."

"He likes Indian."

"I meant it might be more than being unhappy. There's the talisman, and I think this has all been brewing for a long while. Remember what he did to those vampires?"

"After you left him behind," she reminded pointedly.

"He said he could start fires as a child."

"After his father locked him in the dark for days. Not too much difference, when you think about it."

Angel stopped walking at that.

"I don't - I don't treat him like that."

"Don't you?"

Angel wasn't prepared to answer that and strode into his office, slumping down in his chair.

He threw the book on the desk. It wasn't like that. Gunn was a better street fighter than Wesley was. That's all. And Darla, he had to know what she was up to. He wasn't ignoring Wesley. He wasn't withholding love. Not really.

Wesley hates to be freezed out, he remembered Cordelia's words. It was Wesley's only true weakness, to be denied approval and affection.

Angel had effectively put him on hold. No wonder he'd freaked.

Angel rested his head on his hands. He kept forgetting. Wesley couldn't wait fifty years or so like a vampire could. Angel couldn't keep Wesley hanging around indefinitely until he was less distracted, while Darla was still in town. He was mortal, he was finite, and sometime very soon the darkness would come to claim him.

Angel glared at the book again, then let it flop open to the pages he'd been reading, letting his eyes skim over the relevant passages. Childhood trauma, well, Wes certainly had that. Just how much trauma Angel guessed he would never know. It all pointed to one thing, a lack of affection. Cordelia was right, he had put Wesley back in the toy box for later, and he'd never given it another thought.

+

That night when Angel took Wesley to bed they went all the way. There was no danger of Angel being turned when the act was so bitter sweet, so filled with sadness and longing. Hands and flesh touched, trying to remember the feel and shape, mouths and tongues sought to remember taste. The sheets rustled and there was no sound but for the sound of skin sliding over skin, skin sliding inside skin, Wesley's soft sighs and moans, Angel's skin muffled grunts as he buried himself inside Wesley.

The heat of Wesley's hand as it covered his unbeating heart.

Wesley's fingers glided across skin as smooth as silk, skin with muscles as hard as steel that flowed beneath the velvet. Angel tasted the delicate salty taste of Wesley's throat, the butterfly flutter of the pulse beneath tickling the tip of his tongue. The moonlight dappled their skins with sliver pools that shifted and flowed as they moved together. Wesley's breath caught, Angel's hand gathered at the sheet.

"Angel," Wesley whispered. "I don't want to die."

Angel kissed him softly. He didn't want him to die, either.

+

IF YOU LEAVE ME, CAN I COME TOO?

Wesley looked lost and left out.

"What can I do?"

Angel glanced up. "Stay here."

Wesley scowled.

"Locking me in my room isn't going to keep me safe or keep me from my destiny, you know."

"Why? It's worked so far." Angel tossed off, but Wesley's eyes went ice cold and hard, as hard as he'd ever seen them.

"Wes, I'm..." he tried. He was sorry.

"Just go." Wesley cut him off. "I'll be sitting up in my room under lock and key if you need me."

Angel and Cordelia shared shrugs. He picked up his sword, Gunn took his axe and they left.

Wesley stacked up some books, slamming each on the counter loudly in his temper.

"Maybe I can start feeding the birds around here if I'm going to be kept a prisoner." Thump. "Or he could get me an iron mask." Thump. "At least I don't need a chastity belt when I step outdoors." Thump. "At least I don't spend every spare moment chasing after some vapid whore." Thump.

He leant on the counter, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of loneliness and resented Angel. Angel wasn't his any more. He'd known it for a while. Darla had burrowed her way under his skin and there was no counter spell that he'd found as yet. The bond between vampire and sire was strong. Stronger than anything he and Angel shared, obviously.

Before Darla they'd been so happy. Wesley had thought this was it, life with Angel. He'd allowed himself to dream. He'd been so happy. Before Darla.

And now this. He was going to die, and Angel...Angel still cared more about Darla.

He took the book from the top of his pile and slouched off upstairs to is room.

Cordelia watched him go. Poor Wes. The whole Darla thing, it hurt him. Angel kept to himself, put up big signs that said vampires only, and shut Wesley out. The dreams had been the first blow. Everything else had just been another nail in the coffin.

Wes...god...he was going to get himself killed if he had to fight big evil when he was this miserable.

Cordelia followed him up to the room that served as Wesley's study, the floor stacked with books awaiting Angel's consent for the purchase of shelves. She found him reading on the couch he'd dragged up to the room weeks ago when he'd pulled another allnighter, back to the open door, an invitation. Not for her, she suspected, but she took it anyway.

"Go away," he spoke, without looking up.

"Wesley, please, we have to talk."

"No we don't," he insisted, emphasising each word. "Americans talk. Englishmen don't. They bottle everything up inside until it eats them away to a hollow shell and there's nothing left," he elaborated bitterly.

"Not this time, Brit Boy." She stepped closer, feeling braver.

"I do know how you feel, Wes. I had a vision of you. Why don't you tell Angel?"

"I would if I thought he'd listen to me. Lately, I might as well be talking to a brick wall."

"Darla."

Wesley's mouth pressed into a thin unhappy line. Just mentioning her name was like prodding a fresh bruise.

"He is overly obsessed in that direction," she agreed. "It's like he's gone away from us."

"He's trying to push me away."

"He's succeeding."

"Yes, but why? Is it to make things easier for him, or for me? Is he trying to protect me? From himself or Darla?"

"You're clutching at straws, Wes. Pushing you away isn't a declaration of love, though with Angel, you never know. Keeping him away from Darla would be better."

"How?" he glared at her, threatened and annoyed. "They're like magnetic forces. Nothing I can say or do matters. I stand between them, I die. Angel has made that abundantly clear."

"You might have to..."Cordelia looked very troubled, remembering. "Could you?"

"Can I? Yes. Do I want to? God, no. Damn them!" Wesley's eyes snapped to cold ice. "They get to destroy two lives for the price of one." They being Wolfram and Hart, the instigators of all his current woes.

"More," Cordelia added quietly.

Wesley sighed, head bowed. "Yes, you're right of course. We can't try and ignore it any more. We're in serious trouble here. If Angel crosses over completely..."

"I know," she touched his arm gently in empathy.

"I'll have no choice," he admitted sadly in that soft voice of his.

Cordelia just shared his look of pain.

"I know how it feels, Wes." she sympathised, but he doubted her. "I've been through all this before, remember? Angel made you feel like the world existed for just the two of you, that you were special, the chosen one. When he smiled at you it was like being blessed by the sun, when he touched you it was like being favoured by a god. He made you feel like somebody because he noticed you were alive." She gave him a sad smile. "I do understand, Wesley. And now he's taken that love and attention away. He's found another obsession and you feel betrayed. You wonder what you could have possibly done to displease him. You did nothing wrong, Wes. It's just his way. I've seen him do this often enough now to know this is just the way it is. You either wait around for him to notice you again, or you give up and go away."

"Nobody gives up though, do they. Not even Darla. We're all desperate for him to shine that light on us again."

"See, there you go. She got a second chance." Cordelia's forced Pollyanna act jarred, but he could see that she meant well.

"I was right," he mused quietly to himself. "Angel was only interested when I was in trouble."

He slumped into a sulk.

"Do you think I could get the Council to come after me again?"

"Don't you think we have enough problems? Besides, Wolfram and Hart might still want you dead," she tried to cheer him. "They think you can mess with their plans, so you must be able to."

"I think they've greatly overestimated my abilities."

"What about that talisman. Aren't you supposed to be the chosen one?"

"Yes," he admitted slowly. "The ritual sacrifice. The one who goes gladly to his death because his blood with bring forth a good season."

"Is that true? Oh, god, Wes."

He smiled wanly at her. "It's okay. Without Angel there's nothing to keep me here anyway."

What about me, Cordelia wanted to ask, but held her tongue. Wesley looked fragile enough without reminding him of complications.

He looked away, turning back to his book, not wanting to talk any more, but she was still there, not taking the hint. Wesley became intensely aware of Cordelia leaning over him as he read his book. He tried to ignore her, but then her hand stroked down his neck softly.

"Cordelia, what are you doing?" he asked, putting down his book. Then he realised. "Oh, great. I should be facing my impending doom more often because the pity fucks are lining up around the corner."

Cordelia drew back, offended.

"This isn't a pity fuck. It's not pity. I just...we never...and I couldn't bear to lose you without knowing...you know. I don't want to lose you, Wesley. I love you, and, this might be our last chance."

"Third time lucky?"

"Something like that."

He set his glasses and the book aside, then reached up to take her hand, settling her on the couch beside him.

Wesley pressed her back against the couch and kissed her. This wasn't the same man who'd fumbled that kiss in the library nearly two years ago. From the first moment Wesley was in command, holding her, guiding her mouth, making her follow his lead.

His hand went down to cup her breast as they kissed.

"Why, Cordelia, no bra?" he teased, chuckling in her ear. His hand slid under her top, curving around her breast and pinching the already hard nipples.

Cordelia moaned softly under his touch and he kissed her deeper.

He reached down under her skirt, grabbed her panties and skid them down, stroking her thighs as he went, down, then back up. Still kissing her he parted her legs slightly and began stroking her.

Cordelia groaned. She was already hot and wet and she slipped under his fingers like velvet. Wesley sank onto the floor, pushed up her skirt, parted her legs further with a feathery kiss on each inner thigh, then he kissed her there, licking her, devouring her juices.

"God, Wes, yes," Cordelia cried, eyes closed, hips rolling as his tongue flickered over her clitoris.

"Oh, god!" she came with his tongue inside her. He felt her rolling heat and he smiled. He moved back up on the couch beside her, his mouth covering her sensitive breasts, suckling on while pinching the other, then swapping to suck on one breast while stroking between her legs. He bit and teased and his fingers were inside her and she was begging him. Sucking hard, rubbing hard, his thumb circling her clit and his long fingers inside her he brought her off again, watching her arch up under his touch, licking along her rib cage with a grin, breathing her scent.

Cordelia now wanted nothing in this world but Wesley inside her.

She pushed him back on the couch, pulled his trousers free and straddled him. His hands reached up to her breasts and he brushed them and her ribs with kisses as she rode him. She wasn't a school girl any more, either. Her hips twisted on him and he felt tight, ready to come. Grabbing her, he rolled them onto the floor, landing on top. She twined her legs around him and he drove into her, hard and fast, spilling his seed with a harsh grunt on completion.

They lay together on the floor for a while, sated, then Wesley reached across and snagged her discarded underwear and breathed in their scent before resting them on his chest as a trophy.

"I think I want to be buried with these," he teased.

"No you don't. Give those back." He was too quick for her and they remained out of her reach. "Give those back!" Cordelia demanded, annoyed and embarrassed, but it was no use, he was a good head over her in height, even in heels, and she knew it.

"Please," she smiled at him. That cajoling smile.

He shook his head, grinning.

"Pretty please," she tried again.

"No," he offered quietly, stuffing them in his pocket. "Once upon a time a knight would ride into battle carrying a lady's favour. Would you deny me the same?"

"But that wasn't..." she saw his smile. "Men," she huffed.

Wesley grinned triumphantly.

"The things I do," Cordelia muttered, smoothing her skirt down and walking out his door.

"Because you love me," he laughed softly after her.

She heard that, and he might be right.

Cordelia's panties were still stuffed in his pocket when Angel came home.

+

Angel turned to hang up his coat and Wesley saw the spots of blood that marked his shirt. Wesley's jealousy boiled over

"Rough night, or has Darla hooked her claws into you again? Lucky for you marks like that will heal."

Angel turned around, annoyed, the memory of how good it felt to have Darla wrapped around him was pushed from his mind. He wasn't in the mood for this. He sneered at the uptight little prick. He could smell Cordelia all over Wesley.

"I don't pay my staff to fuck on company time.":

"You don't pay overtime either, and it was after six."

"Don't you get self righteous with me."

"It was a pity fuck." Wesley's eyes narrowed. "I guess Darla's relented and given you pity access now as well." He shot back, then stopped.

Angel was giving him the look. That look. The one that said he'd stepped way over the line. Angel stepped forward, making Wesley step back. That dark face was pure Angelus. Pissed off Angelus.

Angel just glared at Wesley, then walked off.

Only when Angel had shut himself in his room did Wesley's heart start beating again. He'd wanted to hurt Angel, and Angel wanted to hurt back. Only Angel was more easily roused to deadly anger. Especially these days.

Wesley leant on the counter. Stupid, stupid.

Love had turned so easily to hate. He hated Angel for not loving him the way he had loved Angel. Perhaps Angel had never loved him. No, he'd been so sure it hadn't all been his own love reflected in Angel's eyes. It had been real. Until Darla showed up.

Wesley's jaw tightened.

He felt the talisman press coldly against his thigh in his pocket. He pulled it out again and studied it, and it warmed in his hands. It didn't like Angel, souled or not. Wesley was pretty sure Angel still had his soul. For one, he'd backed off. And, this hope he clung to, no matter what sick games Angel might get up to with Darla, it was just lust and obsession. It wasn't love. It wasn't happiness. It wasn't the gentle pressure of Angel's hand when he needed it most. It wasn't the look in Angel's eyes, just for him, only him, like there was no one else in the world. The brush of his cheek. The soft sound of a vampire laughing in delight, delight you had brought him.

He comforted himself in the belief that Angel and Darla shared none of these things. Animal passion perhaps, but not love. Never love.

Wesley shut up shop, switched the lights out and took his books back upstairs. As mad as he was with Angel, he still knew sleeping under Angel's roof was safer than his own with a big evil after him. If nothing else, he could call it consideration for his neighbours. Not that they ever showed him any, with the stereo that went up to 11 pounding away twenty four seven.

He walked up the steps quietly to his own room, careful not to squeak on the step second from the top, passing as quiet as a mouse on the landing, so as to not disturb the vampire that brooded behind the closed door, his anger still a palpable, living thing. Wesley let himself into his study silently, leant over the desk and flicked the desklamp on, bathing the room in a dim yellow glow not much stronger than a candle's light. That reminded him that he should set out the candles again tonight, to keep away cranky vampires as much as anything.

Wesley stretched out on the couch, his feet dangling over the edge. He took out his mobile phone and proceeded to dial a very long and complicated number. He let it ring for a while then it answered.

"Colin? Wes. Hi."

He listened to the exclamation on the other end.

"Yes, I know. Things have been...work has been...it's been difficult, lately. Yes, I did get the package, that's why I'm calling. Where on earth did you find it? That little shop off the Royal Mile, between the antique shops and the comic shops, the one with all the crystals in the window? Yes, I know it. Any reason why you chose it, in particular? It just spoke to you, yes, I understand. I've had that feeling myself. Yes, I liked it. It was a very sweet thought. It spoke to me, actually. Oh, it's a protective charm, but it's appearance means trouble's coming. More trouble."

He sat up, agitated.

"No, please, Colin. I'd rather you were there. I feel safer with you there. It's so dangerous here. I've made a lot of enemies. Yes, I know, I've got a lot of people who want me dead there, too, and yes, I am talking to you on a mobile. I just wanted to talk to you. Now. Without using the office phone. Yes, Angel. He's been very distracted lately. An old flame. They had a bad break up. It's not really over between them, despite what he says. No, I can't leave. He needs me. This woman is dangerous. She's bad for him. Really bad. Angel has a bad side, and she brings it out in him. Not just bad news for me. Angel is a reformed psychotic killer. No, I'll be okay. I can handle him. I know him. I know his weaknesses. Trouble is, so does she. I can't help it. I care. Well, you know, when he's good...Yeah, he doesn't deserve me. Yes, you do. Yes, I miss you. I miss you a lot. We're friends, right? More than friends," he agreed. "Well, he's got all his floozies about town. So, how's Edinburgh these days?" Wesley stretched out comfortably on the couch, happy to listen to the familiar, friendly voice.

+

LOSING MY RELIGION

Cordelia looked up from her receding headache to find Wesley still watching the door from which Angel and Gunn had departed some twenty minutes or so earlier.

"Someday my prince will come," she sang softly, mocking him.

Wesley glared at her with that sour milk expression of his.

"If you're worried about him, I doubt there's anything in LA right now that could take Angel on in the mood he's in. I'd worry more for Gunn if I were you."

Wesley pouted still.

"You wouldn't want to go with him, Wes. You'd only get hurt," she reminded, and he knew she didn't mean bruises of the physical kind.

"He was rather put out over what happened last night," Wesley admitted quietly.

"Did you two have a fight?"

"We rowed, yes. My infidelity was mentioned, as was his. Tears before bedtime, I'm afraid, and I think we're well past making up now."

Cordelia bit her bottom lip.

"Wes, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..."

He shrugged those sharp pointed shoulders.

"If it hadn't been that it would have been something else." He managed a rather wan smile in her direction. "For what it's worth, I enjoyed it."

"Why, Wesley," she teased. "You wouldn't be going straight on me now, would you?"

He blushed and returned to his book, unable to answer.

"It's all right," she draped an arm over those shoulders and nuzzled his ear. "I won't tell a soul," she breathed in a secret whisper.

Wesley pulled away slightly. "I appreciate the offer but he already knows what I get up to. He always knows."

"Yeah, Angel, jealous and possessive, who'd have thought?"

That sour look again.

"He did rather bring it upon himself. You know, with the Darla thing."

"Angel? Angel made me do this? I don't think so." Wesley shook his head.

"He hurt you, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"He won't talk to you about it, so you've had no choice but to turn to the few people you can confide in."

"Well, yes."

"And one thing led to another and..."

He was looking at her with some amused admiration. "You manage to justify everything, don't you."

"It's a survival technique. You should learn it. Save you a lot of grief, trust me," she lectured, warming to her area of expertise. "Getting even is another sure fire cure for a broken heart," she remembered, a little sadly.

Cordelia looked up. Wesley was smiling at her.

"What?"

"Let's order pizza."

"Okay."

His grin narrowed into wickedness. "And garlic bread."

Her eyes lit up, meeting his.

"That would be wrong."

"Inconsiderate."

"Fun."

"Deserved."

"We'll show him."

"Yes, we will."

"We'll leave the foil in the trash."

"The building will reek, maybe for days, with his senses."

"You're evil," she admired.

"Thank you."

He kept that smug little grin on his face for a good ten minutes. It was a childish prank, but at least it was pro-active, and maybe Angel might take the hint that they were seriously pissed off with his behaviour of late.

+

"It was never going to work with Angel, I always knew I was kidding myself," Wesley contemplated sadly, slouched in the chair opposite Angel's desk. The pizza box lay open and the contents mostly eaten between them on the polished wood of Angel's precious desk. "We come from different worlds, after all."

"The vampire thing," Cordelia agreed with her mouth full, reclining lazily in Angel's chair.

Wesley winced a wounded look. "Not just that. He's Irish, I'm English, He's Catholic, I'm Protestant, he's from the 18th Century, I'm not, he's from the middle classes, and I'm not..."

"Just how much money were you disinherited from?" Cordelia had to know.

Wesley shouldered an exasperated look. Only an American would ask such a vulgar question.

"Well, if you must know," he began, "All the really old families are virtually broke. Death taxes take a terrible toll. It was more of a prestige thing, belonging to the upper classes, though we weren't poor. My family served the Council out of duty, noblesse oblige. It was never a profession. A gentleman does not work for a living." He indicated himself. "I am as you see me, a renegade, a black sheep, a member of the working classes." His voice reflected his disgust at his situation. "Never again to be seen briefly in the back pages of Hello."

"But you were in the front pages of People," Cordelia tried to cheer him up.

"Yes," he conceded slowly. "I wonder if they saw that at home."

"Living well is the best revenge, Wes," Cordelia grinned, reaching for another slice of pizza.

Wesley regarded the empty pizza box and his situation, sitting here in a foreign city, eating take out in a large and lonely hotel in LA, his estranged lover god knows where.

Cordelia could read his thoughts like an open book. That peculiarly pinched expression that always meant Angel thoughts. Unhappy Angel thoughts.

"You know what else is good for revenge, Wes?"

"No, what?" he asked quietly.

She reached over and touched his hand softly. He glanced up, fetching her meaning.

"That seems rather shallow."

"Doesn't have to be," she smiled.

He caught her smile. The smile grew, the light in his eyes shone with malicious glee.

"Right here, right now" Wesley decided.

With one arm he swept pizza boxes, plastic bottles and paperwork from Angel's desk, lifted Cordelia up on to it and climbed over her, pressing her down as he kissed her enthusiastically.

+

Angel screwed up his face at the reek, taking note of the empty pizza box poking casually from his wastepaper bin. Revenge, nothing more than petty childish revenge, which he pretty much deserved, he did admit, but...he'd thought them better than that...and...he sniffed again.

"On my desk?!" he demanded, pained.

They at least had the good graces to look like guilty children caught out, though they knew they would be. The whole thing had been set up. Wesley was refusing to meet his eye. He was being punished.

"Get out, both of you," was all he said, and they went. Angel's cold fury quelled all their wicked delight. Wesley realised he'd really hurt Angel, but there was nothing that could be said now. Especially not now.

They heard the thud of the bin being kicked or thrown across the room. Nothing could be said now. He might calm down in a day or two. If they were lucky.

+

It was late afternoon when Angel emerged from his room, having done the vampire thing and slept all day. He'd stalked past them in the early hours of the morning without even a glance in their direction.

Wesley had watched him go without a word, deeply regretting his actions. Another part of his brain, the part that had spent far too much time in Cordelia's company, told him hate was the flip side of love and lately Wesley had been flipping between the two like a child's toy. The more Angel hurt Wesley by withdrawing, the more Wesley wanted to hurt him right back.

Wesley wasn't surprised when they were both summoned into the office, again like miscreant schoolchildren standing in the Head's office.

"Give me a reason why I don't fire the both of you."

"You need us," Cordelia shot straight back. She was rarely intimidated by Angel, even in this mood. Angel said nothing but glowered at them, conceding the point, but not at all happy about it.

He stood and walked out from behind his desk. Wesley couldn't meet his eyes, as much as he wanted to. He cursed himself for a coward.

"Your behaviour last night," he began, somewhat uncomfortably.

"Oh, you know how it is, Angel, two people, left alone together, all night." Cordelia shot back.

"It wasn't very professional."

"Isn't it a little late to worry about office romances?"

Angel's jaw tightened. He wasn't ready for that.

"I thought you had more sense." His words were directed at Wesley, though neither made contact. "I thought I could trust you," he continued. "I thought I could leave you here for two minutes and not have to come back and face...what you left for me." His voice almost trembled. "I thought you were an adult, but you're just a spiteful, spoilt little brat."

"Don't get cranky with Wesley," Cordelia defended hotly. "He's frightened and he needed to be held. You were too busy running after Darla.."

"I haven't slept with Darla," Angel growled back.

Wesley's eyes were ice cold.

"Yet. You obsess over her so much that it's a mere technicality. In your heart, you belong to her. I suppose you always did. And here I thought it was Buffy who came between us. More fool I. I actually thought you were over Darla. Silly me, I thought your staking her was the end of it. I was wrong. So very wrong, as always. I see that now."

"I'm sorry I hurt you, Wes..."

"Are you? Did you even notice? Did you even care?"

Wesley walked out, on the verge of tears, without even giving Angel a chance to answer.

Angel hid his distress by shuffling the files on his desk, then noticed they all had Wesley's handwriting on them, Wesley's scent.

"Did you...did you encourage him?" he asked Cordelia quietly, not looking up.

"Yes," she answered defiantly. "Wesley was so upset you'd left him behind again. He needed to be comforted."

"So you think you're the one to do it." Angel gave her that 'as if' look.

"Well you won't." She shot back, annoyed. "You treat Wesley like you're ashamed of him. You think he makes you look weak. You're embarrassed by him because he reminds you of yourself, the way you really see yourself. You punish him the way your father punished you. It's all really sick."

Angel held up his hand for her to stop.

"Enough with the Freud. It's nothing like that. Wesley just gets on my nerves. A lot. Of late."

"You mean he's trying to come between you and Darla."

"Yes."

And that was it, all laid out on the table.

Listening just outside, like Angel must know he was, Wesley continued filing quietly. You wouldn't have known it to see it in his face, because he was very skilled in covering these things up, but inside, he felt like he'd just been cleaved in two.

Inside the office, Cordelia gave Angel a look that would have turned butter.

"You..." but she couldn't find the words, and Angel's expression discouraged any further effort. He would have sacked her on the spot if not for the annoying fact that she was his current seer in residence.

"And to think I once considered you dateworthy," she tossed off, unable and unwilling to let him get the last glare in. She stalked out, stopping only at the counter where she found Wesley. She tried to hug him, but he went absolutely rigid in her arms, so she let him go, and let him deal in his own way, whatever that might be. Silently sorting old accounts without even seeing them seemed to be the way he wanted to go, for now.

She turned away, then turned back. No, damn it, she wasn't going to let Wesley sit there and repress and stew in his own misery. That was the province of that black clad bastard in the office.

"Come on," she tried to pull him from behind the counter, both her hands wrapped around one skinny wrist. He was surprisingly strong, and was resisting all attempts to be shifted like a loadstone, stuck to the ground. "Come on, Wes, you need to get out. You need a drink. In fact, you need to get drunk."

"No, Cordelia," he tried to extricate himself. "I've got work to do. Filing? See? Important. Somebody has to..."

"Run the office while the boss is going unquietly insane? It'll keep, Wes. Let him mind the store for a change. It's not like we're overwhelmed with business since he pulled those last little stunts. Wesley, please, for me?" She tried her most appealing face.

Wesley smiled inspite of himself. It always cracked him up, her over the top appealing face.

She felt the resistance in his wiry frame stop. She tugged on his hand and he moved forward to steps. This was good. This was progress.

"I don't know if there'll be anywhere open at this hour..." he glanced at his watch.

"This is LA, they'll be somewhere open, trust me, even if we have to share it with Banditos," She flashed her winning smile at him again.

He shrugged and gave in. Better to have someone give a damn about his feelings than no one at all. Cordelia had always cared about his feelings, in her own special way, he remembered. He smiled at the memory. Better to have one good friend than none at all. He let her drag him out into the sunlight, babbling nonsense to cheer him up and take his mind off his heartbreak. Bless her, he thought very fondly. The back of his mind was screaming he had important work to do, screaming that soon he'd have to do his sworn and sacred duty, but for now, he let himself be distracted.

They ended up just taking a slab back to Cordelia's place, and a handful of beers each on the couch soon found them in her bedroom, fumbling to mutual state of nakedness. They rolled together and he found being in her arms, being inside her, was just what he needed right now. And after he'd finished, she'd watched over him as he curled beside her, the way Angel used to, stroking his hair softly, wondering what pain creased his face even as he slept.

Sometime late in the afternoon Wesley had woken by himself and drowned his lonely misery in the rest of the beer and half of Cordelia's liquor cabinet. Cordelia woke to the sounds of violent retching, found the state he'd left her living room and figured that if Wesley had to go on a bender, at least this time he was doing it under adult supervision. Better he lay whimpering on the tiles in her bathroom than some stranger's bathroom. At least she could offer him comfort and cold cloths.

It was in the middle of this triage that Angel came to the door. When he heard the state of Wesley from the open bathroom doorway his face twitched into an expression of remorse that made Cordelia think for a moment the old Angel had returned. But only for a moment. Angel could smell Wesley on her. All over her. It hurt, and it surprised him as much as it annoyed him. The harder edged selfishly obsessed Angel drew a colder veil over his features and he bade Wesley to reap what he had sown, not even bothering to see him or speak to him personally.

Cordelia shut the door, praying that Wesley hadn't heard Angel's arrival, or Angel's words. She knew that it was a false hope. Poor Wesley. And she'd thought Buffy's breakup with Angel had been rough. This was so much worse, because, technically, Angel still had his alleged soul, and thus could no longer be excused from his actions. As for Wesley, the more Angel fell away from him, the more out of character he behaved. No wait, it was in character. Just not Wesley's.

Cordelia leant against the door. How could Angel walk away from Wesley? Even Wesley in this state. She remembered Wesley's mouth and fingers on her skin and felt the heat kick up inside. Damn, she couldn't be, could she? Falling in love with Wesley?

Kneeling beside him in the bathroom, trying to stop him from drowning in his own vomit, she still found pleasure in holding him, touching his skin. Damn. Maybe she was. In love with Wesley.

She liked him. She'd always liked him. But this...She smoothed his hair tenderly. This had caught her quite by surprise.

She was angry with Angel, so angry. Couldn't he see Wesley was afraid and just lashing out at everyone, and Angel, with more reason than most, was the focus of Wesley's rage. He wanted Angel to protect him, and Angel showed no interest in doing so. Angel was everyone's knight errant, everyone except Wesley, it seemed. She could understand his hurt. She smoothed his forehead, warm under her touch. If she lost Wesley, she'd grieve for him, and she would never, ever forgive Angel for being pre-occupied when Wesley had needed him most.

He whimpered, a choking cough, but she guessed it was more distress over Angel than obvious physical discomfort.

"Dennis, what's good for alcohol poisoning?"

Her cell phone floated through the open doorway.

"No. Not hospital. Not if I can help it. He's had enough humiliation for one day. Something else?"

A glass of iced water appeared.

"Thank you."

She sat Wesley up in her arms and made him drink. They sat together for a long while. He dozed in her arms, smelling strongly of sicked up vodka, pressing her cramped against the cold tiles, and she was happy. Oh God, this could be love.

+

GODLESS

Wesley was perfectly aware that Angel was standing there, waiting for him to look up, but he refused to do so. He kept leafing through his books and jotting down notes, pretending he was entirely ignorant of the vampire's presence. Afterall, Angel hadn't made a sound of approach. He hadn't shuffled or shifted his clothing. He'd just appeared with that preternatural predator's grace, with only a whisper of wind to give away his movements, a whisper Wesley had long trained himself to be sensitive to. Baring that, he wouldn't know Angel was there at all unless the creature coughed uncomfortably or he looked up. And Wesley wasn't about to do that. Let the bastard sweat. Not that Angel ever did, but it was the thought that counted.

So for several long minutes there was only the sound of turning pages, scratching pencil, the distant tick of a clock and Wesley's breath. Wesley's heartbeat, too, and it gave him away entirely, for it was beating much faster than it should be for just research purposes. Angel let Wesley have his little indulgence, his continued and sustained sulk. It wasn't like it wasn't deserved. Only, the longer it went on, the less apologetic Angel felt, and he was never in an forgiving and wanting to be forgived mood these days. His harder edge had returned, and it had sneered at the snivelling Angel it had found before it. This Angel didn't have time for the petty emotions of lesser beings, he certainly didn't have time for Wesley's little moods, entirely understandable or not. Angel didn't want to understand, not really. Understanding lead to guilt and he'd had enough of that, lately.

"About yesterday..." he began.

"Don't mention it." Wesley cut him off quietly, not looking up.

"Fine." Angel began to walk off.

Wesley looked up at last, his glasses caching the lamplight.

"You could at least pretend you care. This could be my last few days on this planet and yet you make no secret of the fact that you resent my concern for you. I realise that you have a history with Darla, that you have certain issues, none the least your staking her." He laid his pencil aside. "But I really thought we could talk. If not about that, then other things. About what I'm going to do, if I can do anything. About how scared I am. About how much I might have needed..." he broke off. "I'm sorry. That's the last thing you want to hear. I care about you, Angel. I thought you might have...about me. Never mind. You do what you need to do, and I'll do what I need to."

"Wes..." Angel moved closer.

Wesley put on his calm face. It was a tight fit. "It's all right, Angel. I understand, really, I do. You won't have any peace until you sort things out with Darla, one way or the other." He shrugged. "I would have said I'll still be here, but now I guess I might not. It makes things easier, don't you think."

"You're not going to die." Angel insisted in that low voice of his.

"That's really sweet, Angel, but, just for once, things are beyond your control." And with that, Wesley went back to his books.

With a growl, either at himself, Wesley or the situation, Angel moved fast round the corner of the desk, dragged Wesley up by his shirt and threw him back against the desk with a punishing kiss. Wesley laughed hysterically. As if this could change anything. Angel's blood was up, really up. Wesley could feel it digging into his hip, and the weaker willed part of him let Angel have his very wicked way with him on the desk, changing Cordelia's scent to one that was pure Wesley. Wesley's seed, Wesley's tears and Wesley's blood. Wesley licked the cool skin of Angel's throat and pretended Angel was his again. He pretended Angel wasn't just re-marking his territory. He pretended this meant something more than just another bittersweet goodbye.

Angel ripped Wesley's shirt over his head, then pushed him back and tore away his trousers. Angel unzipped, grabbed Wesley's thighs and pulled him tight against the leather. God, he needed this. Dear God, yes. He pounded Wesley into the desk, knocking everything to the floor, pumping him to the sound of the desk drawers rattling.

Angel tore straight into Wesley, as rough as a gaolhouse fuck, just using him for his own gratification. Wesley, so desperate to have Angel's cock inside was pathetically grateful for even this, though there was no heart and soul attached to cock that pounded into him. Angel hadn't turned evil, just cold and distracted. He was angry with Wesley. He resented the way Wesley made him feel guilty for wanting to be with Darla. He was angry that he even thought of Wesley when he was with Darla. He was angry that it mattered what Wesley thought of him, and he was angry at the pain Wes made him feel, when he saw the hurt in his eyes. He was angry that Wesley was still here, reminding him. He was angry that he cared. So angry that he wanted to punish Wesley. Punish him by fucking him bloody, punish him by clawing at his skin, punish him by scratching his mark in his face, so Cordelia would see it and know. Punish Wesley for being unfaithful. Punish Wesley for having other people's smell all over him. Punish Wesley for not even trying to hide the fact any more. Punish Wesley for his small acts of rebellion. Punish the look on Wesley's face when he pretended he didn't care. Punish Wesley for believing he, Angel, was a good man. Punish the face that looked up at him, begging for more, for all of it. Punish the face that wanted Angel, Angelus, Liam, the whole goddamn unholy trinity. Punish the face that still loved him. He smacked Wesley hard, them kissed that bruised and bleeding face, biting the lip and sucking the blood from it. Biting harder, wanting to punish the little whimpers, to silence him for ever, to just make him stop looking at him. Punish him. He slammed Wesley back against the desk, buried his teeth in his shoulder and growled, coming thick and deep inside him as the blood pumped down his throat, hot and sweet. Punish Wesley for leaving him when he needed him most.

Should have fucked him face down. Then he wouldn't have had to look at those eyes, and see himself reflected.

Wesley groaned on the desk. Fuck him. Angel grabbed Wesley back, close and hard, burying his face in Wesley's shoulder. Wesley rolled his head back like a rag doll , baring his throat again submissively. He grabbed Angel's hair and pushed his head back down towards his neck. Angel's fangs extended fully and he bit down hard. Wesley arched back, his soft moan driving Angel into him harder. Wesley sank into Angel's arms, feeling the deliriously giddy pull on his blood, a pull that reached straight down to his groin. It felt like flying. It felt like falling. In his darkest moments, he never wanted Angel to stop.

But Angel did. Incredibly, he did. He pulled away, barely sated, wiping his mouth, almost ashamed. He grazed Wesley's cheek with his thumb, softly, then let him drop back onto the desk and moved away, seemingly horrified by his lack of control, or near lack of control. Of how close he'd been to giving Wesley what he wanted.

Wesley lay there, looking at him. He wanted it, that dark connection, that unholy binding, til death us do part. That bond, stronger than death, stronger than blood, stronger than love. He wanted it, to keep Angel. He wanted it because it was all they had. Blood. The indescribable pleasure of drinking and being drunk. Wesley's darkened eyes followed him, begging for completion. Angel tried not to see him, tried not to hear him.

Wesley lying sprawled naked across the desk, blood dripping from his throat and slowly running down his leg.

At first Cordelia thought he was dead, then he slowly moved his head, watching Angel. She saw the scratches on his cheek. Dear God, scratches in the shape of a cross.

"Angel," Wesley murmured, and then something she couldn't understand.

Something Angel did understand because he stopped pacing around the desk, riveted by Wesley. She saw Angel become even more riveted by the line of blood that was running down Wesley's leg. Angel knelt and began to lick his way along the blood trail, all the way up to Wesley's thigh. He pushed Wesley back and slid his tongue all the way up to where he'd torn him bloody. Wesley groaned and shifted his hips.

Wesley reached for himself as Angel's tongue fucked him, but Angel knocked his hand away, replacing it with his own. Angel's mouth on his cockhead, Angel's fingers inside him, prodding at him, raw and bleeding, Angel's teeth pricking at him then receding. Wesley rolled his hips on the desk and let himself be taken again, flooding Angel's mouth with his seed, almost as sweet as his blood to Angel.

Then it was over. They were two strangers again, both embarrassed and shamed at having given in to the beast. The blood and semen that had sealed them was now just a dirty smear to be washed off and forgotten.

Wesley patted around absently for his glasses. Angel found them and slipped them on Wesley, ever so gently. It looked rather incongruous. Those extraordinarily bookish glasses perched atop a body so ravaged by a vampire's passion. The storm had broken though. Angel's fires had banked and now Wesley's blood sang to him not as wine but as a guilty reminder, the stale smell of sex that would haunt his office for days, taunting him with the memory of it. He perched on the desk, somewhat defeated. Wesley did nothing to touch the vampire who hunched beside him. He recognised these moods. Angel could snap into anger so easily and quickly if the wrong thing was said or done. Post coital contact was right out as Angel weathered an onslaught of Catholic guilt. He would prefer Wesley gone, but Wesley was barely able to move on the desk.

"Angel," the voice came softly. "May I sleep here tonight."

"Of course, Wes," Angel answered equally softly. But he never looked at Wesley, and he walked off, without turning back.

Wesley showered and crawled gratefully into the crisp sheets of the spare bed, the room he occupied when he was too tired or too banged up to go home. He fell asleep almost instantly, for while his mind was tormented his poor body had had quite enough. He was aware as he slept of Angel in his room, haunting the shadows, watching him, leaning over his bed, leaning so close his breathe would have brushed over Wesley's face if he'd had any. Angel's fingers brushing his hair. One sweet short gesture that made him want to cry, but he didn't move in his half sleep, he didn't want to break the spell. He allowed himself to drift off into a deeper sleep, despite Angel's presence making his unconscious proximity alert scream in the back of his neck. The worst of his childhood nightmares, that a demon was lurking close by his bed, made all the worse by the knowledge that such creatures were real. Demons, like nightmares, could be conquered or ignored. You just had to know how. Wesley did.

Angel heard Wesley's heart beat slow into a deeper sleep and he drifted close again, kneeling by the bed, studying this pale human by moonlight, this man who still caught his heart and held it gently. He rested his chin on his hands, studying Wesley close, watching the way he slept, the quiet sound of his breathing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sat up and watched Wesley like this. He knew this was the last time. So he tried to remember every detail, commit every nuance to his memory. How dark his lashes were against that skin, how delicious the start of a dark beard on his jaw, how perfect those ears were...he reached out to touch Wesley's skin, and stopped, mid air, as Wesley mumbled something in his sleep, still aware of Angel, even in his dreams. But more than that, as Angel stood and backed away slightly. Wesley sighed and rolled over. Lost in dreams, but his skin...his skin glowed a soft white, like St Elmo's fire. Angel glanced to the window, but he knew it was no trick of the moon or street lights. There was no moon or stars that night. The night was completely dark, and as Wesley breathed out again, a wind got up, a cold unseasonable winter wind, the kind of wind that used to tear through the high street of his village as a child. Angel shivered involuntarily. He glanced back to Wesley. The unearthly glow had faded, but the wind has set itself to a steady gusting now, swinging telegraph wires and rolling rubbish down the streets. Angel gazed out into the night, and if he'd been human, his breath would have fogged the window. The glass was cold.

Wesley muttered something and rolled over again.

Angel's attention returned to the night. It was so dark out there, with only tiny spots of man made light winking here and there. Not even that, as he realised half the street lights hadn't switched on, casting the street into even more eeerie and deserted darkness than was usual. He could hear the wind whistle down through the street, rattling the links of the chain fence opposite in a low metallic shiver. He pressed his hand to the cold window pane. By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.

He turned back to Wesley, still asleep, still dreaming. So, it had begun.

+

I'M ONLY HAPPY WHEN IT RAINS

"Hey, Wes," Angel greeted in old familiar tones, finding the Englishman standing by the window in his room, looking both forlorn and fuckable.

"You're cheerful today. And up."

"Darla isn't in my dreams any more."

Yeah, right, Wesley mouthed silently to the window pane.

Angel saw all the birds that lined the telegraph lines along the road outside, the birds that resembled that Hitchcock film rather too much, the birds Wesley seemed fascinated in watching, leaning his skinny frame on the window sill.

"Why do birds suddenly appear, every time you are near?" Angel began tunelessly, easy affection in his voice.

"Bite me, " Wesley answered. He regretted ever taking Angel to Caritas but it was too late now.

"Bite you," Angel purred, coming close and rubbing his hips against Wesley's arse. Wesley pressed back and Angel purred further.

Wesley braced himself against the window pane. Angel's crotch was grinding hotly away at his arse, a steady rhythm that he pushed back on, feeling every inch a whore. Angel's hand was rubbing up and down his own hardon through his jeans. Just have Angel stand close beside him was enough to make him hard. This...he could feel himself weeping, dampening his underwear, and he knew Angel could smell it, that Angel was rubbing his hand in Wesley's scent, feeling it through the fabric. Angel's tongue was darting along his ear and throat, then down his jawline, and then back to his ear again. Never kissing, only teasing. The other hand moved around, sliding up under his shirt over fluttering skin to pinch already tight nipples. Wesley gasped and leant back against Angel, pliant and willing.

Angel chuckled to himself. It was so easy. Just touch him in his favourite spots in a certain sequence and Wesley was mindless quivering jelly awaiting Angel's next move. Angel could fuck him, snap his neck or drain him dry, in any particular order, and Wesley wouldn't raise a murmur of protest. He was too easy, too eager to please, to be pleased. He rubbed up against Wesley until Wesley turned around.

Angel kissed him with a certain degree of possession, seeing over Wesley's shoulder a lone young man standing on the other side of the road, carrying nothing but a grubby khaki back pack slung over one shoulder and a two dollar bunch of flowers clutched tightly in one hand.

Angel knew exactly who it was. Angel smiled and licked along Wesley's throat and down the line of his jaw, making Wes tilt his head back. Angel nuzzled over the lovely slender throat bared to him in submission. He pushed Wesley's shirt up over his head, bowing to kiss his way down that lean torso, finally kneeling before him.

Colin saw Wesley lean back against the window glass, one bare arm thrown wantonly above his head, the other tangled deep in that dark hair.

Wesley buried his face against his arm, stifling a moan. Angel had complete control, licking and tasting and running his tongue along Wesley when he wanted, then stopping, making Wesley beg for it, like the little slut that he was.

Angel took him deep and swallowed him whole, sucking and swallowing Wesley's brief cry of release. Angel rose up, nuzzling deep in that bared armpit, tasting Wesley's scent. He kissed Wesley's lips, still tasting of his salt.

That one hand came down to lie around Angel's shoulders lightly, the other rested around his hips.

Grinning out across the street Angel nipped at Wesley's shoulder just below his neck and suckled at the blood that rose up in the cuts he's made, making Wesley moan under his tongue. Angel's dark eyes flashed. Wesley was his.

Angel left him, vanishing like a ghost into the shadows of the hotel. Wesley leant back against the cold panes of glass, muzzy and bleeding. He turned, to watch the darkening skies again, and that's when he saw him. Wesley pressed a hand against the glass, stripped to the waist and with blood still seeping from the wounds on his shoulder. He met his eyes for a moment, then turned away, ashamed and uncomfortable and unwilling to deal. He turned instead with a mission to scrounge up a menstrual pad to tape over his shoulder. It was crude, but very effective, and at the height of his affair with Angel he'd almost been a pack a week man. It stopped him bleeding all over his clothes, at least. Now, though, he rarely ever needed them...perhaps that was a good thing. The looks he used to get in the local chemist, especially as Wesley was always automatically filed under "probably gay" by the girls who worked there.

He heard Cordelia arrive and found himself glad in spite of himself. He could use a confessor right about now.

"It's a good thing you don't give blood," she lectured, sitting him down.

"Can't. I'm British."

Cordelia looked perplexed.

"Is that an English thing?"

"No, well, yes. If you had a hamburger in the UK in the last ten years you can't give blood, because of the contaminated meat there."

"Oh. Ewww."

"I'm sure I'm fine," he reassured. "It's just policy."

"Did you see that guy outside?" she asked conversationally as she taped the pad to Wesley's shoulder.

"I saw him." Wesley muttered.

"Wonder what he wants," Cordelia mused. "Do you think he's evil?"

"No, he's not evil," Wesley assured, and she took his quiet authority on the matter.

"Did you stay the night?" she asked, more personally.

"Yes, but it's not what you think. It didn't mean anything."

"I'm sorry, Wes,"

He shook his head. His eyes begged her to change the subject.

"So what's with the freaky weather?"

"Don't know. Feels like a cold front is coming."

"You've got a cold front," she teased. "Wandering around here half dressed..."

He darted forward and nipped at her.

"Get off! Just because Angel left you all hot and horny..." She tried to push him away, instead he grabbed her close.

"Hey, no...not here...Wesley!" she shrieked, laughing as his mouth planted kisses over her throat, his hand running up under her blouse, tickling her.

"Children." Angel announced his presence and they flew apart, each studying the carpet, guilty.

"Do you think it's your blood that's making him all, you know," she whispered to him.

"No," Wesley hissed back. Why did he feel like he was about to get six of the best in the Head's office? Probably because he wasn't far from the truth.

"I don't pay you to muck around," Angel glowered at them both.

Cordelia was about to shoot back with "You don't pay us..." but a firm squeeze on her arm from Wesley quietened her.

"I'm sure you have business matters to attend to," Angel reminded them of their duty, then stalked off, abdicating his.

"It's getting worse," Wesley whispered, watching the broad shouldered retreating back.

"Do something."

"What?" he asked her, looking very much at the end of his tether. "I only know how to trap and kill vampires. Nobody has ever had to deal with a souled vampire returning to the side of his Sire. I don't know what to do. I'm useless."

"You'll think of something," Cordelia assured softly. "Just hurry," she added, more forcefully.

In his room, Angel paced liked a caged animal. He was nothing more than that. She made him remember. Nothing more than a beast, a beast who hungered for the hunt and the kill. Hungered so much he could taste it, bitter in his mouth, screaming in his ears, clawing at his insides.

Darla. She made him feel ashamed of his affection for 'that ridiculous mortal". She taunted and teased and it was all he could do not to pay Wesley back as violently as he wanted to. She reminded Angel that he would have never, ever, even five years ago, have given Wesley the time of day, or night. She blamed Wesley as much as she blamed Buffy, symptoms of Angel's "illness". A part of Angel agreed. Another part remembered how good a friend and companion Wesley had been, the comfort he had readily and happily given Angel, the way his face lit up like a child's, the confidences they had shared. This conflict made him angry, it made him cruel. It made him take revenge on the source of his confusion, the last remaining tie to his humanity. A tie he so badly wanted to sever.

Angel threw the three quarters empty bottle of whisky from the table, slamming it into the wall. It broke with a loud crash, startling Wesley and Cordelia below, both exchanging a look. Angel glared at the stinking pieces of jagged glass. Make it stop. Not even fucking Wesley could make him fall. If he needed any more proof the love was gone...Wesley was no longer the key to his damnation. Or his salvation, he thought bitterly. Wesley was nothing to him. Just an annoyance, a gnat in his ear, a tiny conscience he no longer wanted to listen to.

+

Several had passed when Angel came down the steps again. Wesley and Cordelia were being as quiet as mice, each hunched over book keeping or research.

Angel glanced out the window. The young man with the wilting flowers was still standing there.

"Well, aren't you going to invite him in, or is that only for vampires?"

Wesley gave him a look, then slammed through the door and out into the pouring rain. He walked right up to the dripping young man.

"Colin, I told you not to come here." He glared at him, embarrassed. "I told you to stay in Scotland."

"I need to see you."

"It's not safe."

"It's never safe. I needed to see you. You sounded so sad. I had to see you. I miss you. I brought flowers, see?" Colin proffered his wilted flowers.

Wesley took them. They'd seen better days, but he had left Colin standing out here in all weathers, and no one had ever given him flowers before. Wesley was touched, and suddenly everything just washed away. He gathered Colin close in his arms and kissed him.

Angel turned away from the window, annoyed.

"So that's Wes' Colin, huh," Cordelia fawned, watching them kiss. ""My god, he's cute. Wesley never said he was cute. He's really cute," Cordelia continued a running commentary for Angel's benefit.

Angel muttered something and slouched off to his office.

Wesley's thumb caressed Colin's cheek as they kissed, rubbing softly back and forth across the hours old stubble. His hand went up into Colin's hair, brushing over his ear as his tongue drove deep into Colin's waiting mouth. Oh God, he'd missed him. His warmth, his scent. His Colin. Wesley hugged him tighter, almost weeping with a strange and overwhelming sense of relief and happiness. And comfort. Colin's arms around him, they gave him an enormous sense of comfort.

They came up for air for just a second.

"Hi," Wesley whispered, his blue eyes incredibly dark and intense. Colin's heart leapt up and tripped over itself and he knew exactly why he'd come all this way to make a fool of himself. For him. Because he was worth it.

"Hi yourself," Colin grinned roughly, and kissed Wesley again, his hand sliding down the top of Wesley's jeans, giving his arse a welcome squeeze.

Angel ignored this latest report and angrily flicked over another newspaper page. "Are they going to get a room or am I going to have to bail out my employee on charges of public indecency?" he inquired archly.

Cordelia looked beyond the boys to the lines of birds on the telegraph wires, all hunkering down against the increasingly heavy rain.

"I think a storm's coming," she announced, though whether she meant the heavy atmosphere outside or inside was anyone's guess.

"Um, Wes," Colin murmured in another breathing space. "Shouldn't we go inside? It's not that I mind, really, but it's pissing down out here."

Wesley glanced up at the sky as if he'd only just noticed. He shrugged his bony shoulders and turned back to the hotel, and paused for a moment.

"You really shouldn't have come."

"Don't you want to see me?"

"Yes! God, yes, but," Wesley, for once, had to search for the words. "I just would have preferred to keep you separate from all this, away from all this."

"Away from Angel."

"Pretty much. He's, he's going through a bit of a bad patch right now."

"I don't care."

"You might," Wesley smiled ruefully. "My Daniel in the lion's den."

"At least it's dry," Colin reminded, and Wesley at last relented and invited him across the threshold, to stand dripping in large pools of water all over Angel's polished floors.

Angel was still bunkered in his office. Wesley turned to Colin, smiling in relief.

Colin was looking good, in spite of being waterlogged. The last time Wesley had seen him, Colin had been another scruffy world traveller.

Now, he'd cut and bleached his hair, bought an entire new outfit on the high street, the sort of shiny shirt and tight trousers that said ambiguously gay and just screamed fuck me, which was the exact message he wanted to send out. And it was working.

Wesley pulled him close in a sudden affection, long limbed hug.

"I'm so glad you're here," he breathed.

Colin blinked at him, amused. "Conflicted as always, Wes. Did you not just get through telling me how you didn't want me here?"

"I don't. It's too dangerous."

"What, Angel, LA or what's coming?"

"D, all of the above." He smiled in spite of himself. "But I'm so happy you're here." And he really looked it.

Colin directed a look at Cordelia, who was hovering indiscreetly.

"Wes, we need to talk, in private."

"We can use my room," Wes decided, taking him by the hand up to his room, at least, the room he used when he pulled an all nighter, the room where he kept some of his stuff.

"We should get you out of those wet clothes." Wesley spoke quietly, beginning to unbutton Colin's shirt.

Colin leant forward and kissed him. Just the pressure of one warm mouth on his.

+

They came down together, and despite the showers Angel could still smell Colin on Wesley and Wesley on Colin.

Worse, if there could be a worse, Wesley looked so relaxed, so calm, so at ease with Colin beside him. Angel had heard Wesley laughing upstairs, Wesley moaning in sexual pleasure and now he had to put up with Wesley smiling. All under his roof.

Angel glowered and Colin understood everything Wesley had told him about Angel. Handsome as hell but oh so dark and dangerous.

Wesley stood in the middle of the floor for a moment, torn between the two. It would have been funny if he didn't feel so wretched.

"Wes," Colin called softly. It was an odd, very American name for someone so very English to have, but Colin guessed it must be some sort of family name, so he never commented. Wesley seemed rather ambivalent about his name, anyway. These days, he seemed almost ashamed of it. Not for his first name, but the double barrelled surname that Americans always had so much trouble with. That and the fact that his name had been cursed for all eternity. That hurt him, sometimes, because he never knew if he was speaking to a Council spy or not, not even down at the local diner.

Wesley turned to Colin, and Angel turned away.

"Wes, we should try and read the symbols on your talisman, if you haven't already. If we can find a reference to it, maybe it will help. Some old scrap of legend might serve as an instruction manual."

"Be prepared," Wes agreed, reciting the Scouts motto. "Might help to know at least what I'm dying for."

Angel stalked past them, preferring to sulk in his room than have to watch Wesley and his clone babble over ancient prophecies for hours on end. He had the headache already.

"Is he always like that?" Colin whispered as the black clad figure swept up the stairs.

"Mostly," Wes shrugged it off.

+

Hours later and Angel was still very unhappy. Wesley and Colin were in his office, making themselves right at home. They had books spread all over the desk, and beer bottles, without coasters, leaving wet rings all over his desk's fine wooden polish. They had the CD on, loud, playing something he didn't recognise. It was English, he could tell that much, and it must be popular because both Wes and Colin were singing along to it. Wes, singing. Wes smiling. Wes being openly affectionate. It was like watching some other creature, a changeling, that resembled Wesley in form only. Perhaps he was looking at a changeling. This wasn't the Wesley he'd first known. Not at all. Wesley had changed. Why hadn't Angel seen that?

Wesley knew the lyrics off by heart. He sounded happy, but the words were so bitter. If Angel hadn't spent the early Eighties in the black depths of self pity, and in possession of only an am radio, then perhaps he'd have been more familiar with the Jam.

"Found anything?" Angel stopped to ask.

"Yes!" Colin announced excitedly, holding up a CD. "Specials!"

Angel looked blank, then slouched off. If they didn't care about the prophecy, why should he.

Wesley watched him go, not without regret. Once, this would have been their refuge, just the two of them. He remembered Angel's soft chuckle as his tongue had fluttered over the nipples on that broad expanse of chest. Angel's eyes had watched him, burning with warmth and love. Angel's whole body had glowed with his love for Wesley and Wesley had rested his head over that unbeating heart and fallen asleep with Angel's strong arms around him, and he'd known that he was safe and loved, at last.

There was no more love for Wesley in Angel's eyes. A bare recognition of his existence was the best he could ever hope for these days.

Colin noticed the lines in Wesley's face that deepened at Angel's retreating back.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Nothing but." Wesley admitted between a somewhat clenched jaw. "I'm thinking of spending my holidays in Hell, for a bit of peace and quiet."

"You seemed pretty cosy when I showed up."

"I guess, but Angel has more mood swings than a weather vane these days. Though I doubt he knows the difference between a hawk and a handsaw lately."

"Tough living with a bi-polar vampire," Colin agreed.

"I'm the one on prozac," Wesley admitted again with the clenched jaw, flicking over the page, and Colin knew he wasn't joking.

The song changed and Wesley was suddenly taken back to his childhood, strongly nostalgic for cold autumn school days, though they'd been hell at the time.

Colin turned the talisman over in his hand, admiring the swirling design.

"It loves you. It hums in your presence."

Wesley shrugged, sucking on his beer.

"So you're the chosen one."

"Apparently," Wesley tossed it off. "God help us all, right."

"Wrong. You'll be great."

Wesley frowned. Not this side of hell.

Distracted, Wesley scanned the day's paper, left there by Angel, scowling darkly at his horoscope. The planets had once more aligned against him, and the astrologist was advising him to fore bear as usual. Fuck it, he didn't want to fore bear any more. He'd been fore bearing all his life. All the other signs got romance, adventure and fortune, but the cosmos consistently dealt him a crappy hand, and all he could do was survive it. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger. That was his horoscope, day after day, year after year. Just once, couldn't his stars predict a win in the lottery? Just once?

He should have known the cosmos was out to get him. The other night he'd lost his hard drive with the most dreadful grinding noise as it shuddered to a halt in its death throes. Then he'd discovered all his back ups had been copied onto faulty disks. Maybe there was some slim chance, if he really berated them, of getting some reimbursement for the replacement of the defective hardware, but nothing, nothing could ever replace the lost hours of his life he'd poured into his work. A waste of his time, and a waste of his life. That about summed it up.

Worse, the sediments under his building had shifted, causing the heavy volumes piled atop one book case to hurl themselves across the room as everything resettled, smashing utterly his favourite and most precious terracotta statue that sat, pride of place, on the half book case opposite. Wesley had not only been distressed by the loss of the beloved artefact, he regarded its destruction as a definite omen. A bad omen.

Doomed. There was no way around it.

+

STORMY WEATHER

Cordelia was in the dining room, counting cutlery and places. In spite of Angel's best scowling she'd insisted on a dinner in honour of their guest, which involved sitting down like a family. Angel didn't want Colin under is roof, let alone being forced to break bread with him, but he apparently had no say in the matter.

Cordelia and Colin had been messing around noisily in the kitchen, having bonded instantly, much to the distress of both Angel and Wesley. Wesley was just a hapless bystander, much like Angel, only there to move the table and chairs while Cordelia cursed the lack of matching table settings. Angel had shrugged and mentioned something about neither needing to eat or host dinner parties, but that was no never mind.

"And this tablecloth. When was the last time this was washed and at what sort of laundromat I might ask. Its got more patches than Raggety Anne.

Angel gave Wesley his do something look.

"Oh." Wesley just put his hand to his head, then fell.

Angel raced forward but Colin was already there.

Wesley was trembling, muttering something, strange words.

Colin was gently rolling Wesley on his side. "I'm a trained nurse," he told Angel. Back off, in no uncertain terms.

"Wes," Colin held him firmly. "Come back to us, Wes." He addressed Angel. "Has he done this before?"

"No," Angel looked lost. "At least, I've never seen him like this."

"God, is that what I look like when I have a vision?" Cordelia was horrified as Wesley convulsed in Colin's arms.

"Kind of," Angel had to agree.

"Dark, dark, dark," Wesley muttered insensibly, shivering.

Angel looked around. Outside it was like night. The street lights were on across the road, and it was cold. Bitterly cold.

"Is he doing this?" Cordelia demanded.

"Don't know," Angel admitted. "Maybe this is being done to Wesley." Angel suddenly got it. "He's under attack. Cordelia, salt, now!"

"You want me to pass you the salt?"

"Cordelia!"

"All right, jeez." She tossed him the plastic salt shaker from the table.

Angel bent and carefully sprinkled a circle around Colin and Wesley.

"In Wes' room," Colin volunteered. "He has some wormwood and candles. White candles."

"On it." Cordelia ran up the stairs.

Several minutes later wormwood was burning in small dishes, white candles flickered and Wesley had stopped crying out in pain. The raised red welts on his arms and legs had faded. It was working, though the storm that hung over them was so oppressive, so threatening.

Angel felt his skin itching. He could smell the ozone in the air. He glanced at the barometer on the wall. The mercury was practically battering itself to get out of the bottom of the glass tube.

Oh shit. This was going to be bad, and this was probably just the overture.

"Wes, sssh, Wes." Colin held the trembling body tight, trying to soothe him. He touched the tips of the dark hair with his lips.

"How did he get this?" Colin brushed the swollen bruise on Wesley's scalp.

Angel shrugged off the accusation. "Wesley was having a bit of a plate throwing tantrum. One of them rebounded and bit him."

"Wes? Tantrums?" Colin looked at Angel directly. "What'd you do to him this time?"

"Nothing!" Angel declared his innocence, annoyed at the impudence.

"That's probably it. I know you think Wes is humping your leg all the time and you have to keep him at arms length to fit in with your Joe Cool persona..."

"It's the curse."

"That too. The whole for his own good thing. Hold him close or let him go, Angel. I'm not asking you to shag him, just show him some affection. I know you care about him, but telling him that when he's laid out in the IC ward, that's not the time or the place."

Angel looked guilty and Colin knew he'd hit on the truth.

"You know Wes was affection starved as a child. Yes, he's needy. He craves your approval because you are the most important person in the world to him. Rightly or wrongly, he really believes the sun shines out of your arse. And ironically, you must believe it too because you treat him more like a servant than a friend. He's your employee, yes, but he's also your friend, your lover. He could be the best friend you'll ever have. Let him. Just let him and you'll find he's everything you want him to be: funny, charming, smart and sexy. Just be his friend, that's all he wants, Angel. Let your guard down and talk to him. He won't hurt you. He won't turn on you. Not if you're completely honest with him."

"I am."

"Then why didn't you tell him about Darla? Why did he need these to dull the pain of your betrayal?" He threw the small bag of pills towards Angel. They landed at the edge of the circle. Close enough for Angel to see.

Angel couldn't say anything but the obvious distress the sight of the pills evoked in the vampire told Colin he wasn't dealing with a complete monster.

"I know it's a lot to ask a vampire to consider others, but try. Every time you shut Wesley out because you're tired and upset, it's as good as a body blow to Wes."

Colin pocketed the bag of drugs, so Wesley wouldn't see it when he snapped out of this. Colin would sit him down for a long talk later.

"If you don't give Wes a bit more attention, he'll die. It's as simple as that."

Angel was shocked, realising Colin wasn't exaggerating.

"He's not a swooning little school girl, but he does need to know you care."

"I try."

"You've been shutting him out."

"It's none of your business."

"Yes it is. Who do you think will have to pick up the pieces once you're done with him."

"What gives you the right to come here and judge me, to make assumptions..."

"Wes called me. He was so upset. And I've got eyes, the whole five senses in fact. I don't know what's up with you other than your inability to break it off with Darla, but I know it's eating away at Wes. All he can do is worry himself sick over how he should help you. Question, do you deserve it?"

Angel glanced away, unable to answer. Damn him. That was the crux of the whole thing, wasn't it. Did he deserve Wesley and did he deserve a second chance? Angel doubted it himself, no matter what anyone else might think. He threw it back at Colin, angry.

"You think Wesley should be with you."

"I think Wes should be with someone who isn't afraid to show he cares. Someone who won't throw him through walls or tear his throat out because he's having a bad day."

"Someone like you?"

"Someone who isn't you."

Colin met those dark eyes. He wasn't without fear, but he'd come to believe that there were some things worth fighting for. Wesley's soul was one of them.

"Why can't you just love him?"

"As much as you do?" Angel asked back.

"Yes."

Wesley shook in Colin's arms again.

"Wes is going to turn that power on himself inwards or outwards unless someone helps him," Colin warned. "Wesley should have started to manifest his power when he was eleven. What sort of trauma held it off, limiting him to small time parlour tricks? And what trauma brought it out, now?"

"You think this is all my fault?"

Colin shook his head. "Not all of it, but you should have seen the signs. You should have been there, just to ease him through it. This is dangerous magic he's playing with." He looked directly at Angel. "He'll either die or snap." He saw Angel's face. "He's started to snap already, hasn't he? You can't be as wound tight as Wes without blowing eventually. Wes fits the quiet young loner, product of an affection starved upbringing profile rather too well, don't you think? His true power is finally beginning to manifest and the person he loves most in the world has just cut him off. What do you think is going to happen?"

Angel glanced up as the hotel shook enough to rattle the windows and make the lights swing, scattering wild shadows across the room.

"I think I'm going to have to move again," Angel answered honestly, wishing he'd paid for those higher insurance premiums.

Wesley twisted in Colin's arms, muttering something, over and over.

"Nach cuala tu in cach tan,
cloentar go ar uathad, fir dam,
issed na fulangar de
turscolbad na sochaide."

G thad l in chaire,
dochaitter menma aire,
cuit in t-sl g ise a samail,
ni berbther é ar oengabail."

"Great, now he's babbling in tongues. Next he'll be frothing at the mouth like a dog," Cordelia complained, still unhappy at the sight of Wesley twitching helplessly on the floor.

"He's not babbling," Colin cut across her, annoyed. "It's Gaelic."

"Garlic?"

"Gaelic," Angel corrected Cordelia.

"I didn't know Wes knew how to speak Gaelic," Cordelia continued.

"I did," Angel answered quietly, looking darkly at Colin.

"So did I," Colin rebuffed.

Angel crouched by the circle, anxious and frustrated. Colin saw the vampire's hands clench and unclench.

"You can't cross the circle now, can you?"

"No need to be smug about it."

"Just noting for future reference."

Angel looked at him sharply.

"Yes, Wes told me about that, your slim hold on sanity."

"That was private."

"Your turning to the dark side is never private, Angel. And he only told me because he's worried about you. He loves you so much and you push him away. He adores you and you still manage to terrify him. When he needs you most you drop him to run after some bitch."

"Hey -"

Wesley interrupted by calling out something. Angel tried to speak to him in Gaelic, but Wesley wasn't responding.

"You speak it, too," Colin realised, and the two Celts glared at each other. They spoke completely different dialects, but enough to understand the gist of Wesley's ravings.

"I don't think he can hear you. I think he's reciting a druidic chant. Maybe something he learnt, something he remembers." Colin gazed down upon Wesley tenderly, a tenderness that stabbed Angel deeply.

"I think he's in some sort of trance. Has he been fasting?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Wes, you idiot," Colin chastised softly. "I told you never to attempt serious magic by yourself. It's too dangerous."

"He's not by himself," Angel almost growled.

Colin met Angel's eyes. Angel could make all the territorial displays he wanted to. It didn't change the fact that he'd pushed Wesley away. Perhaps once too often.

Wesley's eyes snapped open suddenly. They'd changed to a tawny yellow, not unlike an owl's. He sat up directly, unnerving Colin.

"Stop it, you two. Just stop it. I can't think with your constant bickering. There's something I need to remember."

Colin repeated the verse he'd heard Wesley murmur, this time in English.

"This old saying, ages old:--
Single log gives forth no flame;
Let there be a two or three,
Up the firebrands all will blaze!

One sole log burns not so well
As when one burns by its side.
Guile can be employed on one;

Single mill-stone doth not grind!"

Wesley caught his head in his hands. His brain was screaming and it felt like it was going to leak out of his ears at any moment.

"What do you need?" Colin asked, kneeling beside him. Wesley thought for a moment.

Water and incense were brought and added to the circle upon his command. Now he had the four elements represented, pointing in the four directions. The most basic of circles, but Wes wanted to keep it simple and keep it clean.

"Cordy, come here," he invited her into the circle. He was worried for her. He bade her to sit and not touch anything while Colin walked about the circle, lighting the candles with his old silver lighter then scattering various pieces of plant life as Wesley directed.

Angel caught Colin's arm.

"Who made you the boss in here?"

"Do you think you can handle a protection spell then, can ye?" Colin's voice grew thick as he thrust the vegetation into Angel's hands. They burned and Angel dropped them like hot potatoes, surprised for a moment, then very angry.

The boys squared off, the herbs and sprigs in a fallen heap between them.

"You think you can take me on without your posey?" Angel threatened.

"Want to find out?" Colin leered back.

"You're not wanted here. Or needed. I don't see The Powers That Be calling you."

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Colin grinned.

"Would I?" dark eyes narrowed.

Wesley turned to Angel suddenly, eyes blazing.

"That's it. That's fucking it. Everything has to be about you. The fate of the world rests with Angel. Or Angel's dick, more to the point. Well, fuck you. But that's the point, isn't it. I can't fuck you. Buffy couldn't fuck you. But you run after that bitch in heat and I can't stop you. Nothing I can say or do will stop you. We were happy. I was happy."

"Wes..." Angel started.

As Wesley talked, his voice rising in pitch, everything that wasn't nailed down began to rattle. Light bulbs popped. The TV behind the counter exploded. Cracks began to snake up the walls as the floor rumbled beneath them.

Wesley was standing in the centre of the circle, eyes an unearthly gold, fists clenched at his sides.

Angel glanced up. Plaster flakes were starting to float down from the ceiling like asbestos snow. The windows shattered.

"Wes, don't," Cordelia touched his arm. He spun around and she shrieked and shrank back involuntarily.

"Wes, you're scaring me. I know you're pissed off with Angel but please don't do the Carrie thing."

The darkness rolled around the hotel, pushing at the walls.

"It's outside, Wes. Don't give into it."

"Oh don't give me that hate leads to the dark side crap. I'm sick of hearing it, all right. I'm sick of all of it. I'm sick of you. I'm sick of them. I'm sick of the whole damn cosmos thinking it knows what's best for me. I'm my own man and I'm not taking orders from anyone any more."

"Uh, Wes..." Angel interrupted.

"Unless it suits me to do so."

Wesley stepped through the circle, changing places with Colin, walking right up to where Angel stood.

Angel blinked, waiting for Wes to say something or hit him, but Wesley did neither.

"Stand still," Wesley commanded, sprinkling the salt around Angel.

"What are you doing?" Angel asked, annoyed.

"Binding you. It's for your own protection, but now you can't move or act unless I say so. See how much you like it."

Wesley pulled a pocket knife from his jeans, flipped it open and slashed his palm.

Angel reacted instantly to the smell of blood. Wes saw it, and it hardened his resolve, sprinkling his blood around the circle.

"I bind you..." he began, walking around the circle.

"Wes..."

"Angel, shut up, I'm busy."

Wesley turned and glared at the darkness outside.

"I am sick to death of everyone telling me what to do. I'm a grown man. I can make my own decisions."

Just make the right ones, Angel prayed. Don't get yourself killed trying to prove something.

"Wesley!" Angel called, but Wesley wasn't listening. He marched out the door, pushing his sleeves up.

"Wes!" Angel beat against the wall of the circle, afraid Wesley was about to be squashed like an insect.

"Oh, do be quiet, Angel," Wesley called from just outside the door.

"Now," Wesley turned back to the darkness, all business.

The storm gathered up, the thick black clouds swirling ominously above him. There was no doubt about it now. He was the epicentre and this show was being put on for his sole benefit. Lightning ripped through the boiling clouds above him with the sound of tearing calico. The wind smashed the rain into him so he was soaked through, even standing under the tiny porch the hotel boasted.

Wesley left the last step and walked into the full force of the storm, his arms outstretched. It was certainly bracing. The rain punched into him, but he refused to show that it mattered in the least. In the distance he could hear a dreadful, steady roar and he wondered what on earth that might be.

The wind rattled the windows in their fittings, all shuddering and clattering like a row of any prisoners. Thunder exploded about the hotel like mortar fire, making Cordelia cringe with each blast. She could see, through the rain smeared windows, the lightning actually marching up the road towards them.

"Oh, God," she murmured.

Angel pressed against the invisible walls of his cage, straining for a sight or sound of Wesley.

"Relax, Angel, this isn't your fight," Colin reminded.

Dark eyes glared at him.

Colin shook his head. "You really have no idea, do you?" He sounded incredulous. "You know what the Whitsun Lord is?" he asked again, to another blank look. Colin couldn't help being smug. "Wesley is the sun king. Ironic, isn't it."

"Was does a sun king do?"

"Usually? Die."

Angel whipped around, staring at the storm outside. He couldn't see or hear Wesley through it.

Colin saw the vampire's jaw clench in that movement that usually denoted concern. So, deep down the bastard did still care. So did Wesley, but you didn't have to scratch the surface to see him bleed over Angel.

Wesley might not even bleed after tonight. He was untrained and unguided, which was very ironic indeed. He'd trained to be a teacher, not a student. Nobody wanted Wesley's guidance, but when he needed it, there was no one to give it to him.

Well, almost no one.

Angel could only watch as Colin pulled a ceremonial dagger from the back of his jeans, waved it in the air, cutting through the circle, and walked through, following Wesley.

"Wes! Wes!" Angel pounded against the invisible walls that held him. "Wes!" he screamed in warning.

+

DIRTY CREATURE

"What are you up to, Wes?" Colin asked, coming to stand behind him.

Wesley shrugged. "You know. Mad dogs and Englishmen."

"There's no midday sun today, Wes," Colin reminded quietly.

"Yes, I noticed that too." Wesley tilted his head back, lashed by the pounding rain, staring up into the blackest sky he had ever seen in his life.

The rain hit like fists. He was soaked to the skin. He put his glasses in his trouser pocket. They were useless, covered in water.

Colin looked up into the seething heavens.

"El Nino?"

"I wish," Wesley agreed.

He looked back at Colin.

"Well, this is it. My big chance. Vanquish the big evil. Save the world." He paused, the tilted his head down, giving in. "I have no idea what I'm doing here. I'm as useless as tits on a bull, quite frankly.

Colin laughed softly. Wesley had picked up that phrase from him. Gently, with the tip of his finger under Wesley's chin, he raised Wesley's face up to his again. Damn, he looked so young, all wet and unsure. Colin couldn't help himself and kissed him, just once, very briefly.

"Now I know what you would have tasted like behind the bike sheds," he laughed softly, and Wesley managed a small smile, too.

"What do I do?" he pleaded.

"You'll know."

"You sound so sure."

"I am sure." Colin encouraged. "Just remember there are two ways to fight evil. One ids to accept it and become one with it. The other is to fight against it, and endure."

Colin pulled Wesley's talisman from his pocket, took Wesley's arm and bound it with leather cords to his left palm.

"It burns," Wesley complained mildly.

"It will. It's like an evil meter. The colder it gets, the deeper the shit you're in."

"Oh." Then, "You know what it's for?"

Colin looked up briefly from his delicate knot tying.

"Yes."

"Seen it in use?"

"Kind of."

Wesley studied the talisman strapped to his hand.

"You knew what this was? What it meant?"

"Yes. But I never knew it was meant for you until I picked it up. I swear, Wes, I never knew until I held it and felt you, your soul. Then I knew it was for you."

Colin held out his hand. There on his palm in almost the exact same spot where Wesley had his own talisman bound to his palm, was a faded scar. The near same marks. Colin's own talisman.

"I never saw that before."

"That's your problem, Wes. You always make love with your eyes closed. You should try it with your eyes open, just once."

He came close and they kissed. Wesley kept his eyes open, looked into Colin's eyes, and he saw.

"When? How?" he asked.

"I'd just started uni. I wasn't ready. I didn't have a clue. I was completely unprepared."

"That's why you were in Tibet."

"The doctors called it burnout. A breakdown. Truth is, I was burnt through. When I told you not to mess with the big stuff alone, Wes, I meant it. You channel that much power through you - it'll burn. You need someone with you, to ground you."

"You?"

"See anyone else? I fucked up, Wes. Please, give me a chance to do it right this time."

Wesley held Colin's hand tight. Their eyes met in agreement.

Colin produced his knife. A blood bond. He gestured at Wesley.

"No. Best we do you first. My blood, it's tainted."

"Hell of a time to tell me, Wes. What, Hep C?"

"No. Angel."

"Kinky stuff?"

"Not really. We were impaled by an arrow, amongst other things. Hold still."

Wesley pulled open another button on Colin's shirt, smoothing finger tips over his exposed skin.

Colin hissed as the rune was cut into his flesh.

"Your turn," Colin announced when Wesley had finished the final stroke.

Wesley tore his shirt over his head and threw it away.

Colin traced the pattern gently with his finger, then cut.

Wesley groaned, growing hard as the rune was carved into his flesh. He felt Colin's blood mix with his. He felt...flashes. Senses of Colin. Just a sudden intense flash of his essence, his warmth.

Wesley pressed his palm against Colin's sign and he felt it. They felt it. A surge of power between them. It was like an orgasm, only more intense. They were breathing together, moving together. They kissed, long and hard.

"God," Wes moaned.

"Yeah, earth magic, what a rush," Colin agreed softly in his ear.

They kissed again, hungrily.

"Whatever happens," Colin whispered. "I'm with you."

Wesley turned. The rain sheared between them. Colin was just a shadow, but Wesley knew he was there. He didn't need to see any more to know Colin was there.

The rune on his chest hummed. The talisman pressed to his arm was ice cold. It burned. He knew he would carry a scar, like Colin. He gritted his teeth. It was burning badly.

He squinted through the sheeting gusts of rain. He felt the shape before he saw it. A rolling pall of darkness pounding towards him. The monkey part of his brain was screaming to run, but he made himself stand his ground. He had to do this now, if not for himself, then for Colin, Cordelia and just about anyone else he had ever loved.

He heard a gigantic, unearthly roar, like nothing he'd ever heard before, a pounding rumble, like a stampeding heard of cattle. He switched back and forth, trying to see in the rain, and then it hit him. Hail...a storm of hail the size of cricket balls and just as hard slamming down from the sky. Millions of them, punching through glass, tile and metal. And flesh. He heard Colin yelp sharply and go down, the long wet sound of a human adult male falling to the ground.

"Colin?" No answer. "Colin!" He crawled back and found him, blood streaming from his head. He rolled Colin on his side so he wouldn't choke or drown. He'd deal with the rest later. For now he was all alone. All alone in the world, one piteous human trying to turn back the tide on enormous evil. He knelt on the ground, letting the rain pound over him, wanting to weep with defeat.

No. That was It, in his mind, twisting his thoughts. He wasn't alone. Colin had said he'd be there. Conscious or not, he was there.

"You bastard. That's my friend. My lover!" He rose to his feet, mad as hell. Use my strength, Colin had told him. Wesley would. One could not stand alone, but five might. He called.

Cordelia moaned and fell to her knees in the circle. Angel felt it too, the pull, something drawing on him, something drawing up through him. In her apartment, Virginia Bryce dropped the glass of wine she held, knowing great magic was being done. She could feel it. Wesley.

Wesley stepped forward, a bright glow dancing along his skin, snapping and sparking around the talisman. He began chanting, and deflected the hail stones that screamed down at him. He looked up and lightning shot up through him into the sky.

"See how you like it," he taunted.

He moved forward, glowing in the darkness, rain hissing off him and rising off his skin like steam. He could feel it, the power surging through him.

"Don't be a leech, Wes," Colin whispered, whether inside or outside his head Wesley couldn't tell and couldn't care.

"Don't need..." Colin whispered.

He was right and Wesley stopped. He didn't need their strength, he just needed to know they were there. He stopped and reached inside himself instead.

Cordelia took a breath, suddenly released. Angel felt it, too. He stood, afraid at the sudden cut off.

"Wesley!"

In the heart of the storm Wesley felt it suddenly. Everything was clear, perfect, pure. His senses were heightened. He could hear the rain, every drop, feel it, smell it. Through the rain, as he turned, he could see it, the dark shape in the shadows.

Wesley could hear himself try to breathe. This was his nightmare. This was the shadows that lived in the corner of his bedroom. The shadows that scurried and skittered in the corners of his room at night. It was the shadow that had haunted his dreams as a child, that snatched at his bedclothes and bounced on his mattress while he huddled in the centre, terrified and shaking. That pinched, scratched and bit at his skin, that sat atop his chest, pinning him there, never letting him move or scream in the darkest, quietest hours of the night.

Even now it had haunted him, though he'd wake clutching at crosses, thinking it was Angel in his room, descended into madness at last.

This was his monster, his own personal demon. No longer hiding, but standing there larger than life, big as hell, still hard to see in the dark and rain between flashes of lightning. This was he, his nightmare, before him.

Wesley knew it was there, the way he'd always known it was there, laughing at him. Mocking him, feeding off his terror. Just like his father.

His father. He'd laugh to see Wesley now, the chosen hero. What a joke.

Anger replaced fear.

"You're not my father. You have to be much scarier to beat him."

The demon rustled and moved quickly about him, unnerving him slightly.

"You've come for me at last?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

The demon skittered about, making a scratching noise like an enormous rat, annoying him.

"So you're the demon of the week, are you? Well, this is my city now and you're not welcome here so you can just piss off back to where you came from."

The darkness rumbled.

"I assure you, appearances can be deceiving."

There was further rumbling.

"Does it ever occur to anyone that maybe I want to be dismissed out of hand, so that no one ever expects it?"

Lightning screamed down around him, making him cringe. The demon was fully outlined against the wall of lightning for a moment, burning itself onto Wesley's retinas. He closed his eyes, still seeing it. He felt his heart leap. God, seeing it in the light did not make it less terrifying. Not at all. Please, make it go away, he begged. Why this demon, of all of them, he whimpered internally, knowing that everything just had to be as difficult as possible for him. This was a test, after all.

He remembered the lama's words. Don't accept evil. The harder path is the right one. Fight it.

"Crisscross, double-cross. Tell the monster to get lost." Wesley recited the old childhood rhyme like a mantra.

Wesley drew the tiny knife from his waistband. It had been years since he had practiced fighting with short blades. He regretted it now, but there was no use crying over spilt milk, or his own spilt blood as would undoubtedly be the case. The battle must be joined, an ancient fight. He was just one soldier of many. Yet he must not fail. At the very least, he must die trying and hope his blood would be enough.

He was still trying to think of where to attack the demon when it swiped at him, claws and scales slicing through his flesh, sending him sprawling onto the concrete, his knife bouncing from his hand as he went down. He snatched after it, betting his whole life on the tiny sliver of stainless steel.

Wesley regripped the dagger in his hand. David and Goliath indeed. Still, there was a chance...he rolled under the sword fall. If he could just get close enough...he ducked under a sweeping swing that he felt pass centimetres above his head.

He pushed forward, trying to stab at the monster, but the blade scratched harmlessly over metallic scales, catching in one and being torn from his hand as the demon growled and threw him off like a puppy.

Wesley popped back up, soaked and bleeding, unarmed as that sword came for him again. Wesley blocked he blow of the sword with his forearm, slapping bone flat against blade. He gritted his teeth to the pain and focused so hard on ignoring it he didn't see the demon's other hand come up, shooting him through with lightning. Wesley went down in screaming agony. When he opened his eyes a second later the demon was right over him with the sword ready raised to take his head.

"No. See how you like it." Wesley pushed his hand up and gave back what he'd been given and then some.

Lightning shot out of Wesley's hands.

"Take that, you bastard. I've had it up to here with you and your kind. You can all just go to hell."

Hail smacked him hard of the cheek, blinding him for a second with the humiliating sting.

"Fucking bastard!" he screamed, sending fire running up the demon's arms as he pushed back up onto his feet. He'd lost the dagger but he knew at last he wasn't fighting unarmed. His flames were no match for the pelting rain and the demon came at him again, sword swinging down but a wind pushed between his skin and the blade, glancing it away.

The demon was strong though, and with a growl it summoned all its strength and knocked Wesley flat on his arse with a heavy blow.

Wesley rolled as the sword came down, pushing his hand deep into the puddle. Spears of ice shot from his fingers. He snatched them up, rolled back over and up as the sword came down again, stabbing up under the throat. The sword smashed against his skull but he ignored it and the hot blood he begin to race down his shoulder. He pushed up again, willing the ice to grow with all his might, pushing up until it burst free, twisting through the shadow demon's skull. The demon's eyes dimmed and it sank to its knees. The fight wasn't over yet. Wesley picked up the demon's fallen sword and with a great swing hacked the demon's head from its shoulders in a flying arc. Wesley watched it land and roll some distance away as the demon's body slumped at his feet. Only then did Wesley let the sword clatter to the ground and take a breath, bent over.

It was done, bar one last ritual he had to perform. He had passed his test, and lived.

Wesley fell to his hands and knees in the water, suddenly very tired and very giddy. It was over. For now. Colin, he remembered suddenly. He slithered across through the water, searching with his hands rather than his eyes through the tropical downpour. He found Colin, all but bumping into him, rolling him onto his back, causing the young Scotsman to cough and splutter. Wesley pulled him into a sitting position and kissed him.

Colin coughed again when Wesley released him.

"What was that?"

"The kiss of life," Wesley grinned.

"I like it." Colin brushed his lips to Wesley's. Wesley was charged. It was like kissing something very, very alive.

Wesley drew back at last, regret in his eyes. The rain had eased and softened, warming even.

"I'm sorry, Col, but the end of the spell requires a, well, it's tradition."

"I know," Colin answered softly, still brushing Wesley's lips with his own.

Wesley leaned on the iron railing and pulled himself and Colin upright.

'You really all right?" Wesley asked.

"I'll live," Colin affirmed.

He grinned at Wesley from under a short fringe of wet hair. "Not bad for a first trial," Colin acknowledged. "You've earned your L plates now."

+

Wesley slopped through the doors, arms around a still bleeding Colin, setting him, soaking, on the foot of the stairs, mindful of Angel's glares and the distinct knowledge that the chairs were a no no.

"Wes! You're alive!" Cordelia was delighted. He came to her, smiling.

Wesley was blazing, like a god. Everything about him, he was so intense, so more the sum of his parts. So beautiful. Wet and bleeding, he still carried the aura of power about him, like the very centre of an old renaissance painting. All eyes turned to him, the hero, the godling. He was irresistible.

"Is that it?" Cordelia asked.

"One last thing," and she read his meaning in his eyes.

"Do you mind?" he asked softly.

"No," she smiled. "For the greater good and everything."

"Good girl," he grinned back. "I need to..." He kissed the top of her head. "Finish the spell..." He kissed her gently between the eyes. "Purely business..." He kissed her softly on the lips, then daubed a mixture of his blood and spittle on her forehead, anointing each of her palms.

"Eww." Cordelia objected.

"Shh. It'll all be over soon." He kissed her again, then pulled a condom from his pocket and tore the foil open with his teeth.

"You're all romance, Wes," she teased as he unbuckled his belt, unzipped and rolled it on. She slid her hand down his hardened sheath and felt him pulse in her hand. She loved the feel of him.

"Cordelia," he chastised. "Let me get inside you first."

They knelt down together in the circle, then lay down. She wrapped her arms around Wesley. His skin was hot, like he had a fever. One hand pulled her panties away. He moved over her, fitting himself against her, and she guided him inside her, giving into the primal force of nature that was a highly charged Wesley.

Colin turned away, but Angel watched them with an intensity that would have scared them, if they'd been aware of anyone but each other in this moment, coiled together in the circle.

Wesley brushed her hair back tenderly. Cordelia rubbed her face against his shoulder. She loved his smell. Familiar Wesley smell. She always felt so safe in his arms. So safe. So comfortable. His tongue thrust inside her mouth, then he rose up and began ploughing her, looking down into her eyes. Holding him, Cordy thought she could feel the stars and the moon and the earth inside him. She was aware of nothing but the feel of him pushing inside her, rubbing her deep, again and again until...oh. She felt him flood his warm seed inside her and knew the condom had burst.

Wesley nuzzled against her neck, tired but happy. She smiled. The earth really had moved for them. They rolled on their sides, close together, murmuring.

"You'd better make sure you get a morning after pill. Breakage aside that was some powerful magic we just worked."

Cordelia nodded, still feeling all tingly down there. She looked up into his gentle eyes and knew she could have this man's child. She could marry this man, and he would make her happy. She wondered if a triple barrelled surname was too much.

"Before you start choosing the stationery," he interrupted her thoughts fondly, "I think we should get dressed."

"All done?" she asked, running a hand through his hair. She didn't want him to leave her. Not just yet. They had a connection, a connection she knew was a once in a lifetime deal. Never again would she feel this nice with anyone, not even Wesley.

"I know," he murmured. He kissed her softly and the spell was broken. She was lying uncomfortably on the floor in the middle of Angel's hotel. She pulled her skirt down and sat up. Wesley carefully tucked himself away in his jeans and brushed them down.

"Any port in a storm for you, Wes," she tossed off, the old Cordelia gaining the uppermost hand. Wesley smiled, perhaps that was best. Especially the way Angel was looking shattered. He guessed Cordy knew it too. Colin managed a more neutral expression, understanding the ancient rites but not entirely pleased, either.

It was done. He released the circle and Colin watched the clouds begin to roll back into something approaching normality.

"Good morning, sunshine," he grinned at Wesley.

Wesley flung himself into Colin's waiting arms.

"You saved me," Wesley beamed. "Love you." He licked at the rain still dripping from Colin's ears.

Colin giggled. "Any one ever tell you lately you're an enormous slut, Wes."

"Oh yes, massive magical slut," Wesley breathed against him, still giddy and sparking. "But only since I got to LA."

Colin held him tight. Best to keep Wesley under some sort of control, and clutched to himself, out of harms way. Wesley leant against him, all wandering hands and tongue. "Love you for ever and ever," Wesley babbled.

"He's drunk," Colin tried to explain over Wesley's shoulder to Angel. "It's a rush, like no ecstasy you've ever taken. He'll wind down, but for now..." He looked into Wesley's eyes fondly. "I'd better get this boy showered and in bed, under medical supervision." He kissed Wesley softly, and Angel turned away annoyed. Whatever.

"Come on," Colin tugged at Wesley. Wesley touched the swollen cut on Colin's brow. It didn't hurt so badly now. Wesley kissed it and it didn't hurt at all. Colin dragged him a few steps closer to the stairs. Wesley turned back to Cordelia, blew her a kiss, then let Colin drag the randy little sorcerer upstairs. He'd come into his full inheritance, and it had hit him with an effect not unlike the first flush of puberty. The two were usually intertwined, but Wesley was just a late bloomer, Colin teased as he pulled him into Wesley's room. Books were scattered everywhere, the sheets still unmade from before.

Wesley just wanted sex, and as he rolled with Colin on the bed, Colin could feel the raw energy within him. It was intoxicating, two powerful mages pumping and grinding inside each other, tracing magic with their fingers, trading benedictions with their tongues, a prayer of lovers, a worship of lips and hands.

"You kiss by the book," Colin murmured tracing his hand down Wesley's flank. "If I profane with my unworthiest hand, this holy shrine..."

Wesley brought his hand up, twining his fingers with Colin's.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much." He kissed each finger slowly in turn, blessing each one, then sucking on the tips, slipping them in that velvet mouth for just a moment, applying a slight pressure.

Colin breathed out slowly. "O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do! They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."

Wesley grinned and slithered down. The next touch of his mouth to Colin's skin rendered Colin beyond words, just sweet noises as Wesley drew along his quivering cock with that wicked, sinning tongue.

+

Late that night, the hotel was silent bar for the sound of two sleeping humans, lying together in the bed like young puppies, both exhausted.

Wesley was bandaged now, and seemed to be in a deeper sleep than Angel ever remembered. He'd done it. So many battles, but this had been one Angel had not thought Wesley would survive. He should have known better. Wesley was far stronger than he looked. He was stronger than Angel.

Even now. Angel could get no closer. Wesley had cast a circle about the bed. Perhaps that was why he slept so soundly, safe in his little bubble, radiating vibes of latent power, even now. The little butterfly was finding its wings.

Angel watched them sleep, the pang of jealousy twisting in his gut like a rusty knife. He wanted Wesley so badly, but he could step no closer. Damn the little wizard.

+

LAST GOODBYE

"...Damage from the storm is estimated to be in the millions of dollars as Los Angeles begins the business of sweeping up..."

"Man," Cordelia remarked over her coffee, flipping through the news channels, all of whom were covering the damage caused by the storm. It's sudden and freak violence was being attributed to El Nino, global warming, climatic changes and even a few doomsayers got a sound bite, but Wesley was oblivious, laughing softly and licking curry from Colin's fingers. He was completely self absorbed, but, Cordelia shrugged, he probably didn't need to see the faces of some of the innocents caught in the crossfire.

Kate's words had struck deep with Wesley, and he was adopting the Angel 'if I don't mention it, it doesn't exist' method of coping. Colin was distracting him too, probably deliberately. Colin always seemed to know exactly what Wesley needed.

Cordelia shut off the news. Floods, fires, land slides, hail the size of baseballs, roofs pulverised and blown off, trees and powerlines blown down. The hotel had taken a bit of a beating but the insurance should cover it, even though 'act of God' wasn't strictly technically true.

Rising late, Angel found them in the kitchen, the two thin Brits leaning against the counter feeding each other left overs.

Cordelia beamed. "Colin makes the best curry. You missed something, Angel."

Angel grabbed the day's paper, feigning disinterest. "I was asleep. And I don't eat curry."

"This one was heaven." Cordelia insisted.

"You learn how to do that in India?" Angel relented.

Colin and Wesley burst into laughter, annoying Angel, on the outside of yet another joke.

"Are you mad, man?" Colin teased. "To think I'd have gone through university at Edinburgh and never had a curry."

"He doesn't understand," Wes explained. "Angel's spent the last eighty years in America."

"Tragic," Colin agreed. He fed another piece of curry soaked naan to Wesley.

Angel sneered slightly at the flagrant display, and the tongue kissing that followed.

"Of course, a curry on a Friday night is nothing compared to a battered mars bar," Colin enthused, accent thick with the memory.

"Barbarian," Wesley rebuked mildly, revolted at the very idea.

"Sassenach," Colin rejoined very fondly.

Angel made a 'I'm going to be sick' look. Cordelia made herself ill thinking of what vampire vomit would look like.

"Do you mind?" he uttered at last, exasperated. "Get a room, okay?" Angel tossed off sarcastically as the two Brits began kissing again.

Wesley turned slightly, still leaning his head on Colin's shoulder, his smile somewhat cruel.

"You know what they say, Angel love, three's a crowd. Why don't you just toddle off and find Darla, then."

Angel was brought up short, the paper forgotten in his hands. It wasn't the words, it was the way they'd been said, the way Wesley was leaning against Colin, looking at him, all long limbed sex and simmering resentment. All attitude. All Spike. Even in the moment after the initial shock, Angel found it hard to see where Wes ended and his memories of Spike began.

Angel shook his head. What the hell was happening to him? What the hell was happening to Wes? Had he shaped Wesley into his old lover?

"Angel?" Wesley was asking him, all frowns and concerns and he was Wesley again. But Angel was still shaken. What had he done?

"When did you get so cruel, Wes?"

Wesley's grey eyes froze.

"About the exact same time you dumped me for Darla."

"I..." Angel started.

"Get fucked, Angel. Fuck Darla. I don't care any more. Why should I, when you obviously don't."

Wesley snapped the silver crucifix from his throat and threw it at Angel's feet. He looked at Colin. "Come on, let's go. I'm bored here." And he walked off, out into the sunlight, Colin tagging along behind him.

Cordelia turned and glared at Angel.

"What?"

She shrugged, annoyed, and walked off.

Angel stood alone in the lobby.

"What?" he asked to empty air.

Angel crouched down and picked up the tiny crucifix from the floor. He closed it in his fist, feeling it burn. Slowly, he stood, and raised his fist, about to throw it away into the far corner. Then he stopped, and slid the silver cross into his pocket, feeling the heat of it press against his thigh. Angel enjoyed the burn. It reminded him of the time Wesley accidentally brushed the cross against Angel for a moment, burning the mark of the cross into his cock. The pain had been exquisite.

Wesley would be back. They always came back. Even Darla had come back.

+

Wesley leant on the railing under the blistering afternoon sun, squinting at the glaring white waves as they rolled into the beach.

Colin felt it should have been raining heavily, but the scorching sun that burnt down on them suited the mood too. An angry, hateful sun.

Wesley wasn't crying but Colin could tell he was full of tears.

There was nothing Colin could do for him. Wesley couldn't be hugged because he didn't want to be touched. And there was nothing to say because he wanted neither platitudes or the truth.

What could Colin say? That this was for he best in the long run? That Angel was better off with his own kind, even if she was technically human now. That this was to be expected. Angel went from obsession to obsession, person to person, discarding all the moment he found something new to obsess over. Angel did not love gently or sweetly, and he'd taken Wesley's breath away, but the candle that burns twice as brightly...and he'd discarded Wesley like an empty chocolate wrapper, with just as much thought and feeling.

Even before Darla, Liam had been a shallow and callous young man. This was all to be expected. But 'I told you' so didn't help Wesley and it was the last thing he needed or wanted to hear.

Wesley didn't want anything right now, except oblivion. He could tell Angel he didn't love him any more, but that didn't make it true.

Wesley bowed his head.

It didn't make it true, no matter how much he might wish it.

He glared out over the waves. He was one of the most powerful sorcerers in North America, and still he could not make a vampire notice his existence, let alone love him.

What use was he? What use was any of it?

"Do you want an icecream, Wes?"

He turned his icy gaze on Colin.

"What?"

"An icecream. We're at the beach. It's sunny, and I heard icecream is what's called for in these situations."

"Situations?"

"Cordelia said icecream was good for bad breakups. It soothes the soul."

Wesley returned to glaring out over the ocean.

"I have no soul. He took it from me."

"Don't be ridiculous," Colin finally snapped. "You're just upset because he's chasing after his ex like a dog. He's hurt you and humiliated you and as much as you want to hate him you still love him. And worse, you can't leave him because you're duty bound and you'd never forgive yourself if he went on another killing spree and you weren't here to at least try and stop it. You've had your heart broken, Wes, but you fell in love with a vampire. How on earth were you going to live happily ever after?"

Wesley continued glaring out to sea. Damn scrolls. Damn bloody stupid scrolls. They'd made him believe in the impossible.

"Are you still expecting some midsummer's night dream where he'll wake up and realise how much he loves you? It's not going to happen. It's over, Wes. Darla's back and even if she goes away he'll pine over her until he finds someone else to obsess over. You know this. Deep down, you know this."

"It doesn't stop it hurting," Wesley spoke at last. It was a screaming pain, one he thought would never end, and might not. He watched his hands tighten on the wooden railing. The sun was burning. It would probably blister his pale English skin. Skin already turning a sweet rose pink. When it came down to it, he wasn't much more sunproof than Angel.

Angel.

For the rest of his life, however long that would be, there would be Angel. Maybe one day it would be just a dull ache, a phantom itch.

He wondered now if this was how Buffy felt. Perhaps they could compare notes. Over icecream.

He leant back from the rails, staring up into the sun.

"Let's go. I really hate it here."

+

PERFECT DRUG

Cordelia stirred her coffee and sucked on the swizzle stick.

"Thanks for coming."

"What are friends for?' Colin smiled. "You all right?" he asked softly.

Cordelia managed half a smile. "I'll be fine. It was the last thing anyone needed right now. Speaking of which, how is our boy?"

Colin shrugged. "You'd know. You see him every day."

Day was right. Wesley was working seven to four days of late. Working hard, doing all the administration, and pointedly avoiding all but the most businesslike contact with Angel.

"I'm hoping for a thaw in the cold war soon," she decided. "But you didn't answer my question."

"Rebound boy? Over Angel as much as Angel is over Darla."

"That bad, huh?"

"He's a little distracted. A little uptight. I don't think Angel can know just how much he's hurt Wes." He grimaced. "I took the night shift so Wes and I could spend the days together. So then the silly bastard gets in a snit and decides to work days. It's like having a time share on the bloody flat.

Colin stirred his frothy coffee.

"I thought I'd stay here until the visa runs out. Nursing at least is a fairly portable occupation. I'll wait and see if Wes can sort his shit out. If not, I'll go to Africa, work for a charity."

"Oooh, the foreign legion for nurses. Do you have to do that?"

"What, and stay here and what Wes commit suicide by degrees? No thank you. I love him far too much for that." He looked up at her. "How do you stand it?"

Cordelia shrugged. "I used to think they're the best thing to have happened to each other, but now..."

"Duty aside, I don't think a self absorbed vampire with the most tenuous grasp on sanity is the best companion for Wes. They're both pretty damaged."

"Who isn't."

Colin meditated upon his coffee. "I might have spent six weeks in an asylum, but I'm not about to tear Wes' throat out because I'm having a wet dream."

"Point." Cordelia conceded. "We'll just have to look out for our boy." She smiled at Colin. She could use his support, she really could. "A task shared and all that," she tried to shrug off her plea for help.

"Every time they bring in a white male Wes' age I think it might be Wes, that he's been clobbered by a demon, come off that bike of his, fallen foul of Angel or done something silly."

"Gee, you really like to look on the bright side, don't you," Cordelia mocked.

"I can't help it. I worry. It's a dangerous line of work he's chosen."

"I think it pretty much chose him, and besides, he was trained by the Watchers. He must have some idea of what he's doing."

Colin snorted. "It's that training that'll get him killed. Their rules still bind him, even now, they keep him from being who he truly is. He's been squashed into a square hole all his life. He needs to cut loose a little bit. Bend, before he snaps."

"I know. I think Wesley wrote the definition of uptight. Angel isn't helping. The more out of control he gets, the more Wesley has to be the designated driver." She swirled the ice in her water. "Wesley knows it can't go on. He'll have to do something about Angel, before somebody else does it for him."

"I suppose hiring a hit squad to take out Darla would be out of the question?"

Cordelia beamed. "Only if there was some way of Angel never tracing it back to us, then sure. Count me in."

Colin's temper rose to the surface again. "If we don't get rid of that bitch she'll take Angel down with her, and Wesley with him, trailing along in his wake, as always."

"We won't lose Wesley, I promise."

"I think he might already be lost. Wesley was addicted to Angel long before they started exchanging bodily fluids. Wesley's been carrying a king size torch for Angel for like ever. Darla or not, Wesley is always going to have a jones for Angel. Angel isn't the sort of guy you get over. Ever."

"Neither is Wes."

She smiled with him.

"Maybe one of your American style interventions for Wes' Angel addiction might not be out of order."

"Addiction?"

Colin nodded. "The whole vampire thing, the bites, it's like a drug. Exactly like a drug. I've seen Wes try to go Angel cold turkey and it wasn't pretty, and, as you may note, he never made it. If love and sex are just chemicals on the brain, then a vampire is so much worse. I've read case studies. A couple of bites and you belong to them. Body and soul. Add to that Wes' desperate need for love and affection and his slightly left of centre sexual tastes and you've got trouble."

His eyes met hers. "If Angel falls, he'll take Wes with him. Whether he means to or not." He dropped his eyes again. "I can't lose Wes to him. I just can't."

"I don't think you've got much choice," Cordelia reminded softly.

Colin shook his head.

"There must be a cure, somewhere. A way to break the dependency, the cycle, whatever. I see the way Wes looks at Angel sometimes. It's more than just unrequited lust. He's like a junkie, dying for a fix, and what's going to stop Angel from taking it all the way, now that his Sire has got his blood up?"

"Angel wouldn't..."

"Take advantage of Wes?"

"God, you're right. He'd totally take advantage of Wesley. We shouldn't have left them alone together."

"They were barely speaking."

She gave him an annoyed look. "Since when has that got anything to do with anything. You don't need to be on speaking terms to be having kinky vampire sex. He could be draining Wesley as we speak -" She jumped as a shadow fell over them.

"Here you are," Wesley swooped on them, all false smiles.

"How did you find us?"

Wesley grinned wickedly and slipped his hand down the front of Colin's shirt, smoothing his palm over the scar of the rune.

"We're connected, you and I," he purred, then sat down on the spare seat.

"Have you ordered yet?"

"I'm not hungry," Cordelia waved it off.

Wesley caught her hand, looking deep into her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she managed to smile.

He nodded. "I took the car. We'll have lunch, then we'll take you home."

"You've got the car? What about Angel?"

"Sod him. A vampire isn't supposed to be gadding about during the day anyway. And since I know he won't be catching the fucking bus I know he'll at least stay put for a couple of hours."

"You okay, Wes?" Colin looked carefully into his eyes, but perhaps it was just having to deal with Angel, even briefly, that had him so punchy. Colin knew it was so hard. So very hard. Hard on both of them. Especially today.

Wesley ordered an iced tea, wishing it was stronger, but knowing he couldn't if he wanted to drive Cordelia home. He could defer that duty to Colin as he had the rest of the day, but he didn't want to.

"What are you up to, Wes?" Cordelia had to know, guessing he was hyper for a reason.

She looked really tired, in spite of her smiles. Wesley felt another pang and grew serious. He drew a knife from his sleeve and made them sniff the blade.

"What is it?" Cordelia asked.

"Remember when Faith poisoned Angel and I was asked to find the cure, only the Council forbade it? Then Buffy quit and I was sacked. Well, this is it."

"The cure?" Cordelia asked hopefully.

"The poison."

"Wesley!" Cordelia reeled back. "Is it safe?"

"To humans, yes, well, me at least. I have a tolerance. It's just a precaution, worst case scenario. He's slipping you know, and there's nothing I, we, can do about it. I know I can't take him on in hand to hand, he'd drop me before I could stake him or shoot him. He's beaten two slayers. I don't have a hope. But if I can get a scratch in before he kills me, I'll know he'll follow me. As deaths go, it's not without its ironies."

Cordelia turned her face away. Wesley's ultimate solution meant sacrificing himself. The noble death he craved, especially now. She was so worried about him. She shared a look with Colin.

Colin just shrugged. What could he do? He couldn't take Wesley away. Wesley was still a Watcher at heart, and though he was losing control of the Angel situation entirely, he was willing to stand and fight and who was Colin to deny him the fight he'd trained all his life for.

If only Wesley still wasn't madly in love with Angel.

Angel could be as cruel, dismissive and as violent to Wes as he liked, and Wes would take it all quietly.

Well, okay, there was the knife. That was a start.

Wesley fished a piece of ice out of his glass and chewed it upon it, somewhat noisily.

Colin gave him a considered look.

"Annoying you?" Wesley asked, neither concerned nor offering to stop.

"Not really. I just read an article linking the impulse to chew ice with iron deficiency, that's all."

He placed particular emphasis on the words iron deficiency.

In answer Wesley pulled down the collar of his shirt, revealing the two red fang marks still on his shoulder.

Colin glanced at them with a professional eye.

"They're still very red."

Wesley shrugged. He knew he usually healed faster than this.

"I've been very stressed."

That was an understatement.

Wesley suddenly hunched over, resting his head on his hands.

Colin touched his shoulder lightly.

"What's really wrong?"

Wesley looked at him, eyes red rimmed.

"Aside from losing everything important to me? I'm tired of fighting. I'm tired of living in exile. I hate it here. I just want to go home." He rested his head on Colin's shoulder. "I want to go home."

"You can't," Colin reminded gently.

Wesley smothered a sob, and Cordelia realised just how bloody awful a day this had been for him. He was taking this much harder than she was. Wesley sat up again, fighting for composure. He refused to cry, especially in public, but he looked wretched.

Colin took out a twenty and laid it on the table. "That's it. I'm taking the both of you home."

"Home?" Wesley asked.

"Yes, home," Colin insisted quietly. "Home is where the heart is, Wes, broken or not."

"I feel so isolated. This is what I wanted in Sunnydale, people listening to me, looking to me for advice, but I have none to give. I don't have the answers. I'm cut off from the Watchers and just about any one else who wants to stay on their good side. Wolfram and Hart and Kate have cut off my access to legal solutions. Angel's crusade has pretty much removed all chance of reliable help from the netherworld. So here I am, alone and in charge and about to go down with the ship."

"You're not alone," Cordelia reminded.

"Thank you, Kate Winslet, but anything Angel does is my fault. It's my duty to try and keep him on the straight and narrow. I've failed."

"It's not your fault."

He looked at her. "It is."

"He's not Angel The Friendly Vampire any more."

"I know," Wesley sulked. "But he was so sweet to me. I loved him," he admitted. "I miss the person he used to be."

"If you're such a kick ass sorcerer now, Can't you just, you know, blink or something and make Angel sane?"

"You mean whip up a little something to keep Uncle Arthur in line? Or perhaps try the old Jedi mind trick: this is not the whore you are after? I wish I could. I might be able to manage dealing with a cigarette craving, but Angel's mindless devotion to Darla is as much preternatural as psychological. I think," he added, sinking into despondency again. "He won't talk to me, so I can't make a diagnosis. From the records I know they split up after he got his soul back and she would have no more to do with him. I know that he killed his Sire because she was threatening Buffy. Curiously, he made minimal effort to protect Buffy from his grandsire, the Master, or his children, Spike and Drusilla. I know that Darla attacked Buffy's mother and that Angel was willing to let Buffy kill him for Darla's crimes. I don't know what tipped the balance that night. Angel won't talk about it."

"What about Buffy?"

Wesley shook his head. "Her involvement might push Angel over the edge, even further, and it would make her a target for Darla. Let's save Buffy for our final solution, if we lose Angel utterly. We still have a chance to bring him back if..." he frowned. "They don't teach vampire psychology, at least, not really. I can profile Angel, predict a fairly worst case scenario based on his previous known activities, and you know, he does rather fit the profile of a serial killer, but as for a cure for what ails him? I don't know...bromide in his tea? Most violent erotomaniacs, stalkers, are institutionalised. I could try and bind him to his room, chain him to the wall, but that's not a cure, is it? Buffy brought him back before, but she didn't have Darla playing tug of war with his soul. Wolfram and Hart probably wouldn't go along with any attempt to file an AVO, and do we really want to give Kate a licence to kill?"

Cordelia shook her head.

"Nobody has ever really studied the ties that bind vampires. The social, the emotional, the supernatural bonds. We've got an oedipal complex, co-dependency and erotomania at play here for starters. They share blood and a history. If I could get Angel alone, I could try some sort of intervention, some cult busting behaviour modification under controlled circumstances. The problem is, if Angel resists, it could go very badly."

"Then don't," Cordelia insisted. "I don't want to lose you, too, Wes."

"One life for the greater good," he shrugged his bony shoulders. "It might just come to that. If I only knew more about Darla. I don't have access to the records any more and I never bothered to read up on her before I was...because as far as I knew she was dead and dusted."

"You couldn't have known."

"Oh, I knew. There is a way to bring vampires back. Quite a few, actually. One involves a rite that can only be performed once a century, when the moon is in the eighth house of Aquarius...who knew they'd use that to bring back Darla? Wolfram and Hart did their homework much better than I. They knew she was the key to Angel. I thought because he killed her...I underestimated her importance entirely. The Watchers were right to destroy me."

"You want to recreate the conditions that caused Angel to kill Darla. I know, we could get Darla to attack Buffy, then Angel could kill Darla to save Buffy." Cordelia suggested brightly.

"What?" she answered Colin's look.

"Well, it might work," she sulked.

"It's not a bad idea," Wesley mused.

"But revenge is meant to be bad, too many things could go wrong," Cordelia repented.

"You're right of course," Wesley agreed, not entirely ready to repent just yet. The idea of setting those three up, it gave him a small happy feeling, but Cordelia was right, it was wrong. Angel's salvation could not be achieved by impure actions. At least, he didn't think it did.

"I suppose it would be wrong to put Buffy in peril."

"Let's not rule out the Buffy as tethered goat plan entirely," Wesley surprised her.

"You really don't like Buffy, do you."

"The girl who destroyed my life? No, not especially. It's not the sort of thing you forgive or forget. Karma aside, we may have to use Buffy, the way Wolfram and Hart are using Darla. Darla appeals to Angel's darker side, Buffy, hopefully, will appeal to his better side. I'd just hoped to spare her the trauma of seeing him slip again, that's all."

"And you wanted to fix this yourself."

"That too. I don't want to go crying to the Slayer, but if we end up with a rogue vampire on our hands, who else are we going to call?"

"So you want to force Angel to kill Darla again. With or without Buffy."

"My motives aren't pure, I will admit, but it would solve most of our problems. It'd be rough on Angel, and he might never forgive me, but our friendship is pretty much beyond saving anyway. Might as well sacrifice it along with everything else."

"You don't think Angel would kill Darla for you?"

Wesley gave her a look.

"I'm not perfect happiness for Angel. Never will be," he admitted.

"How do you - oh. I'm sorry, Wes." She stirred her iced water. "It really is always some little blonde with him, isn't it."

"Yes," Wesley sighed, hunching over. "He really doesn't care about me, us." He looked up. "At least, not in the way I thought he did. He doesn't see us as friends, confidantes, companions or allies. We're nothing to him. We might as well be dead."

"Don't say that."

Prove me wrong, Wesley's eyes challenged her.

+

SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME

Solemnly, Wesley lit the candle and placed it with great care, watching the flame flicker for a moment, then grow strong.

Wesley flexed his hand. It was still bandaged and sore from having the marks of his scar picked out by a tattoo artist, ensuring a more permanent talisman burnt into his skin, and the Celtic scrolls that spilled down and wrapped around his forearm and the scar, protecting it. He'd been drunk when he'd got it done, quite drunk, but he was glad he'd done it. He could feel it, burning into his skin, and he liked the feeling.

He turned and walked back slowly to where Colin waited, sliding beside him on the hard wooden pew. He squeezed his hand, thanking him. This was what he needed. In the oldest and most ambient church in Los Angeles Colin could find, a place of sanctuary.

Wesley slumped forward in despair, resting his forehead on the hard wood of the pew in front, bitter tears dropping from his eyes in spite of himself.

Colin squeezed his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Wes," he offered quietly.

Wesley leant back, his wet eyes like jewels in the candlelight. Colin could do nothing but look at him. He was so beautiful, even in misery.

Quietly, Colin reached into his pocket, bringing out something that flashed for a second in the light. It caught Wesley's eye and he looked at Colin at last, then down at what Colin held in the palm of his hand. A silver ring. A plain band, unadorned.

"It was my grandfather's," Colin explained. "It saw him through the Battle of Britain. I thought you might take comfort from it."

Wesley's eyes were liquid again.

"Colin, I couldn't."

"Hush. It doesn't mean anything, just friendship. That I care."

"It's beautiful," Wesley breathed. "You're beautiful." He smiled sadly into Colin's eyes.

Tenderly, Colin took Wesley's right hand in his own and slipped it on. It fitted perfectly, as if made for him.

Colin bent to kiss the ring, eliciting a sharp intake of breath several pews behind them.

"While you're down there," Wesley grinned, giving a little hip thrust.

"You're dreadful," Colin giggled, popping back up to brush Wesley's lips and cheek with the lightest of kisses.

Wesley leant contentedly against Colin, as though in a cinema, not a church, content in his arms. Wesley didn't care. He closed his eyes, happy to listen to the sound of Colin's heartbeat.

In a dark, far corner of the Church a thin girl with a pinched face and her dark hair hanging about her in soft ringlets rose from her seat, her skirts barely rustling. She walked down the long aisle, her head bowed, her back to the cross, smiling as she walked past Wesley and Colin. Just as she drew beside them her eyes widened. Daddy? She thought she felt him. She knew he'd come here. It was a perfect sad Daddy place.

She turned slightly. No, she realised, her eyes resting on the dark haired young Englishman. Not Daddy. Daddy's pet. She could smell Daddy all over him. Pretty pet. Perhaps Daddy would let her play with him. She walked on a few more steps, suddenly frowning. No. This one burned. He had power. He could hurt them all of them, burning bright. She walked on quickly, very cross. Daddy's bad, bad pet.

Wesley sat up, frowning suddenly as she passed.

"What is it?" Colin asked, knowing that look.

Wesley shook it off. Not on holy ground.

"Nothing," he answered. "It just felt like somebody walked over my grave."

+

November 2000 - February 2001.

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