Tomorrow

Angel, a slashfic in five parts

Rating: NC-17 for graphic male-male sex

Pairings: primarily Angel/Wesley and Angel/Spike

Disclaimer: "Angel" and "Buffy," with their related characters and themes, belong to Joss Whedon and others, not to me. I make no money from this venture.

Dedication: This slashfic is for Ewan McGregor and Alexis Denisof. What pretty...names.

Wherein demons explode; Spike makes unscheduled appearances; and The Amazing Angst Man and His Trusty Sidekick, Watcher Boy, battle the forces of darkness.

Notice: This is part three. Did you read parts one and two?

"Angel" Part Three: Tomorrow

Wesley came back every day. Angel kept waiting for Wesley to leave and never return, or to say something final, like, "Angel, I'll never love you," or, "Angel, I'm sorry, but I'm going back to England," or, "If you ever try to touch me again I'll throw you through the window into the bright sunny street," or, "Take me to bed and ravish me." Granted, that last one was unlikely, but even vampires could dream.

He kept his hands to himself. Not his eyes, his eyes were all over Wesley, but his hands didn't stray, so he gave himself great credit for self-restraint. Then, two weeks after their final discussion on the relationship they weren't having, two weeks of work and visions and demon slaying, Wesley and Cordelia were in Angel's apartment eating Chinese take-out. They were just finishing, and Cordelia was trying to decide whether to take the fried rice home with her or just toss it, when Wesley came out of the bathroom and collapsed.

"Wesley!" Angel rushed over and rolled Wesley to lie back on the floor.

"Food poisoning? No, I don't think that immortals get sick," Cordelia said. "Another vision thing? You know, he really has to stop doing this. It's like every other day he just keels right over."

They waited five minutes before Angel carried Wesley to the bed. They waited another half an hour. Cordelia, reluctantly, went home with the fried rice. Angel removed Wesley's shoes and socks, tie, and jacket, loosened Wesley's collar, and pulled up the covers; then he held a vigil. Waiting. Watching. Standing in the corner of the room, in the shadows, as Wesley slept.

At four am, Wesley's eyes opened. Wesley coughed, vomited, and passed out again.

Now Angel worried. He also had a sharp debate with himself over changing Wesley's clothes. But just moments later, Wesley's eyes opened again. Wesley sat up, coughing. "Angel?"

"I'm here."

"Of course, lurking in the shadows. What time is it?"

"Four in the morning."

"I've been out for hours, then."

"Were you sick?"

"Apparently. Oh, this is disgusting, isn't it? I'm so exhaused I can't see straight."

"What happened?"

"The Powers That Be were holding council yet again."

"Why don't you get cleaned up? You can stay here if you want."

"A burden yet again. I don't know why I come down here; I always end up unconscious on one piece of furniture or another. Yes, I would like a shower, that would be lovely." Wesley got up shakily and half-stumbled to the bathroom. While Wesley showered, Angel looked for clothes. He had the pants to the black sweatsuit, which had been cleaned after the shooting. He put the sweatpants in the bathroom and went to find another shirt somewhere. He heard the water shut off in the bathroom. A moment later, a damp half-naked Wesley walked into his bedroom, low-slung baggy black sweats held up by one casual hand. Wesley looked stunned and exhausted.

"Why don't you just take the bed?" Angel suggested, concentrating very hard on not staring, not lusting, not drooling, not touching. "You're too tired to argue," he added.

"I'll argue later," Wesley said.

Angel left the room, moving to the kitchen, counting to six hundred before turning back and looking in at Wesley.

Wesley was lying on his stomach, stretched all over the bed, completely asleep, long lean back naked, bare feet pale in the darkness. Angel pulled the sheets over Wesley's body and left the room, closing the door against temptation. It was a weak barrier, but he needed everything possible to shore up his self-control.

Angel dozed on the sofa, barefoot, shirt open, restless and guilty. Not that he'd done anything specific in the past few hours to feel guilty over, but he usually felt guilty as a rule. And he was lusting after his best friend, so he had guilt for that sin.

Yes, Wesley was his best friend. They were together all of the time, working, talking, theorizing, arguing. They were united in their fight, battling the forces of darkness, rescuing the innocent - - it was all very romantic and sounded like a movie of some sort. But to Angel, it was real. All he had anymore were his fight, Cordelia, and Wesley. His fight only made him lonelier, and he was used to being alone. Cordelia, she was his close friend, but he wasn't in love with her. He was in love with Wesley, and Wesley was his best friend, and Wesley was good and pure and smart, in that naive English way. Not clueless anymore, and hard-edged in new ways. Ways that Angel hoped would never shatter the innocence, the goodness. He hoped that he wouldn't shatter them, either. There was something very pure about Wesley.

He worried that Wesley wasn't waking, so he opened the bedroom door and peeked inside the room.

Angel's heart couldn't throb, and his breath couldn't catch. If they could have, they would have, right then and there, at the sight of Wesley, lying in his bed, covers kicked off the end of the mattress, Wesley barefoot and naked to the waist, black sweatpants slipped down; Wesley was exposed: broad shoulders, pink nipples, tight musculature, curving ribcage, shallow indent of navel, and the tantalizing, taunting promise of short black curly hairs.

Wesley rolled to his left, onto his stomach, and onto his back again. His eyes opened. "Angel."

"Wesley. You feel better?"

"I need more sleep."

"Is that all? Nothing else is wrong? You don't feel sick, or dizzy?"

"I'm fine, I'm just tired," and Wesley yawned and was asleep in seconds. Amazing. Angel stayed to watch.

Angel, of course, certainly didn't mind having Wesley in his bed. He was, however, concerned about Wesley's uncharacteristic attitude and need to sleep. When noon came around and Wesley hadn't budged, Angel agreed with Cordelia's opinion that they had to wake Wesley. Since Angel's refrigerator was empty, Cordelia went to get some food and clothes while Angel decided to get Wesley out of bed.

Angel went into the bedroom and said, "Wesley, it's time to get up. Come on."

Wesley didn't stir.

"Wesley. Wesley! Come on, get up." He poked Wesley's shoulder, only to have Wesley roll away from him. "Wesley, I mean it." He held Wesley's shoulders and lifted.

Wesley sagged in his hands. "Nnnn," Wesley protested.

"Wesley Wyndam-Price!"

Wesley's eyes opened reluctantly. "Angel?"

"Come on, Wesley, time to get up."

"No, Angel, I'm so tired, please...just let me sleep..."

"Wesley, now."

"Ten more minutes," Wesley said, eyes closing.

Angel lightly, gently, slapped Wesley's cheeks. "Wesley, open your eyes. Look at me."

"I'm so tired, Angel," Wesley said.

"I know. But you've slept enough. You have to get up now. Open your eyes, Wesley."

Wesley's eyes opened. "Ten more minutes."

Angel tried to pull Wesley from the bed, but when his feet hit the floor Wesley swayed and leaned against Angel, all naked heat and silky skin and slender body. Angel's mind swam for a moment. "Wesley, Cordelia's bringing you some food and clothes."

"I want to go back to bed," Wesley sighed sadly, softly, resting his temple on Angel's shoulder. Angel held him, arms around him keeping him close, holding him upright; Angel's fingers stroked Wesley's soft dark hair. Wesley sighed, eyes closed again.

"Stay awake, stay with me," Angel said. Stay with him, stay, stay, right there, so beautiful, so human, so vulnerable, so strong, so almost naked in his embrace. Stay. "Wesley, come on, stay awake."

"Nnnn."

"Wesley!" He killed himself by pulling away, putting Wesley's swaying form at arms' length. "Wesley, stay awake."

"I am," Wesley moaned, sounding very unhappy about it, eyes opening again.

"Walk with me."

"No."

"Wesley, come on, walk with me." He kept one hand around Wesley's waist, hand holding up Wesley's pants as they went. Wesley wasn't wearing underwear, and he didn't know why, and quite frankly he didn't care. Wesley stumbled along at his side, leaning against him heavily, a wonderfully warm and satiny burden. His hands had to fight the urge to slide all over Wesley's half-naked body; he wanted to ease his hand into those pants, not hold them up modestly.

Cordelia came back, finally, but Wesley was no better. Angel made a concerted effort not to grope, hitching up Wesley's pants firmly, continuing their slow pace through the apartment.

"Is he drugged?" Cordelia asked.

"I don't see how," Angel said. "What is that?"

"A cheeseburger and French fries."

"He won't eat that."

"Watch him," she challenged. "Come here, Wesley, I have French fries for you."

"He's not a pet," Angel said.

"He's not exactly acting like himself," she said. "Maybe he should change first."

Wesley drifted off toward the scent of food. Angel followed, keeping a careful hand on Wesley's waistband. Wesley sat and reached for the bag. He moved as though he were in a fog. Angel let go of him and said, "We have to figure out something. This isn't natural."

"Don't tell me that The Powers That Be are messing with him again," Cordelia said. "I swear, it's every day with those guys."

"Why would they do this?"

"Maybe the sleep... Dreams? Is he having dreams?"

"He was dreaming about something," Angel said. "He was having R.E.M."

"Michael Stipe?"

"Random eye movements, they occur during the deep dream phase of sleep. Wesley. Wesley."

"Angel," Wesley said, eating fries quickly, not looking up at them. Cordelia gave him a soda.

"What were you dreaming?"

"Mmm."

"Wesley, what were you dreaming?"

"I don't remember."

"A complete sentence, what progress," Cordelia said. "Maybe we should just put him back to bed."

"I don't know if it's safe."

"To sleep?"

"We don't know why he's like this."

"Come with me," Wesley said.

"Come with you where?" Angel asked quickly, leaning forward, attentive.

"Come with me," Wesley said, rising.

"Where's he going?" Cordelia asked. Wesley took Angel's hand across the table. Their eyes met for a split second before Wesley walked off toward the bedroom. "Hello," Cordelia said. Wesley led Angel into the bedroom. "Subtle," Cordelia said.

"Wesley," Angel said.

"Come with me," Wesley said, standing beside the bed. "Into sleep. Into dreams."

"Dream with you?" Angel asked.

"Dream with me," Wesley agreed, laying down, tugging on Angel's hand. Wesley's eyelids fluttered as though Wesley were trying his hardest to stay lucid but just couldn't do it.

"Take off your shoes," Cordelia said. "Those are nice sheets."

Angel took off his boots with one hand, other hand's fingers laced with Wesley's fingers. He laid down beside Wesley, on his back. He closed his eyes-

-and opened them to find himself in a large white room. He turned around and around; no windows, no doors, no furniture, no occupants, just himself and the whiteness. "Wesley? Wesley!"

"Angel," Wesley's voice said, and he whirled around to find Wesley standing right there.

"Where are we?"

"Wherever you want us to be."

They were in the mansion, his mansion in Sunnydale, standing in the cool stone room where he'd come back from Hell, where he'd spent time with Buffy, where he'd had the blood of the Slayer there on the cold stone floor. "Why are you here?"

"You wanted me to be."

"I get whatever I want?"

"Yes." Wesley's clothes flickered, from the black sweatpants, to Wesley's typical attire, to the leather of when he'd first seen Wesley again in L.A., to the tightly buttoned suits of Wesley's first appearances in Sunnydale. He wanted all four Wesleys. He couldn't decide.

"Do you get whatever you want?" Angel asked.

"I'm already getting it."

"What?"

"You asked for me. I'd also like you to pick an outfit and stick with it, if you don't mind."

"Sorry." He settled on Wesley's standard style of clothing, well-dressed but not all starched and over-buttoned.

"Thank you."

"Now what?"

"Now we do whatever you want."

"Tell me that you love me."

"I love you."

"Tell me that you want me."

"I want you."

Doyle was there. "Angel."

"Doyle." In amazement and wonder, he reached out and put his fingers to Doyle's jaw. "You're here." Solid, warm, real.

"In the flesh. So to speak. How are you and Wesley getting along?"

"That's what I wanted to tell you. I'm in love with him. I'm.... I thought that you would be the last one. After I loved you, after I lost you, I didn't think that there could be anyone else for me. I didn't know how I could ever love anyone."

"I'm glad that you love him. I want you to love him. You can't hide, Angel. You can't box yourself up and pretend that you don't care and that you don't hurt. You're a good person, a good vampire, and you need to let yourself - - hell," and Doyle kissed him, and it was just as he remembered only so much better, hot and delicious and beautiful, and then he had tears in his eyes, and then Doyle broke the kiss and said, "Kiss him like that, Angel, and he'll be yours forever. Forever." Doyle kissed him again and turned to Wesley. "You be good to him, or I'll come and haunt you," Doyle threatened, and for a lingering moment Doyle's lips touched Wesley's, and Doyle disappeared.

"Pretty sight, that," and Spike was standing there. "Oh stop blubbering, Angel, he's just gone to heaven," Spike said, hastily brushing away Angel's tears with quick fingers. "Not that I'll ever master that experience, myself."

"What are you doing here?" Angel asked.

"You wanted me to be here. Naturally I dropped everything and came running," Spike added sarcastically. "Nothing better to do with my time than be at Big Daddy's beck and call." Spike took a turn around Wesley. "Haven't gotten him out of these clothes yet, have you?"

"Spike-"

"Hands to myself," Spike promised. "Now teeth, well-"

"Why are you here?"

"You wanted me here," Spike repeated.

"I can't imagine why," Angel said.

"Why was Doyle here?"

"I wanted to tell him about Wesley, myself, face-to-face. To get his blessing."

"So tell me."

"I love him."

"The real thing? Like Doyle? Like Buffy? Like us?"

"Not...not...you're all so different, I don't love any of you the same. Yes, the real thing. I'm in love with him."

"Still love me?"

"Always."

"Even when I'm evil?"

"Even when you're evil. Even when you're good. Even when you don't know which to be. Especially then."

"Wanna shag me?"

"Always," Angel admitted, heartfelt. Spike grinned and kissed him, hard, deep, and they kissed as though they were fucking, until finally Spike pulled back and said, "Enough of that now. Not in front of your new boyfriend." Spike turned and trailed knuckles along Wesley's cheekbone. "He's pretty, Angel. I want you to keep this one." Then Spike was gone.

"What's going on?"

"Buffy," Angel said, and he sounded like someone who'd been caught at something, felt like someone who'd been caught at something.

"What's Wesley doing here?" she asked, coming forward.

"Should have gone with the sweatpants," Wesley muttered, which just shocked Angel.

"I'm in love with him," Angel said.

"Him? Him?" Buffy asked. "Wesley? You're in love with Wesley. You're in love with Wesley."

"Yes."

"I thought that you loved me."

"I did. I do."

"Then what's this?"

"I love Wesley. I love both of you."

"You can't love him. He's...prissy and annoying and no one listens to him."

"I listen," Angel said. "He's not any of that. He's smart, he's educated, he thinks. And he's strong. He fights."

"He's standing right here," Wesley added.

"I knew that he was in L.A., I heard that he was helping you, I didn't know... Angel, tell me what's going on."

"I love him," Angel said. "I love Wesley. I want to be with him."

"You can't be with anyone."

"I can," Angel said. "You and I were together. Doyle and I were together. And now, now I can...love. My soul's mine now, to keep. The Powers That Be granted it to me."

"You can make love?" Buffy asked. "Angel-"

"To Wesley," Angel said.

"What?"

"I want to be with Wesley. Buffy, you know that you and I can't be together anymore. It's not right for you."

"It's not right for me?" Buffy asked. "Who are you to decide what's not right for me? Angel, I love you."

"I love you," he said. "But we're not together anymore, and we won't be."

"Because you want to fuck my former Watcher."

"I want to make love with Wesley."

She kissed him, quick and desperate, tears running down her cheeks. He kissed her back, just for a second, before gently pushing her away again.

"Buffy-" he tried. She whirled around to face Wesley. "Don't take it out on Wesley," Angel said.

"He would have let you die."

"That was a year ago. A lot's changed."

"Is it sex? Is that it?"

"No. That would be easier. Denying myself sex is easy. Denying myself someone I love...that's always been difficult." If he only wanted an orgasm, he could do that - - didn't these people understand?! But they did get it, they knew, they just-

"You loved me," Buffy said. "You loved me first. We have...we've been through a lot. Angel, there's been so much - - how can you compare us?"

"I'm not comparing," Angel said. "I love both of you. You and I can't be together because it's not right for you."

"But you can be with him?"

"I hope so. If he lets me."

Buffy faced Wesley, looked up into his eyes, and said intensely, "Touch him and I'll-"

She disappeared.

"Oops," Angel said.

Wesley laughed.

"I'm sorry."

"Always one to make things dramatic, isn't she," Wesley said.

"She and I have had a complicated relationship."

"So have you and Spike."

"Spike and I..."

"I like him."

"He likes you."

"Maybe I'll invite him back to L.A."

An image flashed through Angel's mind, of Spike and Wesley in bed together, naked and entwined, smooth pale perfection, Spike's tongue slicking into Wesley's mouth.

"Oh," Wesley said, and flashed into the black sweatpants. "I think I know what's coming next."

Angel came behind Wesley, knelt, pressed his lips to the base of Wesley's spine. His hands closed over Wesley's hips, turned Wesley to face him. He pressed his nose to Wesley's abdomen, eyes drifting shut, luxuriating in the moment - - his beautiful virgin lover, warm skin, pounding blood, anticipation. He parted his lips as his tongue darted out to taste skin, salt.

His grip was dislodged as Wesley crouched before him. Wesley's fingers sifted back through his hair, and Wesley's head tilted, and Wesley's hands urged him forward, to Wesley's neck. He braced his hands on Wesley's sides as his lips met the satin smooth of Wesley's neck, skin, salt again. He closed his eyes, focusing. He pushed and Wesley pulled, and Wesley was lying on the floor, and he was over Wesley, on Wesley, and he kissed and licked Wesley's neck, and he sucked at the skin, and Wesley's body arched under his-

-and he opened his eyes. He was back in his bed, in L.A., lying beside Wesley, fingers laced, dead semen in his pants.

He left the bed in a hurry, reeling. What had happened? Doyle. Spike. Buffy. And then, then...

He'd tried to reenact his moment with Buffy, reenact it with Wesley this time, and as a lover's gift rather than a Slayer's gift.

He'd had a confrontation with each of his lovers, trying to seek their acceptance. Why? Because this time he was choosing someone he wanted to stay with forever, someone he actually might be able to stay with forever. He wanted them to be happy for him. And they were. Two out of three, anyway.

Of course they couldn't possibly have been there. It was only in his mind.

He'd come in his pants.

What did it all mean? What was the point? What was the significance of recreating his taking of Buffy's blood, with Wesley? What did it mean that he hadn't actually done it?

After cleaning and changing, he found Cordelia in the kitchen, reading a magazine. "Hi."

"Hi," he said.

"You okay? You're looking more broody than usual."

"Wesley's still sleeping. I want to go up to the office - - can you stay here with him?"

"Sure," Cordelia said. "I'll get you if he starts doing anything."

"Thanks." He went upstairs and called Giles.

"Hello."

"Giles, it's Angel. I'm sorry to bother you - - do you know where Spike is?"

"He's right here. I'll put him on."

"'Lo," came Spike's casual, bored voice.

"Spike, it's Angel."

"Are you in trouble again?"

"Is Buffy there?"

"You called me to ask that? Change your tune or I'm hanging up."

"No, I need to talk to you, I just want to know if she's listening."

"She's out with Riley."

"Have you had anything unusual happen in the last half hour?"

"Unusual how? This is Sunnydale, Angel."

"Unusual for you personally."

"You've poisoned me long-distance? Stop beating around the bloody bush, Angel."

"I had a dream. It may have been influenced by The Powers That Be."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"You were in it. The entire thing, it was very real. I could have sworn that it was happening."

"What was I doing?"

"It's a lot to explain. So you weren't at all affected?"

"Not a bit. You dream about me?"

"Sometimes." He felt oddly shy. Why? This was Spike; he'd known Spike forever, they knew everything about each other - - good, bad, and ugly. Spike was his companion, lover, friend, enemy, confidant, irritant, competition, and son. Spike challenged him in new ways at every turn. He'd loved Spike, hated Spike, betrayed Spike. "I love you."

"That's sweet, Angel, but it doesn't tell me a bloody thing about what's going on in L.A. Are you going to tell me about the dreams or not?"

"This is killing my phone bill."

"You tell me or I'm coming out to see you myself."

"No. You're too distracting. I have to figure this out with Wesley before I can see you again."

"Figure it out right quick then, mate. I'm dying for a decent shag. Bloody hell - - the Slayer's here."

"Call me later," Angel said.

"Next time you'll talk to me?" Spike asked, a threatening tone creeping into his voice, just enough to make Angel say, "Yes, I'll talk to you."

"Good," Spike said, and hung up on him.

Angel sat and thought some more. He needed to talk with Wesley, to find out the content of Wesley's dreams. Had they shared a dream at all?

Cordelia ran into the office. "Angel, come on!" she exclaimed, and ran out again. He hurried to his apartment, bursting off of the lift. He found Wesley in his bedroom, apparently asleep, levitating. Wesley's unconscious body hovered over a foot above the bed. "Angel, this is getting too weird. Visions I can handle. Immortality I can handle. Forced visits to The Powers I can handle. But sleeping for twenty-four hours straight, and sleeping in mid-air - - it's too much right now. Get him down from there," Cordelia said.

Angel approached Wesley carefully. "Wesley? Wesley, it's Angel. Wake up, Wesley."

"Wesley!" Cordelia shouted.

"Wesley," Angel said, and reached out to touch the sleeper. Before he made contact, he noticed something new. Something that hadn't been there earlier. Wesley's hands were bleeding. And Wesley's feet. And, as he checked with dread, Wesley's forehead and side. Spontaneous bleeding in those key locations indicated the stigmata. Now, as any scholar knew, typically the nails would have been farther in on the forearm, so that the nail would support the body's weight. However, the stigmata knew no such rule; historically accurate or not, they carried great significance.

"I know that I'm not a very good Christian," Cordelia said, "but I'm getting pretty serious indications that Wesley's bleeding in the same places the Jesus did, right?"

"Right," Angel said.

"Make it stop."

"He doesn't seem to be in any pain."

"I don't care!"

"Wesley. Wesley, wake up now."

"Is he possessed?"

"I don't think so. Wesley!"

"Wait, with his new immortality thing, he can't bleed like that, right? He doesn't do that anymore. It should have healed by now."

"Those aren't normal wounds."

"No kidding!"

Angel put his hand to Wesley's unblemished side. "Wesley."

"Michael. Gabriel. Raphael," Wesley breathed.

"Who?" Cordelia asked.

"The angels," Angel said.

"Is that supposed to be a reference to your name, or is he just being weird?"

"I'm not sure. Wesley, can you hear me?"

"Liam," Wesley whispered.

"What?" Cordelia asked.

"Liam," Wesley repeated.

"Liam? Like Liam Neeson?" Cordelia asked.

"Something like that," Angel said. "Wesley!"

"Liam."

"Who?" Cordelia demanded.

"Wesley!" Angel shouted.

"Angel," Wesley breathed.

"That's better," Cordelia said.

"Wesley, wake up." He shook Wesley's shoulder.

"Angel," Wesley breathed again.

"He's getting higher," Cordelia said. "Angel, he's going higher."

"Wesley!"

Wesley's body abruptly flew up, slammed into the ceiling, and fell to the mattress with a thud. Cordelia screamed. Angel checked for broken bones, calling Wesley's name. Wesley was nonresponsive, but perfectly whole and alive. The stigmata disappeared.

"He's scaring me," Cordelia said. "When he wakes up, I'll kill him myself. What's he doing?!"

"I wish I knew," Angel admitted. "We have to be patient."

"What if he never wakes up?"

"He has to."

"What if you kiss him?"

"What?"

"You know, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, one kiss and they're all better again."

"I'm not exactly a handsome Prince Charming."

"You'll do in a pinch. Go on, kiss him. You know you want to."

"Not like this," Angel said. "Not while he's unconscious and-"

"Just do it!"

Angel licked his lips, leaned down, said, "Forgive me," and pressed his lips to Wesley's for one heart-stopping second. He moved away again immediately.

Wesley's eyes opened. "It worked!" Cordelia shouted.

Wesley sat up, staring at them both. "What's been happening? How long was I asleep?"

"How do you feel?" Angel asked.

"Like I just ran a two-minute mile," Wesley said. "Twenty times. I'm exhausted." He looked worn out, but perfectly normally so; there was nothing odd about his exhaustion; though he'd spent an entire twenty-four hours sleeping, it had not been a restful situation in all ways.

"Why don't you take a nap and we'll talk later," Angel suggested.

"Like he needs more sleep," Cordelia said.

"Why don't you go home?" Angel asked Cordelia.

"All right. But tomorrow, I want some answers," she said firmly. "Someone's going to tell me what's going on." She left.

"I'd like to know what's going on, too," Angel told Wesley.

"You said that we could talk later," Wesley reminded him.

"That was before Cordelia left. I'll tell her tomorrow; I want to hear it alone first."

"Don't I get time to rest from my ordeal?"

"What ordeal?"

"I'll tell you everything later."

Angel sat on the edge of the bed. "Wesley, talk to me."

"Tomorrow." Wesley looked down at himself in the infamous black sweatpants. "What on earth am I wearing?"

"Cordelia got you some clothes. Hold on." Angel got up and fetched Wesley's clothes, handing them over in the bag that Cordelia had packed. "I'll order you some food, and then we're going to talk." He left Wesley alone in the room and called for a pizza. He made some tea and paid the pizza boy by the time that Wesley came out of the bathroom.

"Remind me to thank Cordelia," Wesley said in a voice tinged with sarcasm, taking the tea with thanks. Angel's eyes ran over him: bare feet, black T-shirt, black leather pants. The boots were by the end of the sofa. Wesley's body was all slender lines, long limbs, lean muscle hugged by cotton and leather. Wesley sat at the kitchen table; Angel sat across from him over the pizza and said, "Start talking."

"What would you like to know?"

"What was in your dreams? When we finally got you awake, you wanted me to sleep too, you wanted me to dream with you."

"Did you?"

"Yes. What were you dreaming?"

"You were there."

"Who else?"

"The two of us."

"Not The Powers, or Doyle, or-"

"Only the two of us."

"Doing what?"

"Making love."

Making love. Not having sex, not fucking or shagging or getting off, but making love. Actually making love, the two of them. "Where?"

"Your bed."

"That's it? You spent all of this time dreaming about us having sex?"

"I don't remember anything else. I don't remember waking up or speaking with you."

"Do you remember levitating?"

"Levitating?"

"You were levitating, you were bleeding-"

"Bleeding where?"

"The stigmata."

"Christ's wounds?"

Angel nodded.

"What else happened?"

"You talked a little. You said Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael. Then you said 'Liam' a few times, and then you said 'Angel.'"

"The angels?" Wesley asked. "And...Liam's your name."

"You knew that?"

Wesley nodded.

Of course he knew. He'd been a Watcher - - Buffy's Watcher. "Wesley, do you know what caused any of this? Why were you sleeping?"

"I was tired. Very tired. I remember...vomiting."

"Yes."

"How did you finally wake me?"

"I kissed you. It was Cordelia's idea. It worked."

"You kissed me?"

"In your dreams, did I...bite you?"

"Yes."

"You..."

"It was just a dream."

"I have to talk to The Powers. You have to get them to see me."

"Angel, it isn't that simple. But I will work on it."

"Good. Thank you."

"I need to go home."

"No." He may have said that too quickly, too forcefully; Wesley looked at him, surprised. He calmed himself. "No. You can't go. With all that's been happening to you, you shouldn't be unsupervised. You keep collapsing, getting sick - - you can't be alone."

"You want to keep me here for observation?"

"Yes. Wesley, you know it's not a good idea for you to go off by yourself. Not under these conditions."

"All right."

That was too easy.

"I'm going to go to bed. You can take the couch."

"It's my bed."

"I'm staying here, I get the bed."

"Wesley-"

Wesley stood. "See you in the morning."

Angel stood, grabbed Wesley's arm. "Stop it."

Wesley jerked out of his grasp and slapped him, hard, a real masculine trained hit. "You kissed me."

"I had to." Damn it, that had hurt. He cracked his jaw.

"Against my will and without my permission."

"You guard your body like it's-"

"Like it's mine. Like I have the right to say who touches it and who doesn't."

"You were going to let me fuck you."

"Yes."

"And now I can't."

"That's right."

He slid his knuckles along Wesley's jaw, one side after the other. "I love you."

"No you don't!" Wesley shuddered. "Angel..."

"What is it?" he asked, alarmed.

"Angel...it hurts..." Wesley, face twisted with pain, gripped at Angel's hands, beginning to sink. Angel supported his body down to the floor, kneeling and gathering him close.

"Wesley, tell me what's happening," Angel said firmly, worried, holding Wesley's body to him.

"Angel," Wesley breathed. And the world turned white.

Angel blinked. He hadn't moved. He was still holding Wesley, kneeling on the floor. But everything was white, and he couldn't see where the walls met the floor or where the ceiling began. It was the same room he'd entered when his dream had begun, the dream with Wesley. Only this time they weren't alone in the room. Wesley was unconscious in his arms, and there were pillars of vari-colored light, shifting, fading in and out gradually. "What's happening?"

"Angel," a cold feminine voice said, and the voice was inside his head. "You have failed."

"Failed what?"

"You have failed Wesley."

"No! You can't take him from me. You-"

"You have pushed him from yourself."

"No! I love him. You know that I love him. You can't let-"

"Wesley is a precious being."

"I know that."

"You must treat him accordingly. He has not been treated well in your world. We had hoped that you would be the one to show him the way. But you have failed him."

"Show him what way?"

"You fight to atone for your sins. Wesley has no sins. He fights to make the world a better place. So that others may live safely and freely. But Wesley does not know love. We had hoped that you would show him love, so that he may learn to fight for himself."

"I do love him."

"You have not shown him love."

"What do you want me to do! I told him that I love him, he won't let me touch him-"

"We have given him to you. We have granted him visions and immortality. We have granted you a soul."

"I know that, but I don't see what good a soul will do if you take away the person I love."

"You love others."

"Yes."

"They threaten him."

"They shouldn't."

"How does one compete with a memory? How does one compete with a son? The half-demon and the vampire live in your heart and soul. But Wesley does not fear them. The problem is the slayer."

"Buffy."

"Yes." One of the beams of light became smaller, approached. Angel tensed, holding Wesley closer. The beam of light, now merely a bead of light, rested in the hollow of Wesley's collarbone.

"She's no threat to him. Buffy and I will never be together."

"Wesley is a precious gift. We will grant him to you if you prove yourself worthy."

"I will never be worthy of him."

The cold voice melted. "Then you may have him. Take good care of him, Angel. No one else ever has." The beam of light sank into Wesley, there was a flash of white, and Angel was back in his apartment where he'd begun.

Wesley's eyes fluttered.

"Wesley. Are you all right?"

Wesley moved away carefully. The loss of the warm body from his arms was staggering. "I'm fine. Thank you." They stood, Angel helping Wesley cautiously.

"Why don't you go rest?" Angel suggested.

"I apologize for striking you."

"I deserved it."

"Yes, well, it was terribly impulsive and juvenile of me."

"Get some rest."

"Good night, then." Wesley went into the bedroom. Angel watched him go, aching. But happy. In a miserable way that felt familiar. Wanting what he couldn't have, almost close to having what he shouldn't want...

Wesley awoke and left the bathroom in the morning, still dressed in the outfit with the leather pants, sitting on the sofa to pull on the boots. Angel and Cordelia were talking by the lift. "Is that my bag?" Wesley asked, suspicious.

"Yes," Angel said. "We're going on a trip."

"A trip?" Wesley asked.

"You and Angel are going to Sunnydale," Cordelia said. "I get to stay here, thank God."

"Sunnydale?" Wesley asked. "Is there trouble?"

"It's personal, not business," Cordelia said. "Angel doesn't want to go alone; he needs someone to drive him there and make sure he doesn't get, shall we say, sunburnt on the way."

"You can't take him?"

"No thanks," Cordelia said.

"It shouldn't take long," Angel said. "Only a day, maybe two. I'm sure that Spike will let us stay with him."

"In a crypt?" Cordelia asked.

"Or Giles," Angel said.

"You want me to drive you to Sunnydale," Wesley said.

"Please?" Angel asked.

"Fine. I'm sure that you must have some reason for going," Wesley said. "Possibly involving your unending desire to moon over Buffy. Let me change my clothes and we'll be on our way."

"I kind of like what you're wearing now," Angel said.

"I will not make my return to the place of my shame dressed like...like..."

"Like someone who's sexy and good-looking?" Cordelia suggested.

"You think so?" Wesley asked.

"Totally."

"Well then, let's be off," Wesley said.

"See you later," Angel told Cordelia. "If there's any trouble, call Kate. And call Giles, he'll-"

"Just go already," Cordelia said.

They made their way slowly. Angel slept in the back of the van while Wesley stopped for lunch. They made it to Sunnydale and Giles' home, both tired and starving. Wesley went to knock on the door, Angel following. No one answered.

"No one's there," Angel said. "They must be out working."

"Angel, you look awful. Have you been eating?"

"I can go a while without blood," Angel said.

"When's the last time you had any?"

"Just..." Angel thought about it. "Before you were sick. No, before... I don't know, it's been days."

"Days?"

"I was worried about you."

"That's no excuse. Surely Spike has some blood. Or we could find a butcher, although I can't imagine that one would be open at this hour."

"Let's go find the others."

"You're not going anywhere. You can't be strong enough to fight well."

"Wesley, I'm fine."

"You stay here. I'll go find them."

"I'm coming with you."

"You're in no condition-"

"Wait. Someone's coming."

Wesley turned to look, too. Along the sidewalk trooped the regular four - - Buffy, Giles, Willow, Xander - - plus Spike, and Anya, Xander's ex-demon girlfriend. The two of them were spotted; the group paused momentarily, then came forward at a slower pace.

"Angel," Buffy said. "Wesley?"

"What brings you here?" Giles asked. "No trouble, I hope."

"You've come back. Again," Anya said. "And you've brought the English man. We already have a vampire and an English man; we don't need any more."

"You're wearing leather," Willow told Wesley.

"Yes," Wesley said.

"Cordelia thought that it looked good," Angel said.

"Cordelia," Anya said. "She's not here, is she?"

"No," Angel said.

"That's good. Well, come in, I don't like standing out here."

"Yes, please, do come in," Giles said. "Are you all right? You look a bit peaked."

"It's nothing," Angel said.

"I assume that all six of you weren't out on a regular patrol," Wesley said as they all entered the house. "Has something of note transpired?"

"Pack of Geon demons," Buffy said.

"I got to try out a new spell," Willow said. "It worked and everything!"

"You were great," Buffy told Willow.

"Xander was great, too," Willow said. "He killed one."

"It was nothing," Xander said. "It was only the biggest and meanest one. Has anyone noticed that Spike hasn't said anything? Is this an awkward reunion moment? Boy I hope so."

"Leave Spike alone," Giles said automatically. Spike made a face at Xander, who made one back at him. "Wesley, would you care for some tea?"

"Yes, please. I hate to be a bother, but I haven't eaten."

"Of course," Giles said. "How rude of me not to offer. One's manners do get a bit stale when surrounded by people who never make use of any, but that's hardly an excuse for my poor behavior."

"Got anything for me in there?" Spike asked Giles, who was opening the refrigerator.

"Spike, you know I - - oh, yes," Giles said. "It'll just be a moment. Why don't the four of you go talk while we adults do some chatting of our own?"

"Come on," Willow told Buffy, Xander, and Anya. "The old people want to talk."

"Old people," Anya said. "I'm older-" Xander dragged her off with Buffy and Willow to sit at the far end of the living room. Giles made a cup of tea for Wesley and handed a cup of blood to Spike. Spike offered it to Angel, saying, "Age before beauty."

"Spike, I-"

"Drink it, Angel," Spike said firmly.

"You'd really better," Wesley agreed.

Angel drank it down fast. Giles got him another and made a sandwich for Wesley. Spike's eyes ran over Wesley. "How've you been, pet?"

"I've been just fine, thank you."

"Except for the vomiting and the near-coma and-"

"I've been just fine," Wesley repeated, interrupting Angel firmly.

"What's happened?" Giles asked Angel.

"The Powers have been trying to send us messages and we keep getting more confused," Angel said. "I think that I've finally figured out my end of the deal."

"You need a place to stay while you're in town?" Spike asked Wesley.

"I'll stay with you," Angel told Spike. "Giles, could Wesley stay here?"

"Of course," Giles said.

"I am perfectly capable of finding my own accomodations," Wesley told Angel.

"I don't want you off in a hotel room alone. Something might happen. If you collapse or relapse, I'll feel much better knowing that Giles is here," Angel said.

"I don't need to impose on Giles," Wesley said.

"You can impose on me," Spike told Wesley.

"Spike," Angel said.

"Why don't you two go?" Giles asked Spike and Angel. "We can talk tomorrow."

"Come on, Angel. I can tell when I'm not wanted. See you later," Spike told Wesley, dropping a kiss to one cheek before taking Angel's hand and sauntering out of the house. Angel walked beside Spike's quick swagger, wondering whether he should have left Wesley, wondering whether he should have come here at all. Wondering why Spike got to kiss Wesley and he didn't.

Angel and Spike kept their night friendly and flirtatious but platonic. Angel was committed to Wesley, and Spike respected that commitment. Angel told Spike all about what had been happening, keeping back nothing, even telling Spike things that Wesley didn't know - - like that visit to The Powers, and the contents of his dream, and the reason for this visit to Sunnydale.

As the sun set, they rose and ate and got ready to leave for Giles'. Then someone entered.

"Wesley," Spike said. "Hello, pet."

"I managed to come here all alone without falling unconscious," Wesley told Angel. "You look much better - - you've eaten again?"

"He cares," Spike said. "What a sweetheart."

"Would you please stop leering at me?" Wesley asked Spike. "It's unnerving and, frankly, quite disturbing."

"No need to get huffy about it," Spike said. "Just admiring the view."

"Will you please tell me what we're doing in Sunnydale?" Wesley asked Angel.

"I've been wondering that myself," and Buffy walked in behind Wesley. "Is there a good reason, a plan, or have you just wandered back into our lives to drive us as insane as Drusilla?"

"That was a low blow, Slayer," Spike said.

"You leave, you're gone, then you come back into town without saying anything. I went to see you, you weren't yourself, you acted like it was all over, and now you're back?" Buffy asked Angel.

"It's all about you, isn't it," Spike snapped.

"It is about her," Angel said. "I came back to see you. To tell you something."

"And why did you bring him?" she asked, gesturing to Wesley. "He was no good the first time he was in this town. He would have let you die. I can't believe you're even-"

"Wesley's the best person I know," Angel said. "I've known good people, brave people. People with courage and strength that... Wesley's the best person I know."

"Wesley?" Buffy asked. "Angel, strong brave people are people like Giles, like Xander and Willow, people like Oz and Kendra and my mother and, let's face it, people like me. I am strong and brave. Wesley faints at the sight of blood."

"I do not," Wesley said.

"You were born to be the Slayer," Angel said. "Wesley chose to do what he's done. I'm not here to argue, and I'm not here to start a fight, I'm just here to tell you that..."

"To tell me what?" Buffy asked.

"You'll want to be alone," Wesley said.

"Stay," Angel said.

"Excuse me," and Wesley moved for the door.

"Wesley," Angel said.

"I'll go with him," Spike told Angel.

"No, I want him to hear this," Angel said. "Damn it, Wesley."

"What's going on?" Buffy demanded.

"You'll want to stick around for this one," Spike told her, and followed Angel. Buffy followed Spike.

"Wesley," Angel said, "stop. Stop!" Wesley stopped. Angel walked around to face him. "I want to tell her that I love you. I want her to know that I have someone, that I have you."

"To rub it in her face? To make her jealous?"

"So she knows that it's over for her and me. So she knows that - - I'm proud of you, Wesley, and I want everyone to know. I have Doyle's blessing, and I have Spike's, and I may not get Buffy's, but at least I did her the courtesy of telling her. And maybe it's something that should be said in private between her and myself, but I want you there. I want you to be everywhere I go."

"Don't do this, Angel. Don't do this to me. If you have any respect for me at all, you won't talk to her."

"Respect? I respect you. What are you talking about?"

"She won't believe you, and there's no reason that she should. You'll only embarrass yourself and humiliate me. I don't need to be shamed like this."

"You don't believe me. You don't think that I love you."

"No, I don't believe you."

"Wesley, how..." Angel rubbed a thumb over Wesley's cheekbone, cupping Wesley's chin in one hand. "I love you."

"Angel-" Wesley said.

"Let me kiss you."

"What are you doing?" Buffy asked.

"I'm asking Wesley to let me kiss him," Angel said, not moving his gaze from Wesley's face.

Wesley jerked away, fast. "Don't you touch me," Wesley said.

"Did Giles tell you that Wesley's immortal?" Angel asked Buffy.

"Yes," she said. "The world gets weirder every day."

"Did he tell you that I have my soul?"

"You...what?"

"My soul. It's mine now. To keep."

"Angel gets to shag now," Spike added.

"You're kidding," Buffy said. "Is that what you came to tell me?"

"No," Angel said.

"It's not. Wait a second - - why are you trying to kiss Wesley?"

"I'm in love with him."

"Right."

"I love Wesley," Angel repeated, turning to face her finally. He could hear, feel, Wesley's heart pounding. "I thought that you should know. That I should tell you myself."

"Wesley," she repeated. "Wesley."

"I-"

First her fist, then a kick fist knee and he hit the ground. A moment later Wesley had fallen on top of him. "That's an abuse of power," Spike accused. "Bad Slayer."

"They'll heal," she said, and left.

Spike helped up Wesley. "You all right, pet?"

"Thank you," Wesley said. "Watch the hands, please. I'm fine." Spike stopped groping Wesley and assisted Angel to stand. "Buffy and I didn't get along from the start," Wesley said. "She resented my interference and I resented her resentment."

"That doesn't give her an excuse to hurt you," Spike said, tugging Wesley's clothes into position. "I'll have to give her a good talking-to."

"Whatever you're trying to prove," Wesley said to Angel, "please stop using me to prove it."

"I think that I like the leather better," Spike said, "but anything you wear makes me want to rip it right off of you."

"I'll give her time to cool down, and then try again," Angel said as Wesley moved out of Spike's grasp again.

"Good luck," Spike told Angel. "I'm about due at Giles'. You coming?" he asked, turning to Wesley.

"I might as well make myself useful while I'm here," Wesley said.

Angel didn't want to see Buffy again, but he didn't want to leave Wesley alone, so he went with them. Spike walked right into Giles' home without knocking; the others were assembled at random around the living room area. Buffy was getting ready to go on patrol; Willow and Xander were going to accompany her. Anya was complaining about not wanting to go. Spike volunteered to go on patrol and take Angel with him.

"That sounds perfectly suitable," Giles said. "Will Wesley be joining you?"

"What do you say, Wesley?" Spike asked.

Angel glanced at Wesley, who turned his head to the right quickly and inhaled sharply. Angel put up his hand to quiet the others, who frowned.

"I don't really think that we need all of us walking around tonight," Buffy said. "It should be pretty low-key." Clearly she wanted to patrol without having Angel on her mind, and without worrying about running into the second patrol group.

"Low-key is hardly the word I'd use to describe three parties of Alkazanian raiders," Wesley said.

"Three?" Willow asked. "I don't know what they are, but three groups of them can't be good."

"Alkazanian raiders," Giles repeated. "Are you sure?"

"What's going on?" Xander asked.

"I'm going home," Anya said.

"They're bad?" Willow asked nervously.

"They're bad," Anya agreed firmly. "Xander, take me home."

"We'll need to split into three groups," Angel said. "Buffy, Spike, and I will go."

"I'll go with Buffy," Willow and Xander said.

"I'll go with Spike," Giles sighed.

"Wesley, you're with me," Angel said.

"Surprise surprise," Wesley muttered.

"You're going out with only Wesley for back-up?" Buffy asked.

"Yes," Angel said.

"What are we fighting?" Willow asked.

"Something demony, I'm guessing," Xander said.

"Alkazanian raiding parties travel mostly above the equator," Giles said. "They are armed with simple tools - - axes, shovels, swords. They kill for sport."

"Each party has three or four, even five demons," Wesley said. "There is one group by the Bronze, one travelling through the university campus, and one in a cemetery, but I'm not sure which cemetery."

"Okay," Buffy said. "Willow, Xander, and I will take the Bronze. Anya, you go with Giles and Spike to the campus. Angel and Wesley, go look through the cemeteries. As soon as we get finished with our demons we'll go looking through the cemeteries, too."

"Let's go," Angel said.

They all got their weapons and departed. Angel and Wesley jogged through town, checking cemetery to cemetery. "She gave us the bad job on purpose," Wesley said. "She doesn't think that we can handle it."

"She knows that I can handle it," Angel said. "But this is her town now, not mine, and she'd rather have her people defend it."

"She doesn't trust me," Wesley said.

"Did you hear that?" Wesley went still and listened. Angel liked that. "This way," Angel whispered, crouching a little and stalking to the left. Wesley followed quietly. They came around a tomb and found the Alkazanians. Five of them, each carrying an axe. Angel slid his knife into his hand and settled into a crouch, watching, biding his time. Wesley, behind him, barely breathed.

An Alkazanian paused and sniffed. Grunted. Sniffed again, grunted with purpose to the others, and gestured in the direction of Angel and Wesley.

"They smell you," Angel whispered to Wesley. "Ready?"

"No," Wesley whispered. "Let's go."

Angel sprung up and hurled his knife; it landed solidly in the chest of an Alkazanian. Angel was moving again already, taking on the nearest Alkazanian. He was preternaturally strong and quick, besides which he had tremendous experience, so that he was a better fighter than Wesley. He'd fought alongside each of his lovers, and each had strengths and weaknesses. Spike and Buffy, of course, were gifted; Doyle had demon strength but lacked experience. Wesley had trained in fighting and demonology, so Wesley knew how to fight and knew the strengths and weaknesses of their opponents. Wesley also, now, had supernatural healing reserves. Angel hoped that this meant that Wesley would not tire quickly, that Wesley could fight with stamina.

Angel had killed the first and now his second; he killed a third and turned as Wesley, who'd killed one, ducked and spun and plunged a knife deep into Alkazanian hide. The final demon dropped to the ground, oozing out of its skin.

"Wow," Anya said. "Gross."

"Good work," Giles told them.

"You need a change of clothes, pet," Spike told Wesley.

"Thank you, yes," Wesley agreed. "I'm afraid that I stood a bit too close to the first I destroyed."

"What'd we miss?" Xander asked, coming up with Willow and Buffy.

"We killed our three," Anya said. "Well, really, Giles just shouted 'Whoa!' and stabbed one, and Spike killed the other two, and I watched. Did you kill yours?"

"We each got to kill one," Willow said. "It was teamwork."

"How many did you get?" Buffy asked Angel.

"Wesley got two, I got three," Angel said.

"Racking up the numbers there," Xander said. "How come they got more?"

"Nice threads, Wes," Buffy said.

"Now that you mention it, yes, I could use a nice hot cup of tea," Wesley said.

"How about some cucumber sandwiches, pet?" Spike asked, starting to walk off with Wesley. "And a nice hot shower. Or maybe a sponge bath. I could lick you clean."

"Oh, ick," Xander said.

"Spike, leave Wesley alone," Angel said, following them.

"Wesley and I are great friends," Spike said. "We both think that you're a big hulking lurking arrogant jerk, and we're both English, and we're both so fucking gorgeous that you're dying to shag us. But you can't have us, you big hulking lurking arrogant jerk. Go back to Buffy."

"Spike," Angel said, "go away."

Spike made a face at Wesley and walked with Wesley back to Giles'. Angel sighed and went to help the others dispose of the three sites of demon goo.

Willow, Xander, and Anya went home. Buffy and Giles walked back to Giles' home, and Angel accompanied them in silence. Reaching Giles', they found Spike lounging comfortably on the sofa and heard the shower just ending.

"He's still showering?" Buffy asked.

"It took me a while to get him out of his clothes," Spike said.

"Excuse me," Angel said, and moved further into the house. He found the second bedroom, with Wesley's suitcase neatly standing at the bottom of the bed. He stood by the bed, waiting in the darkness.

Wesley entered, flipping on the light, closing the door. "Angel!"

"Sorry."

Wesley tied his towel more firmly. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk, alone. No Buffy, no Spike, just us."

"Might I dress first?"

"Go ahead."

"In privacy?"

"Neither of us leaves this room until we've talked." Angel turned his back and closed his eyes, hands in his duster pockets. He heard Wesley muttering and dressing. When he turned to look, he found Wesley with flushed cheeks and damp hair but dressed.

"You have something to say?" Wesley asked, buttoning his cuffs.

"I'm in love with you and you don't believe me."

"Anything else?"

"Is there any reason that you don't believe me? Have I made a habit of lying, is there something that leads you to believe that I'd like to hurt you this way, do you think that I'm mistaking my feelings for Doyle as feelings for you?"

"You love Doyle. And Spike. And Buffy. I understand that, and I understand why, and I believe that you personally can love more than one person, especially such three different people as they at different periods in your life. However, I find no reason to believe that I am the fourth person in your heart. Spike, Buffy, and Doyle are very special people who've lived lives beyond the imagination. Each awes me in his or her own way. I can see easily why they would attract you. But I am not to be compared with any one of them. You're confused. I was willing to let you be with me as long as it was one night of plain sex, no strings attached, as long as we didn't get involved. But you insist that you feel something for me, and I can't let you-"

"You'd let me fuck you as long as I don't care about you? You're a virgin, aren't you? What makes me good enough to have you when no one else has?"

"You are special. You know that you are."

"Do you love me?"

"Buffy loves you."

"Buffy doesn't understand me."

"She's jealous. She wouldn't be if you'd explain to her."

"Explain what?"

"That you only want to kiss me because I'm the only person in your life besides Cordelia and Kate. I suppose I should be flattered that you chose me, but considering that Kate loathes vampires and Cordelia's Cordelia, you had pretty slim pickings."

"That's how you see yourself?" Angel asked. "As someone so worthless that I only chose you out of desperation because there's no one else? Wesley, I don't know how you feel about me, but I think that you're... I don't know. Maybe I'm tired of being The Amazing Angst Man. When I was with Doyle, he was just a normal guy, and I could just be with him. It was easy to be with him, it was easy to be in love with him. He knew who and what I was from the very beginning. He let me be myself, and he encouraged me to be better at the same time, and I didn't have to try so hard to live up to his every expectation. When I was with Buffy, every night was a drama. I had to work to be what she wanted me to be. She couldn't just love me. When I was with Doyle, we could just be together. And then he died, and I thought that I wouldn't love again, that I couldn't love again. And then you came. When you first arrived in Sunnydale as Buffy's Watcher, nobody gave you a chance. We had our own way of doing things here, and you weren't a part of our group. We didn't listen to you, we didn't even try to like you. Except Cordelia. But we were wrong. We should have worked with you. We should have showed you how we do things, and you could have tried to fit in, and maybe... But that didn't happen, and you left, and I left. And now they're all still here, and Buffy has someone else now, and I don't know why she always picks tall guys."

"Do you have a point?" Wesley asked.

"I don't know why I'm in love with you. I like you. I like everything about you. I even like how prissy and annoying you can get. And you don't do that nearly as often as you used to. I like your pride and ego, I like your intelligence, I love to watch you think. Every time you start to think, and you're working out a problem, and you're figuring out the situation, I get turned on. I don't know if that's perverted, or if it just means that I haven't gotten laid in a while. Wesley, I really really like you, and I really, really really want to have sex with you. I came here, to Sunnydale, to tell Buffy that I love you. I have Doyle's blessing, and I have Spike's. I wanted Buffy's. I don't know if that was a bad idea, or if maybe somehow I was trying to rub it in... I don't know. I want to talk with her again, to try to explain. And maybe you shouldn't be there, maybe this is just between me and Buffy. But I wanted you here. I'm proud of you. I wanted to show you off. And I want you and Spike to be friends."

"Are you finished now? I'd like to get some sleep."

Angel left, slamming the door, storming outside of Giles' home. A minute later Spike was at his side. "So. Wesley still won't let you fuck him?"

"No."

"Think he'd let me fuck him?"

Angel snarled and pinned Spike to the nearest tree.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Get off of it, Angel."

Angel let him go. "Sorry."

"If you weren't getting it on, what took so long in there?"

"I was making some long droning speech."

"Not really the speech type, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Do you know how hard it is for me to open up to people?"

"I've noticed. You're more the lurk in silence type."

"Exactly. And I keep pouring out my feelings for him, every time I see him I beg him to be in love with me. I can't keep doing it. I can't keep...telling him how I feel."

"You know what the problem is, don't you?"

"What?"

"It's The Powers That Be. They've been interfering all of this time. He thinks that if they weren't around you wouldn't even like him. He thinks that they made you fall for him."

Angel opened his mouth to protest, then frowned. "Maybe they did."

"He shows up, he gets the visions, he's your sidekick for life. Then they made him immortal, so he wouldn't get old and wrinkly and die on you. All of that is because of The Powers."

"And I got my soul."

"Right."

"But that doesn't mean that I don't love him. And it doesn't mean that I wouldn't if they hadn't interfered."

"You can't prove that."

"Of course I can't. They did interfere. Without them I'd probably never have run into him again. They probably set up for him to show up right after Doyle's death."

"And the first time you met, way back here in Sunnydale, the two of you weren't exactly best friends."

"I had nothing to do with Wesley. We were busy with the Ascension, I was busy trying not to die. And I had Buffy."

"You can have her again, you know."

"No I can't."

"Face it, Angel. Wesley and I aren't going anywhere any time soon. Buffy's mortal."

"She needs someone like Riley."

"Clark Kent?"

"She and I can't be together. It's not right."

"Want to be with me, then?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"But I need Wesley."

"That's it, then."

"What?"

"You can let her go. You can walk away and let her live her own life. But Wesley tells you to back off and you can't."

"You're right," Angel agreed. "I can't let him go."

"You going to let me go?"

Angel kissed him, right there on the sidewalk, deep and hard. Spike kissed back just as hungrily, gripping his shoulders, fingernails scratching down his neck. "Come with me."

"Any time, Angel."

"To L.A. To stay."

"You want me to move to L.A.," Spike said.

"Yes."

"What about Wesley?"

"I want you both."

"I don't think he'll go for that."

"I don't care. Right now I don't care what he wants."

"You will in the morning."

"Speaking of morning, we'd better get inside."

"If you can't do without me, I might be persuaded to go with you," Spike said. "I don't know what this crew will do without me."

"Come with me."

"Oh, all right. But I want sex."

"It's been a long time."

"Too bloody long." Spike kissed him, pulling him closer with two hands, snaking a tongue into his mouth.

Sex was different with a soul. His lust for Spike was still overwhelming, and they still shared a fierce passion, but the demonic edge was abated. Something in him still needed to claim Spike, to possess Spike; Spike was his, his lover, his childe, his.

They could make love now, with aching sighs and whispers of pleasure and a powerful eroticism. And they could fuck, hard and fast and screaming.

Angel awoke in the darkness, alone. He flared his nostrils and looked through the shadows. "Spike?"

"Angel?" Spike's voice was wary.

"What's wrong?"

"That's what I'm waiting to see."

"What?"

"Are you still Angel or have you turned?"

He smiled. "I'm still Angel."

"Does that mean that your soul's really permanent, or that my technique's slipping in my old age?"

"My soul's permanent. There is nothing wrong with your technique."

"Good."

"Come here."

Spike came over, settling on all fours over him, dressed only in leather pants. They kissed, his hands running up Spike's naked back. He rolled Spike over, resting on top of Spike, unable to believe that it could be this good, this easy, after everything. He loved Spike. They were perfect together. Perfect. Beautiful.

Spike arched beneath him, head tilting back, long graceful neck exposed to his lips. The sight and feel of it shook him, sent him back into the past, made him dizzy and hot with the memory. But it had to be habit; Spike couldn't possibly want him to...want him to...to...

"Bite me," Spike said, and Angel looked up, and their eyes met. Angel spent a second being immobilized by fear, then backed up fast, only to be caught and held in place. "Bite me," Spike said again, harder.

"I can't. I don't..."

"You want it, and I want it. I'm a vampire, Angel, and you're a vampire. This is what vampires do. You may have your soul, but you still have the bloodlust, demon or not."

"No."

"Bloody hell - - Angel! We...are...vampires! Vampires vampires vampires! Maybe Buffy thought that she wanted the cute cuddly kind without fangs, but I don't."

"I can't be that for you, Spike. I'm not Angelus, I can't-"

"I know that you're Angel. You're so good you make me want to vomit. But I like you anyway. I don't want you to be Angelus; the last time he showed up he was such a bastard I almost killed him myself."

"You didn't."

"I couldn't."

He caught Spike's face in his hands. Spike pushed him away, left the bed. "Spike."

Spike whirled around to face him. "Back off." Spike left.

matthew@matthewtime.com
"Angel" Part Four: After Spike Left
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