In so many ways, nothing has changed. Yet everything has. Angel is flooded with emotions he hasn’t allowed himself to feel since --

But nothing happens. The very intensity of his emotions frightens him, but he never feels the horrible, wrenching pain, the tearing free of his soul, the loss of his humanity.

He can feel again. He loves Jasmine for that. And his ability to feel frightens him. He hates her for that.

And knows she knows. Knows she knows everything.

He sits in the garden again, contemplating. Brooding, some might say. The smell of the night-blooming jasmine is cloying in the night air. He folds his hands in front of him, fingers woven together. It’s a meditative post, as he thinks of the events of the last days, of this strange woman who has become, who technically is his granddaughter.

He loves her so much. Consumingly. In a way he thinks should frighten him, but that part of his mind is closed and distant right now. There is no fear. Only the love that he occasionally allows to wash over him.

But his demon is still there. He knows this, but also knows the safeguards still hold. He can feel the love, but not -- not quite -- the gentle, comforting happiness.

Soon it won’t matter. Jasmine has promised him this. He closes his eyes and wonders what it might be like, in a world without hatred, without anger, without sin.

A small noise arrests his attention and he looks up. Wes stands a few feet away from him, hands in his pockets, regarding him. Angel straightens. “Hello.”

Wes nods, manages a vague smile. “Hi.”

There is a suspended moment of silence. Finally Angel shifts a little. “Have a seat.”

Wes hesitates before crossing the short distance to take a seat next to Angel. “Are you all right?” he asks. “You’ve seemed…distracted.”

Angel shrugs. “I’m fine. Better than fine.”

Wes’ eyes take on that beatific look Angel has seen everywhere over the past few days. “Aren’t we all, really? Jasmine’s made everything so wonderful.”

Happiness trembles at the edges of Angel’s perception, where he feels he has to keep it, to keep him safe, as well as everyone around him. “Yes,” he says. “Wonderful.” He means it, but it doesn’t sound like he does, and Wes frowns.

“Are you certain you’re all right?”

“I just… I wish…” He trails off.

Wes touches him, his hand warm against Angel’s back. “Tell me.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Angel’s chest, fear and worry and all the weight he’s had to carry for over a century and still can’t let go for fear of hurting everyone around him. “I’m afraid.” The words are barely louder than a breath.

Wesley’s hand strokes over Angel’s back, comforting. “How can you be afraid? It’s all so lovely. Jasmine’s brought us all such peace, such happiness…” Wes trails off on the last word. His hand stills on Angel’s back. “Happiness.”

“Yes.” The look he gives Wes is bleak. “Happiness. Perfect happiness.”

“You don’t think… I mean, she wouldn’t let something like that happen to you again. She loves us, protects us.” Wes is almost painfully sincere.

Angel nods. “I can still feel it, though. The beast, the evil. It hasn’t gone away.”

Wesley’s hand resumes its soft roving over his back. “She’ll keep you safe, Angel. She’ll keep us all safe. She loves us so much. Surely she wants happiness for you.”

“Yes. I believe that. But when I asked her… she said it wouldn’t matter soon. She didn’t say it was all right now.”

“Oh, Angel.” Wesley’s fingers brush the back of Angel’s neck, soothing. Arousing. Angel swallows hard and looks away. But Wes cups his face, turning his head so Angel has to look at him. “Angel. We’ve shared so much. You can talk to me.”

The gentle words are like a knife in Angel’s silent heart. “What have we shared, really?”

Wes goes still. He draws his hand back, a stricken look on his face. “I thought…” He trails off, words seeming to fail him. “Whatever I’ve done--“

“No.” Angel breaks curtly through his words. “No, it’s not that.” Emotion wrenches at him, so intense he can hardly stand it. “When she came, when she made everything so wonderful… I wanted to be whole. So I could be not afraid. So I could tell you…” He can’t finish, can’t say the words that struggle inside him.

Wes reaches for him again, touching him gently. “Angel. Talk to me.”

But talking isn’t Angel’s strong suit. Everybody knows that. Instead he reaches out to cup the back of Wesley’s neck, pulls him in, and kisses him fiercely.

Wes makes an inarticulate sound against Angel’s mouth. Angel is all too aware that this is the first time he’s touched Wes like this since… He doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to remember the sense of loss and betrayal that come with remembering what Wes did, what it had meant for him, for Connor. He only wants to taste Wesley’s mouth, the blood rising between their lips where Angel has kissed him too hard.

Wes pulls back. “Angel…”

“No.” He cups Wesley’s face, his thumb pressing against his lips. “I want… I just want you.”

Wesley’s expression is devastated, but at the same time so full of need it makes Angel hurt. After an excruciating moment, Wes nods. Angel kisses him again, takes his hand, and leads him upstairs.

#

Angel wants to make love to him, gently, carefully, with tenderness he’s never allowed himself to express. But even now, he finds himself unable to let those emotions touch him. His hands on Wes become rough, needy, tearing his shirt off him as they tumble back into the bed. Wes answers in kind, tearing at Angel’s clothes, kissing him hard.

“Angel,” he murmurs. “God. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry…”

The words are drowned in Angel’s mouth, and they come together in a lurching, almost violent convulsion of bodies. There is still lube in the bedside table drawer, the tube half-squashed, the contents serviceable. Wes falls open to him, hips tilted, legs wrapping practically around Angel’s neck. Angel rams into him, any pretense of gentleness lost in his fear of feeling too much. Automatically, he focuses on the physical, Wesley’s tight heat clenched on his cock, the rough hair on his chest against Angel’s smooth skin, his lithe body beneath him. He kisses him hard, fucks him harder, until Wes bucks under him, incoherent, half crawling away from the harsh impalement, half shoving himself harder onto Angel’s cock.

Angel forces himself to slow down, moving in a slow glide now, deep but not as hard. Wes opens his eyes, meeting Angel’s gaze. The sapphire eyes hold an emotion Angel hasn’t seen there in a long time.

Hope.

The crystalline blue eyes are red-rimmed, the emotion in them raw. Angel’s heart lurches. Sinking deep inside him, he brushes Wes’ hair back. Wes’ lids flutter shut at the deep penetration, then open again. Wes swallows.

Angel lets his thumb stroke Wes’ cheek and carefully, quietly, risks everything.

“I love you.”

Wesley’s body undulates under him in a slow orgasm. The expression on his face is almost too painful for Angel to take in, but there is relief there, and a moment of open emotion that Angel is certain is reciprocation. Feeling Wes’ body pulse on him, he orgasms as well, staring into the wreck of Wesley’s eyes.

He comes down slowly, and without pain. He is still whole. He has said the words, and his soul remains intact. Probably because it hurt him to say them. Hurt Wes. He realizes now there was no reason to worry; perfect happiness is simply something he will never experience again.

Finally, shivering out the last of his climax, he kisses Wes softly, and holds him, and wishes he could give him so much more.