*****

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce stormed into his flat, slammed the door, and threw his briefcase down on the floor. Running his fingers through his hair the ex-Watcher kicked his briefcase out of his way, tore off his coat and tie, then walked over to his desk, sitting down. A moment later, he was up again and pacing, muttering to himself, "Brilliant, Wesley, absolutely brilliant."

This went on a few moments before he sat down again. Taking a few deep breaths, Wesley tried to compose himself before reaching for his journal. Years of being trained as a Watcher had put him in the habit of recording the events of each day. Personal reasons had compelled him to write down the more private aspects of his life as well.

*I don't know why I provoked her, but I had to* he wrote. *All I could think was that we had an extremely dangerous young woman in our midst who was denying the very thing that made her so hazardous. It's a well known fact that in order to address a problem, it must be brought to the attention of the person who posses the problem before any progress can be made. She was a time bomb; I didn't think there was enough time to stage a well planned intervention. So, I provoked her and almost got Angel killed.

It never occurred to me what she might do with her powers. It most certainly escaped my attention that he was in a room with well lit windows. Oh, why did he chose that room anyway? You would think that a vampire would be more careful about his surroundings. Not that I'm blaming him. It was my fault.

I've just felt so unless recently. First the Thesulac demon with his 'especially paranoid' jab; then Cordelia saying, quite rightly, that none of my ideas are original and all I can do is repeat what I've read. Of course, to show off my expansive knowledge, all I could say to Angel about the girl was "Ah, telekinesis, the art of moving objects with ones mind." Angel must think I'm a fool. Why should he think any differently? After all, I rarely do anything that would correct that assumption.

I can practically hear my father demanding to know why Wesley Wyndham-Pryce should care what a vampire thinks of me. I've been trained from birth to hate vampires and to join the fight to eradicate their kind from this world.

So why should I care what Angel thinks of me?* Wesley re-read the last paragraph he wrote and laughed bitterly. "I care," he replied softly, "because I'm in love with him."

Rising, the disgraced Watcher went to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of whiskey from the top shelf of his cabinet. After he had been ignominiously fired from the Council, Wesley had begun to need a drink before sleeping at night. Every once in awhile, he would need one to wake up, or to digest lunch, or a number of other excuses. It wasn't until Angel had hired him that he had stopped; having a sense of purpose did wonders for his constitution.

Today, however, he decided that he need just a sip. Saluting an imaginary companion, Wesley crawled into his bottle and stayed.

* * *

After getting Bethany settled, Angel paced his room. Part of him, a fairly large part, simply wanted to go back to bed. Sleep was good. Sleep lead to forgetting about his seemingly insurmountable task fighting an endless battle. Sleep took him away from the harsh reality of being alone, day in and day out, desiring but never touching, never being able to reach out and possess no matter how strong the urge was. He was able to possess in dreams.

A month ago, his dreams centered around a figure with dark brown hair, creamy skin, and steely blue-gray eyes; now dreams meant Darla. The dreams were good. They were piercingly erotic, fun, pleasant, and numerous other adjectives involving sex. But, there was a definite amount of guilt involved; true, it was guilty pleasure, but still guilt. They were dreams about his days as a vampire and he was enjoying them, enjoying memories of killing humans, feeling their innocent, fear filled blood coursing through his veins as he drained them dry. He was. . . disturbed by both the dreams and his reactions to them.

He was disturbed enough to decide to put off going to bed. First, he would check on Wesley. It had been two days since the former Watcher had been banished and Angel wanted to make sure Wesley was all right. And that he knew that Angel wasn't angry for what he had done. He did not hear the thump from his room after he left, a noise that suspiciously sounded like someone hitting the wall in frustration.

* * *

Angel was worried. He had been standing outside of Wesley's apartment for two minutes now. He had knocked, but there was no answer. Angel would have left, but he could smell the former Watcher inside.

"Wesley?" Angel called, knocking on the door again. "Wes? Are you ok?" The vampire heard a thump inside.

"Wesley? I'm coming in!"

The door swung open. "You haven't been invited in," a very rumpled and very drunk Wesley informed him in an admonishing tone of voice.

"You invited me in last month, Wes," Angel answered slowly, taking in the unfamiliar sight. He had never seen Wesley drunk before; Doyle yes, Wesley no.

Pain, still too sharp, passed through Angel before he firmly pushed it down. Wesley needed him right now; he had to be there for *Wesley*. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be with what's her name or saving the world or something?"

"Bethany is fine; she can control her powers now. You. . . you can come back to the office now."

"Good." Wesley smiled sweetly, then shuffled into his apartment. "You can come in, by the way. You can come in anytime, day or night; I'm always open."

Angel entered cautiously. Wesley was reclining on his couch, a bottle of beer in his hands. Scattered around him were empty bottles of anything from whiskey to wine coolers. Wesley had clearly been busy in the past two days. Angel sat by the couch. "Don't you think you're have enough to drink?" he asked, feeling stupid. *Brilliant line* he thought to himself.

"No, I don't believe I have." answered the former watcher politely. "He never let me drink; he never drinked. . drunk. . . drank? himself. Wanted to protect himself from temptation; the demon liquor leads to mishap, he thought." Wesley got up and walked aimlessly around the room, slightly off balance.

"He?"

"He was a Watcher, you know. One of the top. He always was embarrassed of me. I was too shy and acted stupid in front of others. I would stutter and blush or say the wrong thing. Then there were my embarrassing tastes and the tendency to drool when in the presence of a handsome man." Wesley broke off sighing.

"You're talking about your father," Angel realized.

Wesley blinked up at Angel, as if he just noticed the vampire was there. "Yes, my father was a good Watcher. He would never lose two slayers. He would never have been fired. And he would never, ever, almost kill anyone he worked for." Quite suddenly, Wesley broke down in tears, slumping to the ground.

"Wesley, it's all right," Angel said, too alarmed to be uncomfortable at his friend's irrational behavior.

Wesley shook his head. "No," he moaned, "it's not. I almost got him killed. I saw the smoke from where he was combut . . .combustin . . .bursting into flames. I didn't mean for that to happen. I was only trying to help."

The vampire sat down next to Wesley, worried at the fact that the man seemed to have forgotten that he was talking to Angel, the burning being in question. "I'm not angry, Wesley. I know what you were trying to do. It's all right." Angel patted Wesley's back, then began to make soothing circles. Years ago he had shied away from all contact with others; the Buffy came into his life and he had learned to touch again. He was learning, every day, how healing a simple touch could be; he only hoped that in this case, touch would be enough to reach the distraught man.

"Of course he's not angry at me; the wise ones don't anger at the expected. And, after all, my messing things up is almost expected. I never do anything but the wrong thing when all I want to do is please him. All I want to do is impress him. I wish," Wesley continued, his voice taking on a dreamy quality, "I wish I were strong and heroic, or smart or beautiful or confident."

"You are smart, Wesley. You're a genius."

Wesley shook his head, then swayed dizzily. Angel tightened his grip to steady him.

"I'm not smart; all I can do is repeat what I read. Cordelia can do the same thing."

"But Cordelia can't store all that information in her head; and you do more than that, Wesley, you . . ."

"I'm a human computer," Wesley broke in. "We already have a computer, why do you need me?" He sighed. "I wish. . . ." Wesley stopped talking, his head leaning heavily on Angel's shoulder, overcome with exhaustion and drink.

"What do you wish, Wesley?" asked Angel softly.

The former Watcher stirred. "I wish I were Buffy," he mumbled before passing out.

Angel watched him for a moment before nodding his head once as if in confirmation. He had suspected for awhile that his attraction to Wesley was not one-sided. It was nothing the Watcher did, per say, it was just the intensity of the air around him when Angel was in the room. And, it was Wesley's eyes.

The vampire had always been a sucker for a pair of pretty eyes. Wesley's were beautiful, the perfect combination of gray and blue. They held a spark or intelligence and strength, courage. The first time Angel had seen the strength in the eyes of Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, it had taken his breath - such as it was - away. The look was so unexpected in such an unassuming man, yet it was there.

He had fallen quite easily into gazing at Wesley's eyes when the former Watcher wasn't looking. Wesley gave so much away in his eyes, every emotion, every thought. The first time Angel had seen the desire in them, the vampire had been struck speechless. Hero-worship and respect had been replaced by a glow of something more, something that scared Angel. The last person who had looked at him from such eyes had died. No. Not now.

Angel ran his hand through Wesley's hair, then stroked the ex-Watcher's neck lightly with one index finger.

Wesley was good at keeping his emotions in check. He only looked at Angel in lust in unguarded moments, moments he though that Angel wasn't looking. Angel was always looking. There had been times where it took a supreme effort not to pull Wesley to him and take the Watcher. Both the demon and the man in him wanted to claim Wesley; it was fear of what the demon might do that stopped him.

But Angel knew that being with Wesley wouldn't bring the demon back. He cared deeply for the Watcher, maybe even loved him, but not enough to experience that one perfect moment. The fear of that moment would effectively keep the demon at bay.

Angel traced Wesley's jawline, allowing himself for a moment, to think immodest thoughts about the man. Wesley stirred slightly, then fell into a deeper sleep, his cheeks flushed. A wave of desire rolled through the dark-haired vampire.

"Why do I need you?" Angel replied softly to his sleeping Wesley. "Because you're you. I don't want you to be Buffy. All I want is for you to be mine."

Sighing, Angel shifted Wesley into a more comfortable position. He would not say anything when the unconscious man woke up. Drunken confessions felt too much like eavesdropping or reading someone's journal; it was an unfair way to glean information about feelings. If Wesley wanted Angel, then he would have to let the vampire know intentionally. Until then, it was better if Angel continued to ignore Wesley's desire and his own. Leaning his head back against the wall, Angel drifted off to Darla-less dreams.

* * *

Sometime the next afternoon, Wesley opened his eyes. He was lying on his back in bed feeling like a vampire had been staked in his mouth. His head was aching and he hurt all over. He groaned softly.

"You're awake. How do you feel?"

Wesley turned his head. Angel was leaning against the door frame, his hair damp and mussed. His gaze was sharp and intense as it rested on Wesley's face.

"I . . I"ll be fine. What happened?"

"You've been hungover all day. Don't you remember anything?"

Wesley tried to think through his headache. Images begin flooding him. Being violently ill over the toilet while Angel held his shoulders; Angel stroking his back, murmuring encouraging words; Angel sponging his forehead as Wesley slumped wearily against the vampire. Angel tucking Wesley into bed, his cool hands lingering on his forehead, his chest, soothing and gentle, as Wesley had often suspected the vampire could be. It had been a long day.

"Don't worry about it," Angel said suddenly, walking across the room. He sat on the edge of the bed. "I didn't mind any of it."

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Are you a mind reader now, able to divine my every thought?"

"You can be easy to read sometimes. I saw it in your face."

"Ah." Unsure of what to say, Wesley looked down at the bed spread, tracing the faded pattern with his finger. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. And Wes? Don't do it again."

Wesley, who was remembering the events that had driven him to drink, looked up, confused. "What? Don't do what again?"

"Get that drunk. I'm surprised you're not in the hospital with alcohol poisoning." Angel stretched out next to Wesley, propping his head on his fist.

"My grandfather was a heavy drinker; perhaps I inherited his high alcohol tolerance." He sat up, and groaned. "Or, perhaps, I'm just lucky. It seems that even in drinking I am unable to live up to the family name." He sighed and slumped against the pillows.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

A wave of annoyance and embarrassment washed through the former Watcher. "Did Cordelia have a vision about me? Did she send you here to save me from my inner demons?"

"Well, no."

"Then, if you please, back off."

Angel looked surprised. "What, I can't be worried about you? You're my friend . . ."

"No, we are not friends!" Feeling a flush of anger, Wesley leapt out of bed, ignoring the dull throb in his head. "Associates, maybe. Master and fool servant seems more like it sometimes. Friends? Ha."

The vampire was silent for a moment. "I don't get it," he finally said. "Do you not like me or something, Wes?"

"Like you?" Wesley shot back, pacing.

"Yes, do you like me? I only ask because in my experience friendships are based on a few things. One is liking the other person. Another is respect. Now, I both like and respect you. If you don't think we're friends, I can only assume that you either don't like me or don't respect me. So, which is it?"

Wesley simply stared at Angel.

The vampire slid sensuously off the bed and glided closer to Wesley. "Do you respect me, Wesley?"

"Yes, of . . .of course."

"Do you like me?" Angel's tone had an odd, stirring undercurrent.

"Yes, Angel, I . . ." Wesley stopped, swallowing hard, his mouth suddenly going dry.

"You what?"

"Of course I love you, Angel. I like you Angel. Oh shit." Horrified, Wesley felt his face warm and turned to hide against the wall.

Angel said nothing. Wesley took the vampire's silence as an ominous meaning. The past few days had been disastrous. Wesley had once again proved his incompetence by almost getting Angel killed, then improving his image by getting disgracefully drunk. And now this. Angel was never supposed to find out how Wesley felt.

Still hiding against the wall, Wesley sought to regain control over his emotions. He planned to gather his wits, turn and give his resignation with as much dignity as possible, then leave L.A. as quickly as he could. And, quite suddenly, a cold, wet mouth was running a trail of kisses down Wesley's face. The former watcher was pinned to the wall by a much larger and stronger body, with roaming hands attached.

"God, Wes, I almost wish you hadn't said that. Now I can't ignore it," Angel whispered in his ear.

"Angel?" Wesley gasped, holding onto the wall for support, his knees suddenly growing weak.

The vampire ran his tongue along the rim of Wesley's ear, tugging gently on the lobe, before continuing down the neck again. Deliciously cold hands ran up the former Watcher's sides, under his shirt. Wesley moaned out loud as the vampire's fingers found his nipples and pinched them gently. "Oh . . oh Angel," Wesley gasped. Then he stiffened. "Angel, stop!" Wesley pushed way from the wall and turned around. "What are you doing?"

Angel stood with his arms at his sides, his dark eyes burning. Wesley supposed that the fire could be desire. Desire for him. "I'm sorry," Angel said. "I just . . . Wesley, I . . ."

"Are you mocking me, somehow?" A horrible thought occurred to him. Icy horror shot through his veins. "Are you . .."

"No," replied Angel firmly. "I am not Angelus. And I'm not mocking you. I did it, I don't know. I did it because I want you." He laughed at Wesley's expression. "What? You didn't know that I'm attracted to men? That I'm attracted to you?"

"No. I never thought that."

"Which one?"

"You're gay?"

"I'm a vampire," Angel answered simply. "Why do you think I kept Spike around all those years? Not just for keeping Dru out of my way. Spike was good for a few things and one of them was the bedroom. Easy on the eyes too."

"Oh." Wesley felt embarrassed; the Watcher Council had obviously left some things out when they taught him about the nature of vampires. Most likely because they knew of Wesley's own inclinations and felt it may interfere somehow.

"You find me attractive?" the former Watcher finally said.

Angel laughed gently. "You're kidding, right? You're beautiful, Wesley; of course I find you attractive."

"Why haven't you said anything before?"

The vampire shifted uncomfortably. "Relationships and me don't have a way of working out well. Look at Buffy."

"Then why now? Why didn't you just leave what I said alone?"

Angel stepped closer to the incredulous man. "I don't want to lose you. I can be with you and if that's what it takes to get you to stay, then I've lucked out."

"Yes, you can be with me because you don't love me. I'm not sure . . ."

Angel cut Wesley off, pressing his lips to the human's. When he broke contact, Angel whispered, "I can be with you because fear of losing my soul in you is enough to keep me from having perfect happiness. I honestly don't know if I could ever be perfectly happy with Buffy even, but I don't want to try. I want you."

"You want a replacement."

"No. I want you, Wesley. What I feel for you has nothing to do with my feelings for anyone else. You've seduced me, slowly, but surely, with every glance, every breath, every movement. You have such strength and hidden passion, such elegance," Angel murmured, tracing Wesley's jawline, leaning in close.

Wesley felt the slow heat of desire spread through him. He reached out tentatively and touched Angel's face. Angel nuzzled Wesley's hand, turning his head to kiss the former Watcher's palm. "This isn't pity, is it?" asked Wesley haltingly, not wanting to believe that the object of his desire seemed to really want him back.

Angel replied by pulling Wesley toward the bed and pinning the smaller man under him. "I don't do pity fucks, Wes," Angel answered simply. Leaning down to start kissing Wesley's neck, Angel asked, "Do you want me or not?, cause I'm getting used to cold showers due to desiring you and one more isn't going to kill me."

Wesley made up his mind as Angel's fingers began doing some rather interesting exploring through the thin material of his boxers. "Stay," Wesley gasped, pulling Angel down to meet his lips in a passionate kiss.

*fin*