Fall Down Somewhere Next To Me
The morning after Wesley killed his father, he sat in the chair before Angel's desk, asking him for three weeks' temporary leave.
"Three weeks isn't temporary, Wes," Angel had pointed out gently. He nearly winced, acutely aware of that lilt of concern in his own voice, and worried that it might make Wesley defensive.
Then again, this wasn't the Wesley Wyndam-Pryce of a year ago, or even three years ago. He was a maddening cross-breed... he had that same open-eyed trust that he'd exhibited when he'd first signed on to be a part of the Angel Investigations team. But there were moments when he would look at Angel and there would be a hurt, there - deep in the recesses of his eyes... something in him remembered - his body remembered it all - even if he couldn't actively recall any of it.
His throat didn't bear the scar from a single, vicious stroke of a blade... but Angel could almost trace it on Wesley's skin with the tip of his finger, if only Wes would pull the collar of his neatly buttoned shirt down for him. He could remember it so clearly, that clean scar tissue, interrupting the stubble of his not-quite-beard.
In his mind, it morphed and melded seamlessly with the place where Lilah's head had been severed from her dead body; he could distantly recall stumbling on the corpse in the basement as he escaped from the hotel, eagerly setting out to go hunting. It hadn't been his work, but Angelus had admired the large, ragged hole in her throat for what it was: a hasty execution and an opportunity to fuck with the white hats' heads a bit more.
Wesley swallowed, the tender and unblemished skin of his throat rolling with his Adam's apple as he did so. "I know. If you feel you can't spare me for that long, then..."
"No, it's not that," Angel corrected him immediately. "I'm just wondering if it's really a good idea. I mean, you killed your father last night - or something that looked like your father. That's gotta be..." He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's probably not a good idea for you to be alone right now."
"That's probably the best thing I can be, right now," Wesley said, his voice a nearly inaudible whisper.
"Wes," he said, reaching out a hand and placing it on the desktop, silently entreating. "If there's anything I can --"
"There's nothing," Wes said shortly. He'd been staring fixedly at the nameplate on Angel's desk for the past five minutes, but now he looked up and met Angel's eyes. He smiled, but it was thin and forced and didn't reach his eyes. It felt like the jab of a broken bottle in Angel's gut. "Do I have your permission to take my leave?"
Angel considered refusing Wesley, but the desolated look in Wesley's eyes did a good job of pleading Wesley's case for him. If he refused, most likely Wes would work just as well and diligently as he had before last night, but he would have another, heavier burden to bear.
As a boss - the boss - the answer was simple, but as Wesley's friend and boss, it would be better for him to give Wesley the time he needed and make do with the remaining research team on hand for the next three weeks.
He killed his father and I killed my son. I killed my son for all of them and he's the one who gets to take three weeks off...
It was an unfair thought to think, and Angel mentally kicked himself for it.
"Well... okay, but --" Before the words had even left his mouth, Wesley was standing and Harmony, Lorne, Fred, Spike and Gunn came through his office door like a herd of stampeding buffalo, all of them talking at once, talking over each other and all trying to talk to him.
"Angel, I wanted to talk to you about these budget projection limitations Eve put on the science department! How am I supposed to work with this?!" Fred demanded, waving a stack of papers at him.
"Angel, man, we need you to sign off on some additional security," Gunn said, brandishing a clipboard and a fountain pen loaded with the appropriate blood cartridge. "We're going to hire some plain-clothes types for upstairs by the vault in Wesley's office."
"Why plain-clothes? Wouldn't they be scarier with the Kevlar and .. stuff?" Angel took the clipboard and the pen, blinked at the forms blearily for a moment, but gave up on trying to make sense of them. He signed where Gunn had placed Post-Its in the appropriate places and handed the clipboard back to him.
"Angel, honey, we have got to have a palaver," Lorne said, reaching out to bat at his arm. "We've got the annual Wolfram and Hart Christmas bash coming up."
"A party?" Angel blinked at Lorne.
"No, a bash," said Knox, who had been standing in line and hidden by Gunn and Spike stepped to the side to speak up, peeking out from behind Spike's shoulder. "We usually hijack a busload of Christians - but Catholics work pretty good, too - and..."
"I don't want to know. No bash this year! Party. Just a party," Angel said firmly, glaring at Lorne and Knox. Angel caught sight of Wesley trying to break away from the crowd, inching backwards and around Spike so he could get to the door. He met Wesley's eyes and opened his mouth to speak and ask Wesley to wait, but Wesley glanced at the crowd surrounding Angel's desk and offered Angel a small grin. He simply mouthed the words 'thank you' and slipped out the door.
Angel sighed and dropped Fred's budget report onto his desk, rubbing his neck with the back of his hand. It would be a long three weeks without the calm Wesley's presence provided.
He was snapped back into his current, very real hell by the sound of Spike's voice, which wasn't exactly ironic.
"Oi, poof, where's Percy goin'? Not gonna stay and help with the cyborg thingies?"
"Wesley is..." Angel began, but cleared his throat, deciding that this would be as good a time as any to let the team know. "Guys, Wesley's not going to be here for a while. He has research that I asked him to do about some prophecies he stumbled on a few days ago." There was the expected explosion: of questions and concerns, but he held up a hand and waved them away without a word. "Masterson is taking over for Wesley until he gets back. He was head of research before he got here --"
"Yeah, evil research," Spike scoffed.
"So," Angel continued evenly, as though Spike hadn't even spoken, "he's up to speed with the way they do things and will be able to help us with our cases, just like Wesley does."
"When will he be back?" Fred asked quietly, clutching a stack of folders to her chest.
"He'll be gone for three weeks," Angel said, dropping into his seat and feeling every single day, hour and second of those three weeks settling onto his shoulders all at once as he did so. He spoke quickly so that the barrage of questions and protests wouldn't start up again. "Everything's fine. He just figured it would be easier for him to concentrate without having to do the translations and research plus his work for the firm at the same time. That's all. No big thing."
He leaned back in his seat, folded his hands over his stomach and sighed, relieved to have gotten it over with.
"So can I have his office?" Spike piped up and Angel found himself wishing that Spike was corporeal if for no other reason so that he could wrap his fingers around Spike's neck and squeeze.
One week later, Angel found himself knocking at the door to Wesley's apartment. Wesley was probably long gone, but Angel couldn't stand Masterson anymore. The guy was businesslike and professional and his assignments were often submitted early. It was driving Angel up the wall. Sure, Wesley had been businesslike and professional and submitted all of his work early, but ... he was Wesley. Masterson wasn't Wesley. And it was all the excuse he needed to check up on Wes.
He knocked again and there was still no answer. Maybe Wesley had gone out of town so he could get his head together.
Angel heard a faint clinking sound inside the apartment, like glass. Maybe he hadn't gone out of town, after all.
"Wesley?" Angel knocked again. "Wes? It's me. It's Angel. I ... I wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?"
"Door's open."
Angel turned the knob, gave the door a push and was surprised to find that, once the door was open, his hand passed right over the threshold. Wesley had never removed his invitation. Even after he'd held a pillow over Wesley's face in his hospital room and sworn that he would kill him if he ever set eyes on him again.
For this Wes, it was only natural for his good friend Angel to have an invitation into his home.
Wesley sat on his couch, a tumbler full of some kind of alcohol - Angel could smell it where he was standing in the doorway - resting on his thigh. A heavy glass decanter sat half empty on the end table at his elbow, the stopper sitting beside it.
"Wes?"
"Ahh, Angel," he sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, his stubbled jaw. "Come in." He brought the tumbler to his lips and tilted his head back, letting the contents of the glass fill his mouth and slide down his throat with the ease of someone who had been on a week-long drinking binge. He set the glass back on the end table and refilled it. "Come in. Care for a drink? I'm having a drink. Several, in fact."
"Wes." Angel stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, awkwardly, and scratched at his chin. "If I'd known you were going to try to drink yourself into a coma, I would have never let you go."
"I'm not comatose just yet," Wesley said, bringing his refilled glass back to his lips for another drink, a splash of liquor slopping out onto his chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and took another sip. "Check back on Monday."
"I'm not checking back on Monday. Because on Monday, you'll be sober and you'll be back at the office, where you belong."
"No, I don't think I will be," Wes replied. "As you'll recall, you gave me three weeks' leave."
"So you could deal with ... with what happened," Angel said. "Not so you could drink yourself into a stupor." He jammed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, toed at the carpet. "We need you, Wes."
"Who does? Somebody needs me?" Wesley scoffed. "Nobody needs me. My father, Virginia, Fred, you... you don't need me."
"Wes, that's not true. We need you." Angel approached the couch and sat on the edge of the cushions beside Wesley. "Look, don't do this to yourself --"
"What do you need me for, Angel? What can I do that's so special?" Wes asked, turning bloodshot eyes to stare hard at him. "Anyone can pick up a book and read the words in it to get the answers you need."
"I don't need you there because you can translate over 300 demon languages. I... I need you. You're part of the team. You always have been."
"Not always," Wesley said softly, rubbing his thumb over the rim of his glass. "What would Doyle think of what I did that night? Would he think I was honoring his memory and his place with the respect he deserved?"
"Wes, you... you can't ever replace Doyle," Angel said and Wesley's head snapped up, his face frozen in surprise, looking as though Angel had slapped him. He quickly added, "Nobody can. I didn't hire you on to be Doyle's replacement. I didn't hire you to fill his shoes. I hired you because you had your own strengths and abilities. Besides," he offered Wes a small smile. "Doyle hated doing research."
Wesley stood up suddenly, taking off his glasses and rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his hand, glasses dangling from slender fingers.
"Wes, I don't know what to say. I want to help, but... what can I do?"
"I don't know, Angel," he said, still rubbing at his eyes. "I'm ... I've been having nightmares. Seeing things that... can't be. But it feels like more. More than nightmares. They feel like -- memories. Things I saw with my own eyes, things I can remember doing." Wesley's hand slid down to his throat and rubbed it in the place where the scar had been before Angel had put his name on the Wolfram and Hart contract. "Something feels... not right, as though there's a huge chunk of time that's just... gone. I can't explain it."
Angel swallowed, but his mouth and throat felt as though they'd been packed with sawdust. "You're just tired," he said, the lie going down like battery acid. "It's been a big adjustment, taking over the law firm and all the new cases."
"Perhaps you're right," Wesley circled back to the couch and slumped back into his seat again. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "There was some fine print in the contracts we all signed, but it was in a language I couldn't recognize. Perhaps I should cross-reference them against the Elegarian basic character maps, see if I can translate them. It might be connected to these... lapses I've been having."
"Or you could just be overworked," Angel said, with maybe a little more force than he'd intended.
If Wesley had picked up on the tone, he didn't let it show. Instead, he cleared his throat, put on his glasses, and glanced sidelong at Angel. "Is there a reason you wanted to see me? Is there a case?"
"No - I mean - yeah," Angel said. "I... I just wanted to check on you. See how you are."
"I think my current state speaks volumes in that regard, don't you?" Wesley said wryly, swallowing down another mouthful of liquor.
"I don't know. Maybe," he replied. "Maybe not." Wesley didn't reply. "Wanna talk about it?"
"I didn't kill him because he'd grabbed Fred," Wes murmured, knocking back the last of his drink. "Of course, that was my instinct - to protect her - but... there was so much more to it than that. More than I ever could have comprehended, in the split second it took me to make up my mind to squeeze the trigger. I did it because I could... because the gun was in my hand and he would have robbed you of your will and killed us all. I... I wanted it to be him, Angel. I wanted it to be my father. That's why I vomited, afterwards... not because I thought I'd killed my father... but because I knew that I hadn't."
"I killed my father," Angel said quietly. "I killed my whole family."
"You didn't have a soul, then," Wesley said in a soft, tired monotone. "I did. I knew what I was doing."
"But, Wes, you didn't actually kill your father," he said. "You just killed something that looked like him. You didn't actually do it."
"But I wanted to... isn't that bad enough?" Wesley said, shoulders slumping.
"It's... pretty bad," Angel said simply. "Don't get me wrong, that's... pretty bad. But... Wes..." He reached out and placed a hand on Wesley's shoulder. "You didn't do it. You're not a bad man. I've seen... I've seen bad. I've been bad... but you're not. You're not a bad man."
For a moment, Wesley said nothing, just stared at the floor... but then he tilted his head to one side, tipped his chin up just slightly and rested his cheek against the back of Angel's hand, coarse stubble prickling the sensitive skin. "I'd like to believe that, Angel. But there's so much... dark in me, at the heart of me..." Angel could see Wesley's Adam's apple bob in his throat as he swallowed painfully. "I'm afraid that one day, I'll - I'll wake up, and it will have taken me over completely."
Angel slowly drew his hand away from Wesley's shoulder, turning his wrist so that he could cup Wesley's chin.
"I won't let it take you, Wesley," he whispered, hearing his own voice catch on the words. "I won't let the dark take you away."
A tomb made of water and seaweed and metal and then an arm, cut open and pressed to his cold lips, feeding him, bringing him back. Wesley's blood. Wesley. Wesley and his eyes, those eyes that had seen Gunn and two male orderlies only just barely drag him away from his bedside, kicking and screaming. Those eyes that had seen him turn his back on all of them - on Wes, Cordelia and Gunn - because he'd lost his hope. Those eyes that had been the last ones in this entire dimension to see Angel's son as an infant, cherished by his father and all of his father's closest friends.
Kissing Wesley was the simplest, best idea he'd had in two-hundred-plus years. It felt comfortable and right, even with the whiskey on Wesley's breath and the thick growth of beard under Angel's hands as he cradled Wesley's face. Wesley sank back into the couch and let his head loll back on the cushions, relaxing into the kiss with a sigh. It was good and slow and easy and they were perfectly in sync - when Wesley parted his lips, Angel's tongue was there, slipping in to taste the burn of whiskey on his tongue.
"Angel," Wesley whispered, once their lips had parted. "What are you doing?"
"I... don't know," he said frankly. "Should I stop?"
"No," Wes said. And he finally moved. He placed his glass on the end table beside him and reached up, threading his fingers into Angel's hair, slowly drawing him down.
Their lips met again and there was a new fire, there - and it wasn't from the alcohol, this time. It was a low, steady burn that grew between them the longer their lips touched. Wesley petted Angel's hair as they kissed, hand sliding down over the back of Angel's neck, his shoulder, pulling him closer and kneading the muscles beneath the drab suit jacket he wore. He slid his hand around to Angel's chest, under his jacket, and began to slide it off of his shoulders.
"W-Wes -- Wesley, Wesley," Angel sputtered, abruptly breaking off the kiss. "I... I don't know if we should be doing this. I mean... now?"
"This is the only thing that makes sense to me anymore, Angel," Wes said, reaching up to cup his cheek. "You're the only person that makes sense to me. I need this." Hunger - fierce and bright and startling - filled his eyes for just a moment, but then guttered out. He began to let his hand slip away from Angel's face. "But... if you... if you don't want me, I understand. I can't say that I'd blame you, if you didn't."
"Wes," Angel said, voice gruff as he reached out to cradle Wesley's face in his large hands, guiding Wesley's eyes up to meet his own. "I never said I didn't want you." His words ground to a halt as he looked into Wesley's eyes. They were bloodshot and glazed from the drink, but held a small glimmer of hope. Angel floundered. "I just don't want to hurt you more than you already have been."
"Impossible," Wesley said, reaching up to trace the curve of Angel's bottom lip with the tip of his index finger. "You can make things better again."
"That's a ... a tall order," he said, swallowing. "What if I can't? I want to, but... what if I can't?"
"Will you try? Please?" Wes asked, thumb stroking back and forth over Angel's cheek.
"I'll try," Angel said softly as he reached up and covered Wesley's hand with his own, holding it against his cheek and leaning into that warm touch.
Angel allowed himself to be drawn in again for another kiss and another, and by the third, they were tearing at each other's clothes. Wesley shifted, drawing his feet up onto the couch, fitting one between Angel and the back of the sofa, drawing Angel down with him as they continued kissing. Angel drew back for just a moment, reached down and plucked the glasses from Wesley's face. He placed them up on the end table and absently took notice of Wesley's grateful smile before diving back in for another kiss.
Wesley pushed Angel's suit jacket off over his shoulders and down his arms, tossing it away once it was free. He then worked his hands in between their bodies to unbutton Angel's shirt, hands bumping against Angel's as he reached to undo the buttons of Wesley's shirt. They shared a laugh and more kisses as they undressed one another, legs tangling together on the couch.
Shirt unbuttoned and pushed halfway off of his shoulders, Angel braced himself with one hand on the arm of the couch beside Wesley's head as he dug between them to unzip their trousers, taking their hard cocks into one of his large hands, gripping gently. Wesley let out a long groan, head thrown back over the arm of the couch as he rocked up into Angel's hand, the underside of his cock brushing against Angel's.
Angel gritted his teeth, fingers gripping the arm of the couch tightly as he stroked his hand along their lengths, burying his face in the crook of Wesley's shoulder. He was sure that Wesley would pull back or at least tense up when he did that, thinking that Angel was trying to bite him. Instead, Wesley just slid his hands under the waistband at the back of Angels' trousers and pulled him in closer, fingers burning imprints on his lukewarm skin. Wesley kissed along the length of Angel's neck, nipping with his teeth that sent bolts of heat straight to Angel's cock.
Slamming his left elbow into the back of the couch for about the hundredth time, Angel lifted his head and snarled at the annoyance. He looked down at Wes. "Can we move this into your bedroom? This damn couch is too small..."
"Of course," Wesley said, reluctantly slipping out from under Angel. He took Angel by the wrist and drew him back into the bedroom, Angel kicking the door shut behind them.
Wes eased himself back onto the bed with a sigh, pulling Angel with him, but Angel hesitated. They'd been so caught up in what they were doing, Wesley's shirt was only half unbuttoned. Angel reached down and unbuttoned the last few buttons on Wes' shirt, spreading the halves of it open to reveal Wesley's chest, covered with scars from wounds that had healed over ages ago. Cuts and burns and slices scattered over his torso.
"I remember when you got these," Angel murmured, running his thumb along a particularly nasty scar that had once been a cut.
"What?" Wesley looked puzzled for a moment, but followed Angel's gaze down to his chest. "Oh. Yes. I... it's been so long since... I forget they're even there, at times, having lived with them for so long." He chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Virginia didn't like to look at them. Or even touch them; she always made me leave my shirt on."
"I don't want you to leave it on," Angel said firmly. "I want to see them."
"All right," Wes said, voice calm, but with a slight edge of confusion at Angel's insistence. "Can I take yours off, at least?"
"Sure," he said, shaking off the sudden seriousness with a small grin.
Wes smiled up at him as he pushed Angel's shirt down off of his arms and tossed it to the floor, hands venturing up to caress the firm planes of his chest. He leaned up and caught Angel's left nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it and humming delightedly as it hardened in his mouth, Angel's low moans filling his ears. Angel reached down and cradled the back of Wesley's head, fingers tousling already messy hair as he rocked his hips down against Wesley's.
The rest of their clothes somehow found their way to the floor as they settled against one another, Wesley's back pressed against Angel's front. A generous handful of baby oil from a nearby nightstand drawer eased the way as Angel pressed the head of his cock into Wesley, holding Wesley's hip steady as he did so.
Wes' hands scrabbled at the sheets, at the headboard, anything within arms reach, as Angel filled him inch by inch. Wes had nearly bitten his lip bloody by the time the delicious friction stopped and Angel was buried inside him all the way to the hilt, balls brushing Wesley's buttocks.
Wesley glanced over his shoulder, tipping his head up to look at Angel and was greeted with hungry lips against his, a greedy tongue invading his mouth as Angel began to move.
Collapsing beside his sweat-slickened bedmate, Angel sighed contentedly, slipping an arm around Wes and pulling him in close.
"So ... will you be back on Monday?"
Wes turned to look at Angel, took in his mussed hair and pleasure-glazed eyes, and smiled warmly. "No," he said quietly. Angel felt something inside him deflate at that single word and he drew Wesley closer to him. "But ... I will be back."
"Damn right, you will be," Angel said. "I'd follow you to South America, if I had to."
"I know you would," Wes said with a soft chuckle, brushing his fingers along the length of Angel's forearm. He looked up and met Angel's eyes. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For coming to check up on me... for... being willing to follow me to South America." Wesley licked his lips deliberately before continuing. "For tonight."
"Are things... better again?" Angel asked, feeling anxious and self-conscious for needing to ask, needing to know.
"Not yet," Wes replied carefully. "But they're getting there."
"So if you're not coming back to work with me, what are you going to do for the next two weeks?"
"Oh, I was thinking I might take the motorbike up to the Sierra Nevada mountains," Wes said, nuzzling Angel's cheek thoughtfully. "Do some sightseeing. Might even ride out to the Grand Canyon. I've been meaning to go there ever since I came to America, but, I was just never able to find the time..."
"You've never been?" Angel asked. Wes shook his head. "Well, do you think maybe after you've been there for a few days, I could... come to see you?"
"I'd like that very much, Angel," he said, smiling.