Buffy is alive. Wes still doesn't know
how, and probably won't until Angel tells him. Wes is happy that Buffy
is
alive.
Except he saw the look in Angel's eyes
when he found out, watched him on the phone with Willow and watched his
eyes
bead with tears, and now he wishes Buffy were still dead, because he
remembers
holding Angel while grief wrenched through Angel's body, tore him to
pieces,
and Wes had done what he could to put those pieces back together, and
he can't
help but wonder if Angel would fall apart like that if he died, if he
were
gone....
He sighs and looks at his watch. Again.
Angel will be back. Angel won't stay in
Sunnydale. Angel and Buffy have been over for a long time.
He looks at his watch again and wonders
what he'll do when Angel calls and tells him he's not coming home.
****
Angel has come home. Wes is surprised, a
little, and not surprised, a little, and embarrassed, a lot, because
his timing
is so bad and he can't believe Cordy wasn't utterly mortified when
Angel walked
in on them.
He
looks up, hearing the door from the basement close. Angel has come back
from
patrol, or surveillance, or whatever he's been doing. Wes leans back in
his
office chair and listens. Angel's footsteps go toward the stairs...
And then
turn back, heading toward the office. Wes breathes a sigh of relief.
Angel
comes in and takes a seat in the chair opposite the desk. He eyes Wes
almost
absently, his expression morose.
Wes
musters a smile. "Scotch?"
"Please."
Wes
gets up and pours Scotch into two tumblers. Instead of returning to the
chair
behind the desk, he leans against the desk and looks at Angel, who's
staring at
the amber liquid in the big glass in his even bigger hands.
"So...
I take it it went rather poorly."
"You
could say that." Angel downs half the Scotch in a single gulp.
"Did
you...want to talk about it?"
Angel
shrugs. "Don't know. Probably won't help."
Wes
hunches down a little, trying to get a better look at Angel's face. "Good God, what did she say to
you?"
He
reaches out, to touch Angel, and Angel's head jerks up, his eyes
flaring, and
Wes is suffused with shame, remembering what he had done, mocking Angel
with
Cordelia. Cordelia was flighty enough, whimsical enough, that her
actions could
be excused, but Wes....
He has
no excuse. He looks at Angel and swallows a sudden surge of pain.
"I'm
sorry," he says quietly. Angel will take it however he wishes--as
apology
for Wesley's behavior, or sympathy for whatever happened with Buffy.
Wes
doesn't have the balls to try to determine which it is. He wants to beg
for
forgiveness, would curl up at Angel's feet and grovel if he were asked,
but he
knows Angel won't ask, and if he were to do such a thing of his own
initiative
Angel would be appalled.
Angel
takes another long drink of his Scotch. Wes looks at the long fingers
curled
around the tumbler and thinks about what those hands do, how they feel
on his
body, how they feel inside him. He shivers a little. He has to let this
go.
He
wants to hurt Angel for making him feel this way. Making him feel
bereft and
broken and jealous. Making him wish the death of an innocent, lovely,
decent
girl had been permanent instead of only temporary. Making him wish
things could
be different.
Making
him wish Angel loved him.
He hates
Angel for this. He wants to hurt him. He wants to fuck him.
Angel
looks up and meets Wesley's eyes, and begins to talk, quietly.
Wesley
stands there, leaning against the desk, and listens.