Title: Lost Boys
Disclaimers: All hail King Joss and his overlords at Mutant Enemy. 
Spoilers: Hum…up to and including parts of Seasons 1-3 of Buffy, 1 of Angel
Summary: There’s a new guy in town, and he needs Angel’s help.
Ratings Note: PG-NC-17
Pairing: Wesley/Angel
Author's Note: I’ve intentionally mangled the events of Season 1 to my liking-so sue me. Wait! Um, just kidding Joss…I’m really a poor schoolteacher so don’t sue. Also, Lost Boys constitutes Part 1 of the Crossroads Series.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Katie and Cheryl. 
Feedback: scarletsfiction@yahoo.com

To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead. 
-Bertrand Russell

Chapter 1

Gunn smelled different. It wasn’t that he smelled *bad* or *offensive*. Quite the opposite. It just wasn’t the ripe smell of musk and motor oil that usually notified Angel of his presence. Standing knee-deep in sewage, he was struggling to track a Lip’tar Demon. Angel sniffed the air again. No, the smell was distinctly different…rum and pine and a deep rich human smell Angel couldn’t identify-a smell unique to each human. 

No, there was only one conclusion to make. This wasn’t Gunn bringing up the left flank of Team Angel’s latest covert operation. And if it wasn’t Gunn,  then  a) Where the hell *was* Gunn? b) Who was this human that had worked himself (because Angel was sure it was a “him”self--pheromone traces told him as much) into this rather precarious place and c) He was tracking the Lip’tor Demon with only 33% of Angel Inc. Not a pleasant thought. 

Angel eased himself further down the narrow passage, cursing a sniffer that made the subtle nuances of the sewer fill his nostrils, effectively muting smells he might otherwise have detected. He was approaching the T intersection now. The Not-Gunn was definitely human. Under the ripe sewage smell, he could now detect the delicate scent of blood. The man was bleeding--not a lot, but enough for Angel to identify it. The man was in the passage to his left. Angel readied the short sword he had specifically chosen for this battle. The vampire moved closer to the wall, ready to creep tightly around the corner. While the Lip’tor weren’t notorious for collaborating with humans, it wasn’t an impossible thought that this human could be working for the demon.

Angel raised his sword in battle stance--or the best he could manage in the now nearly waste-high water and moved smoothly into game-face. With a low growl, he cursed his decision to wear his good coat today, spun 'round the corner, and…

…found his amber eyes staring down twelve inches of smooth, California Oak attached to what would have been a quite impressive crossbow had it’s point not been only inches from his heart. 

Angel had only a moment to consider this development before his eyes traveled the length of the crossbow and found their way to the human hands that held it. Rough and callused, the long fingers that clutched the trigger held no tremor, despite the liberal quantity of alcohol Angel detected and the rather severe wound splitting the skin on his lean left bicep. Slowly, Angel let his eyes drift up to the man who possessed the source of the vampire’s impending destruction. 

Familiarity tickled at the edge of his mind as he found himself staring into blue eyes. With a confused gasp, the wounded man spoke.

“Angel?”

The smooth, cultured tones pushed Angel’s memory the final distance. Recognition and alarm washed over him at the same time.

“Wesley?”

For several moments, neither man spoke--each assessing the potential threat. Angel finally broke the silence. 

“You’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question, but Wesley responded anyway, never allowing his eyes to leave Angel’s.

“Just a flesh wound. Damned Lip’tor demon caught me two junctions back. I managed to elude him by taking this tunnel and…I’m sorry. I must ask…What are *you* doing here?” 

“Tracking. Demon.  You?”

“Well, you always were succinct, weren’t you? I’m tracking a vampire, actually.” Wesley paused. “I guess I found it.” Wesley’s gaze was disturbed, his eyes filled with suspicion.

Angel struggled to find the words to explain the strange path that had brought him to this tunnel but was interrupted. He felt the smooth brush of tentacle graze his thigh and faster than he could call out a warning, he was being lifted from the muck and flung wildly across the tunnel’s intersection. Angel felt his body slam into the damp stone wall before he was yanked across to the other side. He had only a moment to register that he’d dropped his sword at the last collision before his body struck the opposite wall. 

“At least I found the Lip’tor,” he thought humorlessly as he assessed his situation. He was held tightly in a clear tentacle fitted with twin rows of sharp barbs. The sword had to be near the south wall. If he could get the demon to release him in that general area, then he had at least a slim chance of finding the sword before the demon was able to reclaim him and—“Uf!”—Angel groaned as his body struck the ceiling. 

OK. Good plan. Good plan. Now, all he had to do was get an 800lb. sentient jellyfish to decide *not* to crush his body against the foul walls of the sewer tunnel. Easy.

“Uf!” He struck the wall again. “Now that one *hurt*!” Angel’s scalp was bleeding from one of the blows and the viscous fluid was impairing his vision. –Slam!—Black spots peppered his already muddled vision. 

Dammit! Why hadn’t he waited for Gunn before charging the tunnel? Oh, yeah, fucking curiosity. And now he was paying for it. The Watcher would be no help. Angel had fought with Wesley before. It didn’t take much of a leap to imagine Wesley peeing his already wet pants (…and who could notice, really? In a sewer?) and running down the tunnel screaming like a 6-year-old girl. 

--Slam!—

“Maybe while Wesley is running, he’ll find Gunn…” Angel laughed hysterically to himself. For a moment he lost conciseness, then awoke. What was it they said about curiosity? Killed the messenger or something like that…?

--Slam!—

“Not very succinct now,” Angel quipped to the invisible audience in his head. 

-CRACK!!!-

Angel felt the tiny wake of air as a stake passed across his cheek-invoking a fear that only a vampire could truly appreciate. When he looked, Angel found that the stake was planted squarely in the deceptively strong, transparent tissue of the Lip’tor’s tentacle. The skin rippled in pain as an inhuman howl echoed through the chamber. Sensing his chance, Angel clawed at the loosening flesh and in a moment, found himself tumbling through the air into the inky depths below…

*****

Wes reloaded his crossbow. Bloody hell! His aim was terrible with a wounded arm. His intention had been to sink the wooden stake into the demon’s tentacle within grasping distance of Angel. Unfortunately, the former Watcher’s aim had been too high and the Lip’tor was no doubt going to now reclaim its inhuman prize. Either that, or turn its attention to the man who had narrowly managed to escape its grasp earlier. 

Watching the barbed tentacle, Wes was terrified to discover that his later prediction was true. Having given up on his current prey, the tentacle was making its way toward the lanky Brit. Though most of the Lip’tor’s body was likely far further down the tunnel, its “soul,” for lack of a better word, was contained in one of its three barbed tentacles. Discovering which one held it was usually the challenge for a rogue demon hunter such as himself. Fascinated at seeing the massive creature face to, uh, appendage, Wesley was both awed and terrified. It snaked its way over to him slowly. 

With no weapon sufficient to destroy the beast and no superhuman strength with which to harm it, he took aim with his crossbow, vowing to give the demon one final scar, compliments of  Wesley Wyndam-Price, before he succumbed to his own fate. 

As he struggled through the deep water, two things happened at once. First, Wesley’s eyes caught the glint of metal as Angel emerged from the foul depths of the sewer, brandishing his sword. Before he could strike the beast, however, the Lip’tor suddenly emitted it’s inhuman shriek for the second time. Confused, but seeing no need to waste an opportunity, Angel lunged forward, slicing expertly at the thick appendage. The demon shrieked again and again. Over and over, its death cry rattled the tunnels and Wesley found himself covering his ears as he struggled forward to offer what assistance he could. In minutes, they had severed the tentacle. Angel flung the limb to the other side of the tunnel. The remaining stub floated limply in the water.

The ex-Watcher stroked his uninjured arm across his sweating brow. Before he could ask Angel the cause of the Lip’tor’s premature death throes, he heard a splash behind him. Drawing his crossbow, he turned to find himself looking down the end of a slime-crusted sword identical to Angel’s. 

“It’s so fun when the tables are turned, isn’t it?” Angel chuckled with a cryptic smile. “Gunn, this is Wesley. Wesley, this is Gunn…and, I’m guessing, the cause of our tentacled friend’s early end.”

“Hey.” Gunn nodded before lowering his sword and turning to Angel accusingly. “You didn’t tell me that they *scream*.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t tell me that you were going to stop to get your hair done in the middle of a hunt-and-destroy mission.” 

Wesley raised his eyebrow at the bald man’s clenched smirk. Angel did know how to get a man’s ire up.  

“*Left flank*. That’s what you said. *Left flank*. I was *on* the left…” Angel and Gunn continued to good-naturedly bicker as they waded through the water toward what Wesley only hoped was the tunnel exit. Hours in the sewer had left him desensitized to the vomit-inducing smell, but as fresh air began to permeate the underground passage, he found himself breathing through his mouth.

As the men turned down the last corridor, Wesley had yet another shock. 

“Gosh! You guys stink! Hey, sorry for leaving you back there and all, but did you know there is, like, *sewage* in the sewer? I mean, I know I was supposed to be the right flank and all, but these are *Prada*!”

Wesley could do no more than stare at the brunette beauty that stood, tapping her expensively-booted foot in the shallow water under the sewer grate, which led to the surface. 

“And I heard something screaming. It wasn’t one of you guys, was it?”

“No, Cordy, it wasn’t one of us. Would we be here if it was one of us?” Angel reasoned patiently. 

“Well, no…but when Gunn sees a rat, he screams like a girl so I just figured, you know, that maybe that Lipton thing was like a giant rat or something and he decided to act like the big girlie man we all know he is and…when did Wesley get here?” Cordelia finally turned to acknowledge the dripping Englishman.

With what surprisingly resembled a sigh, Angel motioned Wesley to go first up the stairs. It was shaping up to be a long night. 

Chapter 2

“More tea?” Wesley asked, pouring himself another cup of the steaming brew. He used his right arm, favoring the wounded left arm he’d allowed Cordelia to bandage. 

“Oh, yes please!” Cordy smiled, happy to be waited on again after her year of slumming it with the dregs of L.A. After showering, they all felt considerably better and now sat around Angel’s small kitchen table.

“None for me. Tastes like mint dishwater. Didn’t know Angel even owned a teapot...” Gunn tossed back the last of his tea in one gulp, sitting the delicate cup clumsily into its saucer. Wesley winced. Apparently you could take the Watcher out of England but you couldn’t take England out of the Watcher. “So, you train girls to kill Angel, huh?” Gunn eyed the man distrustfully. 

“Well not Angel specifically. And no, I don’t do that anymore.”

“What, exactly, *do* you do?” Angle’s quiet interjection startled them. He’d been nearly silent for the entire return trip to the offices of Angel Investigations. Now, he sat apart from the others, silently considering the ex-Watcher.

Wesley shifted uncomfortably under Angel’s scrutiny. “I do…freelance work, mostly.”

“Freelance?”

“Yes, I co—I didn’t return to England after I failed to fulfill the counsel’s objectives in Sunnydale, so I’ve since sought work here in the states were I could find it.“

“Failed at what objectives?” Gunn asked as Wesley placed a well-timed cookie in his mouth. 

“You didn’t know? Wesley had a Slayer that went rogue and slept with my ex-boyfriend. Oh, and she killed a lot of people.”

“Thank you, Cordelia, for bringing perspective to my unique and rather pitiful situation.” Wesley grumbled around a mouthful of cookie.

“No problem, Wesley.”

Angel and Gunn were staring at Wesley, expectantly waiting for him to continue. He swallowed.

“I’d been contracting independently as a demonologist and translator, traveling to where my services were required. In two weeks, I had seen eleven states. You do not know the meaning of Hellmouth until you’ve slept in a Cleveland Motel 6. At any rate, I can’t honestly say I knew where I was going--in the metaphysical sense of the word. Rather lost, I suppose….” Wesley trailed off, clearly occupied with his own thoughts. Realizing he still had an audience, he continued, “About six months ago, I met some gentlemen in Barstow that showed me how lucrative it could be to help locate certain demons that…did not want to be located.”

“And that’s why you’re in L.A? To find a demon,” Angel finished.

“More or less.” Angel continued to stare at the man until he finally dropped his gaze. With resignation, Wesley continued. “Three weeks ago, I was approached by a man in Tucson-human{you know what to do}-who had heard of my work. His son had been kidnapped. Strange symbols were found at the scene. The police thought it the work of human cultist, but the father was not convinced. He brought me photographs of the symbols and it didn’t take me long to decipher that it wasn’t cultists or run-of-the-mill human kidnappers. The symbols appear to have been part of a transport spell--and a very powerful one at that. I’ve been traveling the coast for these last three weeks speaking with my contacts, trying to ascertain who had enough power to invoke such a potent spell. Then yesterday I was told by an oracle in Hollywood that the information I was seeking could be found by a vampire that could be found in a very specific part of the Los Angeles sewer system which, as it turns out, appears to be *you*, Angel.” Finally finished, he sat back thoughtfully and allowed the others to digest what he had just said. 

“So, your oracle lives in Hollywood? Does she work with any celebrities or …what? You know you were thinking it, too.” A scathing look from Gunn stopped Cordelia’s slight bouncing.

“I’m afraid I’ve never asked her.” Wesley responded. Cards on the table, he finally addressed Angel. “So tell me, Angel. Do you think you can help me? Or rather, do you think you could help a distraught father find his son?” Angel appeared to consider the proposition. After several seconds passed, Wesley mistook Angel’s reluctance. “He can pay you quite well, Angel. I can assure you. If that is the problem—“ 

“No, Wesley. I mean, the money doesn’t matter.”

“Speak for yourself, Captain Cheapskate. Someone’s got to keep me in fabulous clothes, and so far it hasn’t been you.” Cordy was already planning on how to spend her cut of the sizable reward they would undoubtedly receive.  

“What I mean is…if what you’re telling us is true, then of course we’ll help.” 

Wesley released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you Angel. I’m most grateful.”

Before they could make further plans, the room began to change. The hair stood up on the back of the human’s necks and an iridescent shimmering began in the air directly behind the small kitchen table where they sat. In moments a portal opened and a woman emerged from its swirling depths. Resplendent in purple velvet, she stood easily seven feet tall. 

“Annnnnngel.” The woman purred roughly. 

“We’ll continue this conversation later. Don’t wait up.” The vampire crossed the room and joined the mysterious woman at the portal. With an enigmatic smile, Angel stepped through, and in a moment he was gone. 

Wesley was more than a little taken-aback, but as he turned to his new companions, he detected no surprise in them. “Does he always do that?”

“Do what?” Gunn asked, helping himself to two, three, well, six more cookies. 

“Allow dimension-bending demons to come and go as they please? Leave in the middle of a conversation? Offer cryptic explanations for sudden disappearances?”

“Wow. You *haven’t* been around Angel in a while, have you?” Cordelia grinned. “Yes. He does. As for the mystery woman, that’s Nalana. She’s an associate of ours. Or of Angel‘s, that is. Actually, I’m not sure what she is, but I do know that she should not be wearing purple. Makes her look hippy. She stops by every few days, they leave, Angel returns and broods for a few hours, then its back to business as usual. Pretty much normal, actually.” Cordelia noticed the apprehensive look on the man’s face. “Look Wes, we’ll do what we can to help. Gunn’s a fighter and I, um…well, you know, if it’s meant to be then maybe I’ll get a vision or something and help you out. Whatever I can do to contribute to that commission—uh, the rescuing of a poor, lost little boy--I’ll do.”

“What about Angel? I didn’t particularly feel him giving me the warmest of receptions. He seems…distracted. Is it Buffy? Would he prefer that another reminder of his Sunnydale life not be here?”

“Naw, man. It’s not you. He’s been brooding more than usual for about a month. If you waited for a time when he wasn’t brooding, you would have been in that tunnel a long time.” Gunn didn’t hesitate before swiping two more cookies from the jar on the table.

Wesley cleared his throat. “That woman, you said she was an associate of Angel’s. In what capacity does she aide you?”

While Gunn munched his cookies, Cordelia eyed Wesley thoughtfully. People, and by that she meant Gunn and Angel, gave her far too little credit. The brief flirtation she shared with Wesley when they were in Sunnydale and it’s subsequent lame conclusion in the Sunnydale High School library had given her more insight to Wesley Wyndam-Price than the Powers That Be could have. “She’s not Angel’s girlfriend. He’s pretty much resigned himself to the celibate thing so don’t worry about him going all ‘grrrr!’ if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh, right. Yes. Angelus. It certainly wouldn’t do to have Angelus hinder our objective. Not when we need Angel to help identify the…uh…” Cordelia was looking at him now.

“Yeah, and it wouldn’t ‘do’ to have Angelus rip our throats out and eat them with a side of sausage, either. Geez, Wes. Transparent much?”

“—what? Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” Corelia sighed.

“I mean, it must be difficult for Angel to…be here and with Buffy only a few hours away...it must be hard—er, not *hard* but…”

“Wes, just stop before Cookie Boy here figures out why you are babbling.” Gunn looked up briefly then continued exploring the depths of the cookie jar. He had a feeling he had just been insulted but didn’t know why. Cordelia spoke privately into Wesley’s ear. “Now, I say we both get some shut eye because, come dawn, I’m going to want a jelly donut, coffee, and about thirty minutes of uninterrupted Wesley Time to find out why it is that you’ve been staring at Angel’s empty chair for the last five minutes.”

Flustered, the Englishman stood up abruptly. ”I’ve not been…I don’t know what…”

“Hum…maybe forty-five minutes... Tomorrow, Wes.” Cordelia also stood and gathered her purse and keys.

“Um, if you’re not going to finish your cookies, then can—“

“—Just take them, Gunn!” Wesley and Cordelia said in unison.

Gunn popped the prize into his mouth. Cookies and a commission. The New Guy was okay by him. Yep, he could get used to this. 

Chapter 3

Thunk.

Angel dropped another dozen books on the table.

“Okay, Angel. The Dirty Old Book obsession has got to stop.” Cordy was in a foul mood. Not only had she not had the chance to talk to Wesley that morning--much to Wesley’s relief, she was sure--but Angel had selected almost forty dusty volumes of demon lore that he felt might hold the answer to Wesley’s dilemma. Add that to the manicure she had had to cancel in favor of the midday Research Party, and she was not feeling like Angel Investigation’s Employee of the Year. “We’ll never be able to read all of these.”

“You don’t have to read them, actually. You simply have to look at the pictures. Will that be alright?” Wesley asked. 

The Watcher-turned-demon hunter was nervous. Cordelia had to admit that she was loving this part, at least. “I don’t know. *Angel*, what do you think? Can I look at the pictures?” She gave Wesley a knowing stare. 

“With all the time you spend looking at pictures in your magazines instead of filing case reports, I’m sure you’ve had lots of practice.” Angel did not appear to be in the best of moods, either. 

“See Wesley? *Angel* thinks I can do this.” Cordelia was putting special emphasis on the vampire's name, reveling in the way it made the ex-Watcher squirm. 

“What are we looking for again?”  Gunn rubbed his head absently. “It’s a circle with—“

“—with two small marks on the side. I’ve made a diagram and added several cross-references so as to make researching easier.” Grateful for the change in topic, Wesley handed each researcher a copy of his report--typed, copied, and bound that morning. The researchers looked at him with awe and disgust. 

“Is he always like this?” Gunn asked.

“Yeah, this is pretty much what I remember the most. Hey, *Angel*, do you remember--” 

“—Enough. Thank you, Wesley. I’m sure we’ll find what you need. Cordy, I suggest that you get started on this volume first.” Angel heaved a thick book at the young woman. As she caught it, a plume of dust rose from its surface. Wesley and Gunn each chose a book began thumbing through the pages. Angel selected a book himself and settled into his favorite chair, balancing his book across his knee. The Research Party began in earnest.

*****

Nearly three hours later, with human stomachs growling for lack of food, Angel casually eyed his crew over the top of a rather large demon codex. Cordy was whipping through pages at lightning speed while twirling strands of thick, dark hair around her finger. Gunn had his head propped up on his hands. His eyes were glazed and clearly only minutes away from falling completely asleep. Wesley, on the other hand, looked as though they had begun researching only minutes before. He had three books open and was peering from one to the other. As something new caught his eye, he would smile with delight and then guiltily leave a small slip of paper on that page indicating that he should come back to that part when there were less pressing matters to deal with. 

A brief smile threatened to cross Angel’s face. The vampire held it back. Wesley was so…*different* from the man he had known in Sunnydale. That man had been… snobbish? Uptight? Uncompromising? All of the words fit, yet Angel was at a loss to describe *this* Wesley in those terms. This Wesley was…confident. Warm. Strong. And clearly hiding something. Whatever it was, though, Angel had the feeling that it was personal and not professional, which was why he had agreed to help him. He made a mental note to discuss his concern with Wesley later. Maybe it was girl trouble. Angel indulged in a bitter sigh. Didn’t it always come down to that? He hated the thought of one of his crew having a problem if it was something that he could help them with. 

Angel stared openly at the other man. His crew. Was Wesley part of his crew now? The vampire rolled that thought around in his head for a while and found it to be more than pleasant. It would be nice to have a demonologist around. And Wesley’s actions in the sewers proved that the A-Team could do with a little more muscle--and Cordelia was plainly not cutting it. Wesley was reading a passage intently now and began running one hand through his hair as the other trailed across the page of a book. He wondered what Wesley would think if he knew most of Angel’s “research time” only masked brooding and self-reflection.

Wesley slipped his glasses from his face and rubbed long fingers over the bridge of his nose, attempting to soothe the pinched area between his eyes. Perhaps it was the sound of a vampire sighing that distracted him because as Angel was about to turn his head, Wesley looked up at him and their eyes met. For a moment, neither man looked away, then Angel lowered his eyes guiltily. He was startled by the thought that if he had been human, he would have been blushing.

“Feeders!”

“Ug! Where?” Gunn instinctively raised his feet into his chair. “I mean, What are you talking about?” He sat up straight in his chair, trying to smooth over the slightly childish outburst.

“Feeders. The demons that took the little boy. Feeders!” Cordelia could barely contain her excitement. “Look, I found a picture. And can I just say, eww? They’re kind of warthog-like. It says that the symbol in the boy’s room is part of a portal spell. The Dak--Dahk—whatever. The guys are also known as Feeders--they use the spell to sort of transport into a place, grab something, and teleport out. They…” Cordy squinted at the tiny print. “They usually hunt subjects easy to claim--kids, old people...and they’re called Feeders because…they feed on the male lifeforce. Male lifeforce? What kind of Robert Bly nightmare is this--hey!” Angel snatched the book out of her hands and began skimming the passages she had been reading. 

Wesley looked pale. “Is the boy—“

Angel jumped in quickly. “No. No, I don't think so. It says when they steal the lifeforce they sort of, um, suck it out through the eyes, leaving a shell of the person behind. The victims appear to be in a coma. You said no shell, right? No body? So…maybe the boy *was* kidnapped and they’re storing up for winter, so to speak….and,” Angel consulted the text again, “this is interesting. Their main feeding grounds are actually Los Angeles. Maybe your oracle was right about coming here.” Angel continued to read, his eyes frantically roaming the pages. 

“Actually,” Wesley’s mind began making connections, “that would account for many of the mysterious comas that have been experienced over the years.”

“And people who mysteriously wake from comas. Look at this.” Angel passed the book over to Wesley. “Apparently, when the Dak—Dekh—“

“Dak’tari.”   

Angel’s face looked pinched. “—when the Dak’tari that took the lifeforce dies, the child is restored. If their body is still alive, that is.”

“Why would it only hunt for boys?” Gunn looked ready to pummel the first Feeder he found, which was okay by Wesley. The face of the young father in Tucson still troubled him. 

“I don’t know. It doesn’t say. Maybe they’re lured by testosterone?” Angel speculated. He moved to the bookshelf in the back of the room to compare the text Cordy had found with another.

“And score one more for Estrogen, ladies and gentlemen,” Cordelia quipped, standing to stretch. “Okay, I can’t take it any more. It’s time to make the call.”

Gunn looked relieved. “Oh, Yeah! Okay, we’ll get two Beef & Broccoli, one Sweet & Sour—“

“—Two Sweet & Sour”

“Cordy’s hungry, Angel!” Gunn called to the vampire. “Two Beef & Broccoli, two Sweet & Sour chicken, one pork fried rice, one chicken fried rice—Wesley, what do you want?” Gunn’s pleasure was evident as he imagined the banquet of Chinese delights that would take him away from the Research Party. 

Wesley looked taken aback by the close and casual atmosphere that had settled into the small office. Replacing his glasses on, he thought for a moment. “Hum...something spicy…with shrimp?” he suggested. 

“ANGEL!!! Wesley wants the #4!!!!”

*****

An hour later, with bellies full and empty containers decorating the office, four weary researchers swallowed back the last of Angel’s beer--no closer to finding the boy. Angel, Cordelia, and Gunn were, however, very close to having a new best friend. After paying for all of the food himself, Wesley proceeded to consume three beers in quick succession. It was a very relaxed Brit that turned over the last of the pork fried rice--and two fortune cookies to Gunn, earning a devoted grin. 

“Okay, I have a plan.” Angel once again surprised him with his outburst. As he didn’t need to eat, he had simply nursed his beer while the others indulged. At one point, Wesley saw him leave for the small refrigerator behind the desk. Cordy had made her fingers in to fangs and simulated biting a neck. The translation was obvious to Wesley. Angel was getting blood. 

“Shoot, boss.” Gunn encouraged, through a mouthful of cold rice. 

“I didn’t say it was a good plan. It’s actually not much of a plan, but it *is* something to do besides research.” At this comment, he looked at Gunn who turned away with a guilty smile. 

“I suggest Gunn check with his contacts in the human world while Wesley and I check with some of my sources here in the city. Look for anything associated with the Feeders. Symbols, comas, anything.”

“What should I do?” Cordy asked. <Please don’t make me go, please don’t make me go…there’s a new episode of The Bachelor on tonight and..>

“Cordy, you can stay here and man the office while we are gone. We’ll check back by midnight.”

<Yes! Thankyouthankyouthankyou Powers That Be…wait....>

“Angel, there’s no TV here. You can’t expect me to just sit around all night waiting for you to call. My position here is serious and important and special and—“

“You can bring my TV upstairs.”

“Oh, okay then. Have fun.”

With that decided, they waited the last half-hour for the sun to go down before Gunn left the offices in his beloved pickup truck. Wesley and Angel started out through the sewer tunnels on foot and began heading for the first of four places Angel planned on visiting that night. With any luck, they would have one very happy father in Tucson by dawn. 

Chapter 4 

“Naw, kind of, uh, warthog-like. Probably hanging around kids or weak men….” Gunn trailed off when he heard what he was saying. 

“I’m telling you man, we don’t have any weak men here. You know better than to ask that.” Goldie’s eyes glittered without humor. 

“I didn’t say your boys were weak. I’m askin’ if you seen a demon like the kind I’m lookin’ for.” But Gunn could tell that he wasn’t getting through. Goldie wasn’t going to be giving any information tonight. He stared at Gunn until he turned abruptly and walked away. 

As Gunn made his way to his truck, he noticed a rather disgusting demon lurking in the ally. 

“Hey, don’t worry about Gino, man. He’s cool. We use him for stuff, you know? Like when we need information.” Gunn was startled to find the source of the voice was a young man, maybe thirteen or fourteen. “So, you’re Charles Gunn.” The kid appeared to be considering something. Finally he said, “I thought you’d be bigger.” Gunn chuckled. “You laughing at me?” The youth narrowed his eyes defensively. 

“Naw, man, I ain’t laughin’ at you. It’s just,…nothin’. Hey, do you know anything about warthog lookin’ demons called Feeders?”

The boy shook his head, no. 

“How about the Dak’tari?”

Another shake. “You should probably ask Gino, though. If it’s a demon you’re lookin’ for and all.”

Gunn thanked the kid and then crossed the street. Gino’s ripe smell assaulted him before he got within five yards of the demon squatting in the narrow ally. 

“So, Gino, I hear you’re the guy to talk to if I need information.”

“You heard right. Gino’s the man to know. ‘cept when he’s not the man to know, you know?” The demon cackled at his own attempt at a joke while Gunn tried to hold back his dinner. 

“I’m lookin’ for a Dak’tari. At least one, possibly more.” Gino stared at him. “Has a kid with him. At least one possibly more,” Gunn repeated. “Is any of this makin’ sense? Feeders?” Gunn was getting a blank look and was preparing to give up entirely when Gino finally spoke.

“Oh, FEEDERS. I thought you said Feelers. Feeders, got it, got it. Feeders. Yes, I do believe I know what you’re looking for. Rather unsavory types. Never cared for them. Smell, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Gunn answered, taking in the puss-filled scabs that covered the upper half of the demon’s body. “Can you tell me where they are?”

“I can do better than that. I can show you. For a price, of course.”

“Of course.”

*****

With three contacts down and only one more to go, Wesley and Angel were discouraged. 

“I simply don’t understand how it is that no one has heard of these demons. If they’ve begun bringing their victims here to feed, as we predicted, it seems as thought they would be more than noticeable, yet no one seems to—“

“Have a clue what the hell we’re talking about?” Angel finished.

“Yes. Precisely.”

The men sidestepped a broken beer bottle and made for the curb in the less-than-friendly neighborhood. Wesley stole a quick glance at his vampire companion. He had been prepared when they left the office that some violence might be in order. The Watcher’s Council had trained him well on extracting information from unwilling subjects. But so far they had had no need. All of Angel’s sources seemed to respect him a great deal--one even gave them pie, which now sat in the contented ex-Watcher’s belly. 

Wesley stole another glance. <Angel is so…different than I remembered. Wiser, more distinguished somehow. Not that he is old. Well, he *is* old, but he does not look it, of course. Wait, am I worrying about how Angel looks? No, I am simply making an appraisal of my new partner-uh, companion. Uh! Focus Wesley.> Another quick glance. <Was Angel always so charismatic? Was he always that tall? Buffy is so small. She must have reached no further than his shoulders-- > Wesley’s train of thought came to a shuddering halt. God, what was he doing?

“Maybe we’re on the wrong track. Or maybe the Dak’tari have gotten to them first. Frightened them or cast a forgetting spell. I don’t know.” Angel and Wesley approached the small, squat house that was last on their list. The vampire continued, “And let me do the talking while we’re here. Jackel isn’t always forthcoming with his information around strangers--especially foreigners.”

“That’s ridiculous! I have no cause to harm him. And you’re as foreign as I am. I seem to remember *you* crossing an ocean or two in your day. Does he know *that*?” Wesley fumed. 

“Just let me do the talking.” Angel rapped at the door. When no one answered the door, the vampire moved to the window, peering through the blinds. 

”There doesn’t seem to be anyone home, Angel. Perhaps your contact realized you had brought a *foreigner*.” Wesley spit the last word out with disgust.

“You really are sensitive, aren’t you? Look, he said he would be here. He may be a demon and a xenophobe but he always keeps his word. JACKEL!” Angel cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted through the window. A muffled crash from inside nearly brought out Angel’s game face. The door was suddenly opened and a rather small, human-looking man stood in the doorway. 

“Angel. Come in, come in. So sorry to, uh…keep you waiting. Does your friend need to be invited?” Wesley marveled at the smooth way the demon addressed the sticky question. 

“No, Jackel. He’s human.”

“Ah,…huuuuman,” the demon drawled unpleasantly.  

“Yes, we’re here on business and we don’t have a lot of time.”

“Of course, of course. Come inside. “ The demon led them into the wide entryway. To the right, Wesley could see a kitchen, and a living area through an open door to the left. A narrow arch at the back of the entryway led to what appeared to be another large room, though dark and unrecognizable. “Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea? A soda? O-positive, perhaps?”

“No, we wanted to know…”

“How about a nice Chardonnay? 1946? Excellent year for—“ Jackal was babbling nervously. Even Wesley could detect the agitation in the demon’s voice. Once again, there was a muffled crash, this time from the darkened room. 

“You have visitors, Jackal.” Angel’s lips were pursed tightly. 

“No, no I don’t. I have no idea what you are talking about. Why would you ask me such a question?”

“That wasn’t a question.” Angel’s hand moved swiftly to the short sword he carried under the long coat. Sensing Angel’s movements, Wesley also removed the blade he wore under his own brown corduroy coat. 

Caught in a lie, Jackal decided to change his approach. “I don’t want any trouble here, Angel. These guys just want to ask you a few questions. You know, about some of their friends you and your pals whacked a couple of weeks ago. Just a nice talk—“ Jackal’s last words were drowned out as the entryway was plunged into darkness. 

The attack came swiftly. From the already darkened back room, four Lacourian demons emerged with their claws extended. The two men knew that, though relatively slow moving, the Lacourian’s claws were lethal and could slash both flesh and bone with ease. Angel managed to dodge the first two demons but the third one nearly slit him from throat to balls. Shuddering, he looked at Wesley in alarm, but was surprised to discover the Englishman holding his own. Wesley leaped onto the nearest demon and, with the large knife in his right hand, began using it to plunge shallow cuts into the Lacourian’s thick hide. Taking his cue, Angel leapt onto another Lacourian and wrapped his arms tightly around the head. With superhuman strength, Angel twisted and a satisfying crack echoed through the room. 

The vampire dispatched another demon with similar ease while Wesley continued to stab at the Lacourian, finally slitting its throat. The dead demon crashed forward, sending Wesley sprawling. Sensing his chance, the remaining demon pounced on the ex-Watcher. Slashing with its powerful claws, Wesley felt his flesh tear. Blood began to seep from the wound on his belly; a surprisingly soggy crimson streak on his otherwise pristine blue shirt. 

Raising its claw again, the demon prepared to administer a mortal blow. With a sickening thud, Wesley watched as the demon’s forearm tumbled to the carpet, oozing black viscous fluid over his wounded body. A second blow to the Lacourian’s torso left the beast bisected and as the two grisly parts joined the first on the hall carpet, Wesley was rewarded with the sweet sight of Angel and his sword. 

The vampire reached out a cool hand. The other man could do no more than press his palm to it and allow himself to be dragged to a standing position. The wound kept him doubled over for several moments before he stiffly straightened his back and sheathed his knife. 

“Well that was…” Wesley struggled to find the right word. “…bracing.”

“That was *strange*. Jackal isn’t the most reputable demon I’ve worked with, but…where *is* Jackal?”

Both men’s eyes swept the small chamber. 

“I believe your fair weather friend sensed a change in ‘atmospheric conditions’.” Wesley chuckled softly to himself, then winced. He was in tremendous pain, but he would not look at the wound now. That was for later. Later, when he was safe in the small, shitty apartment where he spent his days and most of his nights since he had come to L.A. Later, when he could peal back the torn cloth and weep noisily to himself and pretend that someone cared that he was hurt. 

“How bad?”

“I’ll manage.”

Angel eyed the other man anxiously. Wesley was wounded--that much was obvious--but his coat swung in front of the damaged area, blocking his view of the injury. He could smell the blood, though. Rich and coppery, it sang to be sipped. Lapped up. Consumed. Angel shifted uncomfortably. 

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’d manage,” Wesley replied sharply.

Angel was slightly taken aback by his response, but one glance into bitter blue eyes told him not to press the issue. 

“Okay. Well, it’s almost midnight. We should probably get back. Cordelia will be worried.” 

*****

Back at Angel Investigations, Cordelia *was* worried. The Midnight Mauve nailpolish that the woman at the cosmetics counter *swore* would go with the lipstick was, tragically, far too pink to come close to anything like matching. Now she would have to either buy a new nailpolish or find a way to lighten the lipstick. That was the problem when you left major cosmetic decisions to people who worked on commission. You never knew—

<ohshitoshshitohdamn!No!No!No!NotnownotnowI’mallalone>

Cordelia collapsed to the floor, hands lacing into her long hair. Screaming pain and white-hot agony…then…

…pictures…images…

<ohgod!>

“…demon…a demon…thick hair…Miss Piggy face…and…fear. Children--not many, maybe four?….”

<ohgod…they’resoafraid>

“…and painting...painting something big...”

<ohshitithurts!!!>

…and then something familiar….black shirt…smooth head…dark skin…

<no…no…no...NO!!!>

…Gunn.

Cordelia pulled her head to her knees and wept. 

Chapter 5

Angel and Wesley made their way through the darkened streets. Angel silently cursed the moment he’d made the decision to leave his car behind. It had seemed logical at the time but now he couldn’t even remember why. Unable to contact Cordy, Angel pushed them onward. If she was downstairs going through his closet again, disposing of all times she deemed unworthy, he was going to be furious. Twice in one week was enough--he wouldn’t have any clothes left before too long. 

A strangled gasp broke his thoughts and he felt, before he saw, Wesley fall forward against him. The Englishman staggered and continued walking in obvious pain.

“Wesley, we have to stop.”

“Don’t worry about me. Keep going.”

“You’re hurt. This is ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous is coddling a grown man like a child. I don’t need your help. I’m-I’m…” Wesley stumbled into a trashcan and fainted.

Angel swept the wounded man into his arms and continued walking toward the office He had no trouble with carrying the extra weight but it did slow down his speed and, as Wesley began stirring, they were still nearly a mile from Angel Inc. 

“Put me down.”

“No.”

“Put me down, Angel.” His voice was deadly calm, but being dead already, Angel’s was more effective.

“You’re hurt and you were slowing us down. As soon as we get back to the office, I’m driving you to a hospital.” Wesley’s bitter laugh echoed through the deserted street. “You mind letting me in on the joke?” But Wesley had passed out again. Angel shifted him in his arms. The smell of blood was strong and getting stronger. Despite Wesley’s claims to the contrary, the vampire knew he was very badly hurt. Angel marveled at how amazing it was that the human had managed to walk *this* far. Blood smudged the ex-Watcher’s face and Angel resisted the urge to lift the man and lick the cheek clean. Shame swelled in him briefly. If his crew knew some of the thoughts that ran through his head, they’d be more than a little grossed out and likely keep their doors locked at all times. 

Angel shifted the lanky man in his arms again. Wesley’s glasses were skewed slightly and soft curls flopped against his forehead, weeks overdue for a cut. In the soft moonlight of LA’s dirty back streets, he was strangely beautiful. Warm and alive and so—ohgod! He had a crush! The realization struck Angel with force and he stumbled slightly, jarring the sleeping man. It was…embarrassing. He wasn’t a teenager. He hadn’t had a crush since Buffy. Or a male lover since he’d regained his soul. That memory alone was enough to jar him back to reality. He had to get Wesley home.

*****

They were drawing close to the office now and Wesley began to stir. Resigned to being carried, he pressed his head against Angel’s chest, taking in his warm smell. The Watcher’s diaries were very clear that a vampire carried no scent discernible to a human. Wesley could tell them differently. Their body might not give off a noticeable odor, but Angel’s coat was most…ahem...pleasant. His cock twitched as he took in the alluring scent. Leather and cologne mixed with the coppery scent of fresh blood and—oh, god! The blood was *him*! He was hurt! The memory of their earlier fight came flooding back suddenly and Wesley found himself struggling once again to stand.

“Feeling better?”

“I told you. I’m fine.”

“You weren’t fine when you passed out.” Wesley began walking weakly next to the vampire. “Look Wesley, I appreciate your need to show me that you can take care of yourself. I do. But there’s being brave and then there’s just being foolish.”

“Thank you. If I need any more advice, I‘ll certainly call you. I’m fine now. Just…leave it be.”

The two men crossed the street and made their way up the front steps of Angel Investigations. Angel was determined not to coddle the man who obviously hated the attention and Wesley was desperate to prove that he could withstand anything that Angel could. As a result, the two men found themselves nearly racing for the front door. Both reached for the handle and a brief, awkward argument erupted wherein Wesley finally relented and allowed Angel to open the door on the grounds that the vampire held the lease for the office and therefor, the doorknob. 

They slipped in and found themselves standing before the huddled form of Cordelia. Her eyes were wide, lips mumbling softly, oblivious to their presence.

“…Gunn…kids….Gunn…have to…have to help him...”

Chapter 6

Angel entered the offices for the second time that night. The look on his face told Cordelia all she needed to know. 
 
“No luck,” Cordelia said.

“None. I retraced his steps and no one saw him after he talked to his friend.” Angel was discouraged. “How about you two? Did Wesley go to the hospital like I told him?”

“What do you think?” Angel sighed. “And he hasn’t come out of the bathroom in forever, “ Cordelia added. She swallowed two more extra-strength aspirin with a grimace. 

“Did you at least bandage him up?”

“He wouldn’t let me. Just locked himself in the bathroom with the first-aid kit. Please tell me you can talk some sense into him because I’m all talked out.”

Angel knocked lightly on the bathroom door. Wesley heard the gentle knock and paid it no regard. He stood, naked from the waist up, staring at the three deep gashes that crossed his chest. The first and last were shallow and would heal in days. The middle gash, however, was deep. He had the kit open and sutures laid out. It would not be the first or last time he had tended to his own wounds. 

“Wesley? Are you conscious?” Angel knocked on the door again, this time louder.

“I’m fine, Angel. Just tend to Gunn and Cordelia.” The doorknob rattled and Wesley watched as a slim piece of plastic swept the doorframe near the lock. Angel eased the door open. 

“That would be hard since Gunn is still missing and Cordelia hasn’t needed my help since the Neiman Marcus shoe sale of 1999. “ He stepped inside. “American Express. Don’t break and enter without it.” He held the plastic up sheepishly. 

Wesley made a vain attempt to cover himself but Angel yanked the torn shirt from his hands, taking notice of the Englishman’s wounds. “My god, Wesley. I had no idea that…I knew you were hurt but…”

“I’ll heal. Humans *do* heal eventually, if you remember.” Wesley went back to staring at himself in the mirror. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve some patching up to do.” He gave a rueful grin and with his uninjured hand, lifted a small bag containing surgical thread, attempting to open it with his teeth.

“No.”

“No what?”

“No, I won’t excuse you.” 

Angel stepped all of the way into his small bathroom and shut the door behind them. Taking the sutures from Wesley’s hand, he set the trembling man on the toilet seat and began unpacking the kit completely. His eyes appraised the slim form seated before him. He was scarred, and not just from today’s events. Old scars and some fairly fresh criss-crossed his body. Angel ran his thumb across a particularly deep scar-pale white and translucent-on Wesley’s right shoulder. Wesley shuddered slightly at the touch and Angel turned to the first-aid kit in shame. Wesley must be so disgusted. Here he was, trying to help a badly injured man, and all he could do was find excuses to fondle the wounded.

“This will sting,” Angel warned unnecessarily as he coated the gashes with antiseptic. Wesley put up no protest--the will to argue having gone some time past. Instead, he stared straight ahead, a sight Angel found far more disturbing. After cleaning the wounds, Angel efficiently stitched the deepest parts of the cuts. Wesley hissed in pain and Angel cursed the moment he decided not to put several bottles of alcohol in the first-aid kit as Doyle had once requested. The smudge was still there, he noticed. Just a fingerprint, really, on pale skin. Angel eyed it and silently wondered what Wesley would say if he licked him right then. If he reached down and let his fingers trail over that pale skin and let his tongue sweep his cheek. 

“You couldn’t find him, then?” Wesley asked finally.

Angel was startled from his reverie. “No, but his friends are going to contact me if they hear from him.”

“Cordelia’s vision. She said he was hurt—“

“And she wouldn’t have gotten the vision if there was nothing we could do. We have our ways.” Angel was putting on a smooth façade but Wesley could sense the worry, just under the surface.

“Angel—“

“Hold still.”

The ex-Watcher was in no place to argue. Or move. Or even breathe. Wesley continued to stare at the distant spot, not moving.

((Just clean it up yourself, boy.))

((No one is going to molly-coddle you around here, son))

((Does the mama’s boy have an owie?))
 
He was afraid to stop the gentle ministering of the vampire who sat before him. Did Angel realize how strange it was to stare into a mirror and watch a needle pierce your skin of it’s own device? To watch it thread through the ragged ends of a bloody wound and then tie itself? Angel was close--only inches away from his bare skin. He could feel the vampire’s tense hunger. His body hummed with it and he had to forgive him the anxiety. It must be hard to be so close to fresh blood and have to abstain. He half wondered if he shouldn’t simply offer to let Angel clean the wound in his own way. The healing saliva of a vampire was much discussed but rarely documented in the Watcher’s Diaries. But that wasn’t really what he meant. Not really.

((What are you gonna’ do about it, boy? You gonna’ cry?))

Nearly ready to ask the vampire to drink his fill and leave the empty husk behind, Wesley started when Angel proclaimed him finished. He ran his hand down smooth, clean bandages.

“You should change those each day. And try to keep them dry.” Wesley smiled gratefully. “And no more demon rugby. Strictly American Rules for you. Got it?” Wesley made to step out of the bathroom but Angel stopped him. “I mean it, Wes. Your arm this morning. Your gut today. What are you trying to prove?”

Wesley's gave a sad snort and avoided the vampire’s gaze. Angel knew there were more questions he should be asking, but interpersonal communication had never been his strong suit--he'd always left that to Spike, who could be surprisingly insightful at times. Before he could come up with a reasonable inquiry, Cordelia interrupted them.

“How is he doing?”

“I’m doing fine, Cordelia. Thank you for asking. What can I do now to help Gunn?”

“You can go home and get some rest. We’ll call you if we hear anything.” Angel said firmly.

“You want me to go home?”

“Yes.”

“Angel, I’d sooner poke out my own eye with one of Cordelia’s lacquered fingernails as go home right now. I was told that you have your ways. I’d like to know what they are.” Wesley met Angel’s gaze and narrowed his eyes.

“That’s gross, Wesley. Way to pay a girl a compliment. We were just going to do more research. Yay. Oh, and in case I didn’t sound enthusiastic, that’s because I’m not.” Dark circles rimmed the girl’s eyes and her temper was getting short.

“Go home, Cordelia. Wes and I will cover it.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Angel," Cordelia sighed. "I’ll be back in a few hours. Call me if—“

“—of course.”

“And I’ll call you if I—“

“—of course.”

She picked up her purse and planted soft kisses on each of their foreheads before walking wearily to the door. 

*****

Soft pools of light crossed the thick wooden table loaded with books. Hours had passed and the researchers had come no closer to finding information about the Dak’tari. Their eyes gritty and sleep deprived, they were briefly rejuvenated when Cordelia returned in the early morning hours with coffee. That brief respite lasted only a short time, however, and they soon found exhaustion weighing heavily on them.

“This one has the Dak’tari feeding entirely on children while in this other text, they take from males of many species and ages. Some list their primary feeding grounds as Los Angeles, others site them as being more inland. It’s nearly impossible for me to pinpoint any factual information.” Wesley was frustrated, but clearly in his element, flipping from text to text. Angel had to marvel at the strange turnaround from the night before. 

“Just find what you can. I know we’ll find him. We have to.” Several hours has passed since his disappearance and Angel’s concern was beginning to grow.   

“You’re worried about him.”
 
“Gunn’s a fighter. He can take care of himself.” Angel seemed unfazed and did not lift his eyes from his book.

“In Cordelia’s vision, the Feeders were taking his lifeforce, regardless of his physical abilities, Angel.”

“Well gee, don’t sugarcoat it, Wes. Give it to me straight.” Angel looked up in exasperation. 

Wesley removed his glasses and set them on the table. “Angel, I don’t work for the Counsel anymore. I don’t stand on pomp and tradition as I once did. I believe that you are right--that with help from the Powers That Be we will be able to find your friend. I just hope that finding him is *enough*. If you would like me to stand on pretense, then I will tell you that I’m sure your friend is sipping coffee right now and enjoying a lovely plate of cookies. But if you want a real friend and ally, then I must always try to be honest with you, Angel, and I would hope that you would do likewise.” Wesley’s eyes found Angel’s and he held his gaze with conviction. 

Angel was silent, caught in his thoughts. He knew the time had come to make a decision. Wesley could be trusted, that much was certain. The allegiance he had built with Cordelia and Doyle, and later Gunn, was unwavering--their devotion to him, the same. Could Angel make the same claims toward the tall Englishman who now sat staring across the table from him? In many ways Doyle, Cordy, and Gunn had been closer to him than anyone he had known. To allow someone new to gain entry into the small circle of those he cared about was a rare thing. The question still remained, though; did Wesley want this life for himself? Only Wesley knew the answer to that. It would have to be his choice. Decided, the vampire lay his hands out across Wesley’s book.

“I’m worried, Wesley.”

Wesley waited for Angel to go on.

“He’s barely more than a child himself.”

“Who?”

“Gunn. That’s how I met him. Just a child leading other children. A street kid trying to take back the night from a local nest. He has no family that he didn’t find or put together from pain and common tragedy. Just us. Cordy and I. And he’s all alone. He’s alone because of a mission I sent him on. I could have waited until tomorrow, but I let him go alone. I should have—“ 

Wesley placed his palm on the back of the hand that covered his book. “Angel,” he started bitterly. “I’m so sorry. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I’m the one that introduced you to the Dak’tari. I’m the one that encouraged this fruitless search. If anyone should be sorry—“

“No. Never *apologize* for wanting to help people.” Angel felt the soft tremor of Wesley’s hand that still covered his own. The human’s face held so much confusion and pain. He imagined six lifetimes of stories in one person--a quality often found in vampires and rarely found in humans. The hand was still there, comforting him. Without thinking, he lifted his own thumb and traced it against the thick pad of skin under Wesley’s thumb.

The tender friction of skin on skin sent Wesley’s heart racing. He gently stroked back, his eyes sinking closed. Marveling at the sensation, he was loathe to pull his hand away but to let it remain covering Angel’s own was too intimate and spoke of things he’d best leave unsaid. His indecision was broken by the arrival of Cordelia. 

“Hey, haven’t you two girls been listening for the phone? I’ve been calling for you for forever,” she reprimanded. “I don’t get paid around here to be ignored. I can do that at home easily enough. Phantom Dennis has been in a snit and—“

“Why?” Angel stood from the table.

“Something about not respecting his personal space--but I can’t tell where his space *is* if I can’t see where he’s standing! I’m not psychic--I mean I am, but I can’t—”

“Cordy!”

“Oh, why did I need you? We just got a call from some guy named Goldie that thinks he might know where Gunn is.”

Chapter 7

“Thank you. No, I appreciate it. Goodbye.”

Two pairs of expectant eyes turned to the vampire.

“He said Gunn was talking to a Steareth demon before he disappeared. Apparently, this demon took him somewhere--the details are kind of fuzzy. I’m getting it third hand, but some kid saw them leave in Gunn’s truck. A half-hour later the demon returns, Gunn doesn’t.”

“Do we know where this demon is?”

“No, but they do. He’s a mercenary--sells information, muscle for hire. Goldie said he comes by pretty regularly. He’ll call when the demon comes by tonight. *If* he comes by…”

“So we just have to wait?” Cordelia’s frustration was as obvious as Wesley’s. He tried to console her.

“For now. Don’t worry Cordy. We’ll find him.“ The reassurances sounded weak even to Wesley’s own ears, but the girl smiled gratefully at him.

“You two have been awake all night and you need to get some sleep. I’ll stay near the phone and wake you when I hear something.”

“Thank you, Cordelia. That’s very thoughtful of you.” Wesley smiled weakly with exhaustion and began to slip his coat on. 

“Wesley, you can hardly move, let alone drive. You should stay in Angel’s apartment. He has a couch. Right Angel?”

“I’m sure Angel doesn’t—“

“Of course you can stay, Wesley.”

“I *have* a home of my own,” Wesley snapped defensively.

"No one said you didn’t, Wes, but if Goldie hears from Gunn or this demon it would be convenient for you to be close by,” Angel reasoned

Too weak to argue, the ex-Watcher gave in to his companion’s argument and allowed Angel to lead him downstairs and to the couch that dominated his small living room. 

“It’s not much…and it’s a bit lumpy…and it sort of smells…and Cordy spilled nail polish remover on the arm last month-you know, you should probably take my bed and I’ll take the couch—“

“Angel. This will be more than adequate. Thank you.” 

Angel placed several large blankets on the lumpy menace and turned with some discomfort to his own bed. His usual practice of sleeping nude would have to be forgone today. It wouldn’t really make him a good host if he gave his guest a peep show. He settled, instead, for taking off his shirt and pants and slipping between cool sheets in only his boxers. In the dim pre-dawn light, Angel watched as Wesley removed his glasses and placed them gingerly on a low table. Angel knew he was exhausted because Wesley was making slow progress taking off his shirt. His fingers were trembling at each button and the tall man let out a small sigh of relief when the shirt was finally open. Realizing that he was staring, Angel turned to face away from the other man, giving him his privacy. 

Across the small studio, Wesley’s mind was whirling. The image of Angel’s broad back and boxer-clad ass was still swimming behind his eyes. He turned from the ornate bed where the vampire lay as he removed his pants, worried that the vamp’s unusual eyesight might take in the suspicious bulge that had risen, unbidden. Wesley was mortified. Gunn was in danger, children’s lives were at stake, and he was ogling his friend. Boss. Partner? Wesley slipped into bed as he mulled this thought over in this head. If--when--they found Gunn and the Dak’tari, what would come next? Would he go back to Tucson or up to Barstow? The path that lay before him was as unidentifiable as it had been when he left Sunnydale. One thing was clear to him. Sitting in Angel’s small kitchen with Cordelia and Gunn, watching the easy camaraderie they had with Angel and partaking of it himself, that had been a beautiful and alien experience. One he had heard of but never experienced. 

That had felt like home. 

***

((The room under the stairs is small but warm. Part of Wesley wants to be there, is grateful when his father's punishments send him to the enclosed room that smells of wood and camphor. There are no blankets, no pillows, no food or water. Just the small space no larger than the boot of an automobile. But still, it is comforting to know that while he is being "punished" he will have privacy. 

Wesley uses the time to his advantage, knowing his time in the space could be hours or days but always, always alone. His thoughts wander, as they so often did, to the beautiful blond boy in his Interdimensional Physics class. His skin was so dark, the hairs on his arms pale{D}-almost silver. Jeffrey. The first boy he'd kissed, but not the last. Reminiscing, Wesley strokes languorously over the bulge in his pants as he had as a young man. He wouldn’t have dared then, so why does he feel so uninhibited now? 

Ah…The thought is both simple and disappointing. Because he is dreaming. He strokes again, harder this time, determined to enjoy his brief period of solitude, however imagined it might be. He unfastens his trousers, slipping his hand inside to stroke at rigid flesh. Blissful. How long has it been since he's allowed himself this pleasure? He does not know, but he imagines it to be far too long. 

Suddenly, the closet door is thrust opened. But it can't be, because he's only been in The Room for a day and surely getting fired from the Watcher's Counsel is worthy of at least a week in The Room? 

But when Wesley's eyes finally adjust to the bright lights, he realizes that he's not in his home in England, but in the main office of Angel Inc.  Nor is it his father, come to punish him for his failures, but a looming man, larger and more beautiful than any human man has the right to be. Then again, this man isn't human. 

"Angel?"

The vampire is breathing heavily and Wesley knows that somehow this fact is wrong. He wants to stop his dream, perhaps consult with his subconscious and remind it that vampires don't pant, but before he can utter a another word, his mouth is covered by Angel's hand. The vampire pushes him forcefully against the door of The Room, keeping his hand over Wesley's mouth. The ex-Watcher thinks that perhaps Angel means to feed from him or turn him, two prospects that fill him with neither dread nor fear. Instead, Angel's free hand runs up and over Wesley's hip and straight to his cock, still jutting from his open trousers. 

A cold hand grips his flesh and strips it hard once, twice, three times. And Wesley is screaming now. Screaming because it's both so good and so wrong. His body is trembling and he tries to pull at Angel's clothes, to make this experience mutual in some way, but Angel slaps him roughly away, then resumes jerking him off. 

When Wesley comes, he screams again, harder.  It comes out as a muffled cry, Angel's hand still in place. The vampire finally brings a come-coated hand to his lips, licking greedily. 

"You taste so good, Wesley." Angel offers the hand to the Englishman, who licks tentatively. "So good."  Angel suddenly pulls his hand away and rips at Wesley's shirt. At Wesley's blue shirt. His blood-soaked blue shirt. 

"That's gonna leave a scar," Angel predicts. When Wesley looks down, he sees his body criss-crossed with wounds. Largest of all are the three recent claw marks but there are others. Some self-inflicted, but most the results of being too slow or too foolhardy. All of them are bleeding now, as if fresh. "Now *that's* more like it!" Angel cries, nuzzling his face into the crimson streaks of Wesley's chest. 

Wesley watches Angel lap at the streaks and he isn't sure if he should be disgusted, fearful, or aroused. The limp flesh struggling to life between his legs holds the answer. 

"FOOLISH, DISGUSTING BOY!"

Wesley shakes, pushing the vampire away from his chest. Only now it isn't Angel at all, but his father. 

"Always knew it would come to this. It's a good thing your mother never found out!"

"Father, I--"

"Save your ridiculous excuses! I'll hear none of them! It's to the closet for you." As Wesley's being shoved forcefully into the closet, he feels an absurd sense of relief; The Room has always had it's own measure of peace, even in the most painful of times. Then he sees the room's occupants and his heart stops. Animated corpses, each of them in stages of decay and decomposition. "If *I* can't teach you what it is to be a Watcher, perhaps these fellows will do the trick…"

Rough hands shove him the final distance into The Room and Wesley feels himself being touched, clawed, pulled apart and bleeding…because The Room is for the failures. The bad seeds. The Room is for the weak and the timid. The Room is where Wesley belongs…))

***

“Wesley? Wesley, wake up.”

“What time is it?” The ex-Watcher scrambled for his glasses.

“Almost six. The sun is going down. Angel told me to wake you up.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Nearly twelve hours.”

“Oh my goodness!” Wesley stood and began pulling on his clothes, oblivious of the young woman beside him.  “Have we heard anything?”

“Yeah. They found the demon that Gunn was talking to and Goldie says they’ll hold him until we get there.”

“Okay, thank goodness. Wesley began pulling on his shoes and socks. 

“Wes. Maybe it’s none of my business, but are you okay? Really okay?”

Wesley paused in the middle of drawing on his shoe. “Oh, Cordelia. Always the mother, aren’t you? I’m fine,” he said quietly.

“I am NOT a mother!” Cordy exclaimed in horror. ”I’m—I’m a babysitter….or a charming, sexy aunt!”

“Yes, yes Aunt Cordelia…” Wesley laughed softly. She smiled.

“You’ll be fine, Wes. You just need to heal.” Her warm brown eyes gazed into the Englishman’s with wisdom. Both knew she was speaking of more than the deep cuts on his chest or the shallow gash on his arm. Several seconds passed and Wesley broke her gaze.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

***

“Oh my stars! He stinks!” Cordelia turned her head tactlessly and held her nose.

“Yeah? Well you humans don’t smell so swell yourself.” The demon writhed in the grasp of several young humans.

“This young man,“ Wesley indicated a young boy standing near Cordelia, ”seems to think you know where our friend Gunn is. You spoke to him last night. Black shirt, shaved head, pickup truck?”

“They’ll suck me! They’ll suck me if I tell!” The demon began to writhe more furiously.

“That is the single most disgusting site I’ve ever witnessed. I’m waiting in the car.” Cordelia cringed and made her way to the curb.

“I don’t think this guy is going to tell us what we want to know,“ Goldie said with an evil smile.

“Well, “ Wesley stepped in smoothly, “I suppose Angel will just have to cut off his lips and see if that makes speaking easier.” 

Angel cocked his head theatrically to the side. “Hummm…okay.” He removed the knife from Wesley’s belt and stepped closely to the rank demon.

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you--but I won’t take you there like I did that other guy. Those Feeders…ugh! They gimme the creeps.”

“I’m afraid Angel might be inclined to disagree with that plan. Angel?” Wesley turned questioning eyes to the vampire. 

”Get in the car. Both of you,” the vampire ordered.  

Much to Cordy’s dismay, the demon was forced into the waiting Cadillac while Goldie and his crew piled in to a beat up Volkswagen that had seen better days. With reluctant directions from the demon, they made their way across L.A. to the outskirts of the city, hoping that Gunn would be well when they found him. 
  
Chapter 8

With the demons admittedly less-than-enthusiastic directions Angel, Wesley, and Cordelia found themselves, thirty minutes later, in front of a deserted warehouse next to the harbor. Gunn's pickup sat abandoned on the side of the road.

"And after you brought him here?" Wesley urged the demon to continue his account.

"And nothing! I swear! I just took off. Needed the exercise, you know? Look, uh, Crazy English Guy. I got a family, you know? A wife and eighty hungry mouths to feed. I can't be going in there with you. Them Feeders will suck me--"

"Let me explain something to you, friend. What those Feeders will do to you is nothing compared to what *I* intend to do to you, should we find ourselves in a trap. You see, the man being held in that warehouse is a dear, personal friend to Mr. Angel here," Wesley explained slowly. "I dare say you might call him family.  Angel is *very* protective of his family and he has a long, long memory and good recall for faces. Now, I ask you again, what happened after you dropped Gunn off here?"

The demon cringed at Wesley's threats. "I-I told him to go through the back entrance. It seemed right. Logical, ya know? I mean, a back entrance is, you know, a back entrance."

"And?"

"And nothing! The dude didn't come out so I split."

"You just left him there?" Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "You didn't try to help him or *anything*? I think *I* might want to kill you just a little bit."

"You woulda done the same thing if you'd seen a Feeder. Them things are…" Gino winced. 

"Wrong. I wouldn't have brought him here in the first place."  Angel struck a blow to the back of the demon's head, rendering him unconscious. Then he reached for his sword as Wesley loaded his crossbow. "Just a suggestion, but I say we take the front entrance."

*****

Wesley, Cordelia, and Angel entered the warehouse slowly. The ripe scent of burning leaves was nearly overpowering and Wesley indicated that they should stay low to the ground and cover their noses, uncertain of the identity of the smoldering substance. They quickly made their way through a maze of charred packing crates and blackened canisters. It appeared that a fire had destroyed most of the storage building at some point. They listened closely but neither Wesley nor Cordelia could hear anything. Angel, however, motioned for them to follow him. Relying on vampiric hearing, they allowed Angel to lead them to the rear of the warehouse. 

Moving slowly, they finally drew close enough to hear what Angel had heard at the entrance. Not chanting, but a low humming. After a few moments, they realized a pattern to it. High hums and low hums, broken by soft clickings. Peering from behind a ten-foot crate, the three surveyed the scene. 

Cordelia instantly identified the black, painted circle from her vision. It took up nearly forty square feet. At its center stood two of the Dak'tari and a small bundle that could only be identified when the larger of the Dak'tari moved; it was a little boy. His mouth was gagged and his hands and feet bound, but he appeared otherwise unharmed for the moment. The same could not be said for the second shape curled at the edge of the circle. 

"Gunn!" Cordelia gasped and instinctively moved forward to help him. 

Angel held her back, hushing her. "Not yet." He could see her weighing her options and let out a sigh of relief when she conceded to crouch next to Wesley. "Plan?"

"Hit them hard and fast?" Wesley offered, then blushed. 

"Works for me." 

"Which one do you think sucked Gunn?" Cordy hissed. 

"There's no way to tell," Wesley said regretfully. 

"Then I guess we'll just have to kill them all." With that, Angel stood and squared his shoulders. Then he did what he did best. 

Wesley took aim at the Feeder nearest the boy and was pleased to note that his aim had improved since the last time he'd used his crossbow. The shot flew true and struck the Feeder between the eyes. It was down in a moment, but its partner would not be taken so easily. Holding the child as a shield, it called a warning to the others and scrambled backward as Angel worked diligently at destroying the two demons guarding what looked like a trio of Dak'tari concocting something in a large, primitive bowl. 

"Blast!" Wesley's next shot struck uselessly at a packing crate when the demon he'd been aiming at dove behind it. He reloaded quickly, his eyes searching for allies and demons simultaneously. 

"Wesley! Over here!" Cordelia called. A surprisingly well-executed spin-kick had a Dak'tari reeling, but Cordelia carried no weapons and the demon was recovering quickly. 

"I'll take this one. You attend to the child and Gunn."

Cordelia nodded and bent low as Wes took aim over her head. This arrow had better luck than his last and struck the demon in its torso. It stumbled forward, scrambling for a weapon under the robes it wore, but a second arrow struck its forehead before the weapon could be claimed. 

Across the room, Angel had dispatched the two Feeders. He noted Cordelia untying the boy's wrists and ankles and turned his attention to the last three demons. They remained at their pot, still humming and clicking. As he approached them, the sound got suddenly louder and a brilliant blue burst of light struck him. He found himself flying through the air to land on the other side of the circle. 

The air crackled with electricity. With little time to spare, Cordelia gave up untying the boy's knots and hefted him, instead, over her shoulder and crossed to where Gunn's prone body lay. The circle began to glow and the scent of ozone filled the air. 

"PORTAL'S OPENING," Angel shouted over the ear-splitting hum.  The floor started to shimmer and a demon began to rise from its center. While it looked vaguely similar to the Dak'tari, it was nearly ten times the size and sported several additional boneless limbs.

"TENTACLES! WHY DO THEY ALWAYS HAVE TO HAVE TENTACLES?" I HATE TENTACLES!" Angel screamed.

"STRATEGY?" Wesley called, reloading his crossbow. 

"KILL IT FAST AND RUN LIKE HELL?" Cordy yelled. 

"WORKS FOR ME!" Wesley said, then raised the weapon to eye level, taking aim. He walked purposefully toward the demon, heedless of its twitching tentacles. Before he could be struck by the squirming appendage, he let loose a double barrel of arrows aimed straight at what he hoped was the demon's heart. Both plunged into the blue-green flesh and the ear-splitting sound quieted minutely. Behind him, he sensed Angel drawing in for an attack and moved out of the way to reload. 

Without warning, he was struck from behind. Cursing his own ignorance, he turned his attack to the two remaining Dak'tari. Overconfident now that their leader, god, or whatever it was had finally arrived, they smugly clicked at each other before dealing another blow to the ex-Watcher. 

"My friend Gunn over there doesn't seem to be coming out of his coma. I can only assume that means that the demon who sucked him was one of you. As I don't speak Clicks & Hiss, I'm afraid we'll have to kill you both. Terribly sorry," Wesley apologized from his spot on the floor. The demons hissed at each other, brandishing short knives. The Englishman struggled weakly to his feet. He could see Angel fighting the large demon, his body dancing with the sword, slicing and stabbing expertly at the tender skin of the demon's belly and the exposed throat when he could get a cut in. 

When he was once again standing, the two Feeders lunged forward, stabbing at him with ornate knives. Wesley dodged the first swipe but felt the blade glance off his head the second time. He rubbed at the bloody cut on his forehead and scrambled backward, trying to reload his crossbow. With one arrow shill in his hand, Wesley attempted to stall them. "I have some bad news for you. Your leader is about to be killed by my friend over there. And sadly you, also, *will* die here today," Wesley went on, taking aim. The first demon clicked and hissed in a manner that could only be called mocking. Then he raised his hand as a beam of blue light began to creep slowly from its palm. 

Suddenly, the second demon let out a soft grunt as a shiny silver point appeared in the middle of its chest. The second demon turned to Wesley a moment too late. The ex-Watcher lunged forward, burying the last arrow deep into the Feeder's belly. It fell to the ground as Cordelia yanked the sword from the first Feeder's chest. 

"I'm sorry," Wesley said apologetically to the two twitching corpses. "But in truth, I didn't say *I* would be the one to kill you." 

Cordelia dropped Gunn's sword and turned to attend to Gunn, who lay blinking and shivering at the edge of the circle. In the center of the circle, Angel was just dealing a final blow to the tentacled demon. It emitted a deafening hiss and then collapsed, foaming blue blood over the warehouse floor. 

Wesley turned his attention to the little boy, removing his gag and working at the knots that bound his feet. When, at last, the boy was free he examined him closely. Angel approached them slowly, his sword crusted with blue fluid and dragging on the concrete. The boy's eyes swept from Angel to Gunn to Cordelia and back again. 

"Come on," Angel said, helping Gunn to his feet. "Let's get the kid home."

Chapter 9

"I'm so *stupid*!" Gunn said for the third time that night. Cordelia was gently patching up a cut on his arm. Wesley's head was already bandaged--his third wound in as many days. That was something of a record.

"No, you're not Gunn," Angel reassured for the third time that night. "You wanted to help and you were following up on a lead."

"I should have called you! I should have brought someone else with me. That Jabba the Hut wannabe told me where to go and I went. Don't think I got ten steps through the door and one of those Feeders was all over me. Next thing I know, English here is giving me back my soul and Cordy's makin' Feeder-kabobs."

"Hey, what about me?" Angel said defensively. "I did the stabbing…with the tentacles…and…and the stabbing?"

Cordelia patted him on the hand. "We know you helped, Angel. You get your smiley sticker for the day." 

"Well at least you guys got the kid back to his dad, with no help from me," Gunn added ruefully. 

"Are you kidding?" Cordy asked. "Between my vision and your cologne, you led us right to him."

"That smell was *not* my cologne, Princess. If you wanna smell something rank, take a whiff of Angel's nasty-ass cologne--"

"That 'nasty-ass' cologne costs $200 a bottle--"

"Well you couldn't tell from smelling it…"

Wesley watched them banter with a bemused expression. Ah, to be part of such a family. To be supported and loved…It was enviable. 

"Thank you all," Wesley said quietly, pulling on his jacket. "I'm very grateful for all you've done--"

"Oh, no. Wait there, Mr. I'm-so-cool-I'll-just-slink-out-without-discussing-it-with-my-friends. Where are you going to go?"

Wesley grimaced. "I haven't actually given it much thought. Back to Tucson, perhaps. Barstow, maybe."

Gunn and Angel exchanged looks. "Wesley," Angel started, "we sort of hoped that you'd stay here. With us." 

"Yeah," Cordelia added. "Like old times…except with Gunn. And not in Sunnydale. And with you not being quite so English. But other than that, like old times."

Wesley smiled sadly. "Thank you, Cordelia. That sounds like a wonderful offer." He swallowed hard. What they were offering…he wasn't worthy of it. He'd failed so many times: in Sunnydale, in the counsel, in countless ways to his father. Gunn and Cordelia had a champion and Angel had a family. As much as he envied it, he couldn't infringe on that. He didn't deserve their trust or their love; he'd only let them down. That was an inevitable conclusion.

"Ow!" Cordelia cried, clutching her head dramatically. "I'm having a VISION! Yes! It's clear…the Powers…they want…they want…They want YOU, Wesley! They think you should stay here…and be Book Guy!"

Wesley laughed. "You have a book guy already. I'm sure Gunn can't wait to dive into the Cimerian Codex and the Mre'dka Journals right after I leave." He couldn't help but add, "You know, the Cimerian Codex has over three hundred pages of footnotes, Charles."

Gunn groaned. "Come on, English. Anyone who can take down a brain sucker like the Dak'tari is okay by me. Don't make me change my opinion of you."

Angel shifted from foot to foot. Gunn and Cordelia didn't want Wesley to leave. He knew that. They needed his skill and his knowledge. He knew *that*. He just wasn't sure why, as the ex-Watcher slipped on his jacket, he felt his own almost desperate need to make him stay. 

"Please, Wesley," Angel said quietly. "Please stay." Wesley's eyes bore into him and for a moment he could swear that there was something there, some heat or desire that Angel couldn't put his finger on. He tried hard to read those blue-green eyes. There was so much pain in them. Angel knew of pain. The pain of redemption, of lost love, of regrets and things left unsaid. "Please," he tried again and watched Wesley shudder and release a long-held breath. 

"I'll stay," Wesley finally said after a moment. "But no inappropriate kissing in libraries," he added and Cordelia laughed, hugging him tight. 

"Yeah! Now that you're staying, I'm going!" She pulled on her coat and began searching for her purse. "No offense, but you guys smell bad. And since we were all in that stinky warehouse together, that means *I* smell bad. And if *I* smell bad, I need to change that before anyone that matters smells me. I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked Wesley and the Englishman nodded. "Good. Bye now!" 

The three men stared at the door as Cordelia swept out. "I think I'm gonna go to sleep, too, Angel. I'm kinda beat. Must be the whole 'having your essence sucked out' thing. Wes?" Gunn shook his hand warmly. "Welcome to the family." Then he hefted his sword and left, stifling a yawn.

"It's getting kind of late," Angel said, noting the dark circles under Wesley's eyes and the small bandage on his forehead. "You can stay here if you want. Like you did last night."

Wesley smiled. "I *have* an apartment, Angel. You need not mother me like Cordelia. But thank you." The Englishman checked his watch and grimaced at the time. 

"Come on, Wes. I'm not trying to mother you. It's almost two in the morning. You'll crash that motorcycle of yours." Wesley looked like he was wavering. "You're family now. Family take care of each other."

Wesley snorted bitterly and dropped his coat onto a chair. "I'll stay here tonight. If that's what family do." 

*****

Another dream, more painful than the last, finally woke Wesley from his sleep. His body ached and his fresh wounds throbbed. His stomach was growling as well and as he staggered to his feet, he imagined that he must look a fright: bare chest scarred and pale, his body trembling with hunger and lack of sleep. 

As he entered the small kitchen area, he realized that he didn't know if Angel kept human food in stock. Not knowing his way around Angel's kitchen and unwilling to wake the vampire for his help, he settled for peering sleepily into the contents of the refrigerator. A bright beam of light sliced through the dark kitchen when he opened the door and he clenched his eyes instinctively when the light struck them.  It was nearly as empty as he imagined it would be, but he did find a half-empty bottle of orange juice. He unscrewed the cap and drank deeply from the container.

"I won't tell Cordelia that you drank straight from the carton."

Wesley froze to the spot. He turned slowly to find Angel sitting at the small dining table, arms crossed. He was only partially illuminated in the glow from the refrigerator. Still, Wesley was surprised that he hadn't seen him. 

"What? Brooding in the dark now, are we?" He tried to be nonchalant and drank more of the juice. Inside, his heart was thundering. He tried to tell himself that it was the shock of seeing the vampire in a place he least expected, but he knew what wasn't really the case. Angel was staring at him, his arms crossed and his eyes dark. 

"This is where I brood best," he admitted. "I haven't tasted much in the last fifty years or so." At Wesley's questioning stare, he explained. "The kitchen. It's a symbol, I guess. A symbol of things I've lost or can never have. Like the beach…or swimwear. It reminds me of who I am; it reminds me of who I can never be."

"Do you have a lot of these symbols?" Wesley asked, setting the container on the counter but unwilling to shut the refrigerator door. 

"A few…kitchens, birthday parties, bedrooms--" Angel seemed to have more to say, but he stopped himself. 

Wesley's skin was chilled from the refrigerator. He rubbed lightly at his arms, unsure of how to respond to Angel's confessions. Bedrooms. He couldn't help but think of the beautiful demon that Angel had left with before. "I suppose," he began slowly, "that you should appreciate all of the things you *are* allowed to enjoy. That's what a good psychologist would probably tell you."

"You know this from experience?" Angel asked and couldn’t help noticing the wince that he received in return. Wesley didn't answer, only shrugged. 

In an effort to change the subject, Wesley said, "I've heard that Broadbent's on Orange Street has a rare codex that you might like for your library. We could go there tomorrow, if you wish, after the sun goes down and see if we can't purchase it."

Angel sighed deeply, his eyes cast upward. "I can't. Nalana set up an interview for me."

"Oh," Wesley stuttered, embarrassed. "Another new employee?" He tried hard to mask the jealousy in his voice. 

"It's not that kind of interview. It's complicated. I did Nalana a favor a few years back and now she's trying to do me one."

"So…this woman, Nalana?"

"Yeah?"

"She's...a girlfriend, is she?"

Angel coughed and sat up. "No! I mean…why would you think that?"

"Well, she's quite lovely," Wesley hedged. "Mysterious… And you're--" He stopped. 

"And *I'm*…what, Wes?"

Wesley's blood ran cold. What had he gotten himself into? Angel was staring at him now, his face still buried in shadow in the dark kitchen. Wesley felt obscenely cold and underdressed. His bare feet were like ice but he could feel his face burning red. 

"You're…" Beautiful, Wesley wanted to finish. Attractive, desirable, the subject of more than a few fevered dreams since I left Sunnydale. "You're…"

But he couldn't finish that sentence. He wouldn't. His fear was as palpable as his desire. If Angel knew how he felt…how Wesley had imagined him, dreamed about him, in the last few days… Wesley felt his cock stirring and cursed his ridiculous, traitorous body. 

As if reading his mind, Angel's eyes flickered low over Wesley's body and the Englishman blushed profusely.

"I'd better go now," Angel said abruptly. "There are some files I need to go over."

"Go? It's," Wesley consulted the digital readout on the microwave, "nearly four in the morning. Why--"

"Look, Wes," Angel said sharply, then softened his tone as he stood. "Wesley…if I stay here, right now, in this kitchen…things will get…bad."

"Bad?" the Englishman asked, his chest burning painfully.  

Angel stepped into the light, face to face with Wesley. Then he touched the bandage on Wesley's head and the ones on his chest. "I'll want to do things to make you feel better…Things that put everyone in danger," he admitted.

"Things?"

Angel's voce was soft and husky with emotion. "Things I shouldn't want to do."

Emboldened now with pain and lack of sleep, Wesley whispered, "Things…like this?" Then he left a cautious kiss to the top of Angel's brow, directly over the spot Wesley himself had an injury. 

"Yes…" Angel gasped softly, his body thrumming with suppressed desire and the need to protect and comfort the slight, brave man before him. 

"Or this?" Wesley asked, brazen now that Angel had not cried out his disgust. He pressed his face to Angel's bare chest where his own bandages hid healing claw marks. Angel didn't speak, only nodded and placed his large palms over the back of Wesley's head, pinning the man's warm mouth to his heart.  Wesley's lips trailed upward, over hard muscle and smooth skin to the curve of Angel's neck and jaw. 

Angel could no more stop himself from kissing Wesley then than he could stop the sun from rising. He pressed a tender kiss to the tall man's mouth, delighting in the citrus tang of orange juice and Wesley's own musky taste. Their kiss grew deeper and more urgent. Angel opened his mouth and let his tongue slide sweetly against Wesley's. Wesley's hands went around his body and clenched at his ass, pulling their hips together. The vampire moaned and increased the urgency of the kiss, thrusting his tongue into Wesley's mouth and sliding his hands under the waistband of the borrowed pajama bottoms to grasp at the sticky tip of Wesley's member. He pushed the garment down and the ex-Watcher kicked it under the table before Angel's hands began stroking at Wesley's ready prick. 

They began to slide to the floor, their arms and legs twining frantically around each other. Angel straddled the other man, pinning his arms and legs down so that Wesley was spread beneath him, pale skin illuminated in the light from the refrigerator. 

Wesley was shivering in anticipation, grateful for the open appliance that cooled his fevered skin. Angel…Angel was above him, looking at him with something more than lust, something akin to need. The vampire lowered himself onto Wesley's body slowly, covering and warming him despite the fact that the vampire's body was cool itself. 

"Wesley…" Angel whispered, his tongue mapping new and interesting patterns up and down the ex-Watcher's neck. "You taste so good," he said with wonder and slid slowly down his body. Wesley only moaned softly and carded his fingers through Angel's gelled hair. He could hardly think or breath. The talented mouth kissing over his bandages was draining his body of all ability to reason. He existed at the tip of Angel's tongue; he lived in the moment when Angel was whispering his name. It felt so good, Wesley thought he might be dying, but if this was death, he held no desire to live. 

Angel lapped at the weeping tip of his cock, then took it deeply into his mouth. Wesley's cries echoed through the small apartment. He came and his body arched almost painfully into Angel's. He continued shaking as Angel suckled him dry, kissing his thighs and kneading at the soft, unblemished skin of his hips. 

Reason had left. All Wesley could think of was the delicious high he was now drifting on. Euphoric and satiated, he scrambled to sit up, pulling Angel into his arms and turning him so that he might offer the same pleasure. 

"I can't--" Angel mumbled as Wesley began pulling at the silken pajamas the vampire wore. 

"You *must*, Angel. You're so hard. I can *feel* you. I *want* you and I think you want me as well. Let his happen," he whispered, biting at the skin of Angel's earlobe. "Take me, Angel. Or, if you would not have me, let me *give* you pleasure…" He slid his hand over the large, purpling cock buried in a thick hatch of wiry curls. 

The vampire let out a desperate, painful cry and pushed Wesley away. "Stop…it's too dangerous… Too…This was a mistake." Angel clutched his pajamas with one hand and stood on wobbly legs. "It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" 

Sitting in the pool of light, Wesley watched Angel walk away. Tears threatened to well within his eyes and spill down his cheeks but he held them in check. He was, after all, quite good at that. He stood slowly, pulling on his discarded bottoms and replaced the orange juice. Then, with one final glance into the bright refrigerator, he shut the door, plunging the room into darkness. 

After all, in darkness was where he belonged. 

~The End~