ONE--ANGEL
From the head of the basement stairs, Wes watches Angel while Angel watches Connor depart. Wes wants to hit the boy as he brushes by, because what he said has hurt Angel. He’s found he dislikes the boy greatly, of late, and not just because of his liaison with Cordelia. Connor seems to get off on hurting his father, and this rubs Wes entirely the wrong way.
With Connor gone, Angel’s stoic expression crumples a bit, then he composes himself and turns his attention back to the cage. Wes chooses this moment to move onto the stairs, trying to pretend he didn’t see the crack in Angel’s armor.
“Does everything look all right?” he asks, his voice a bit too nonchalant, until the last word when it shivers a little.
Angel looks up at him. “Seems sturdy enough.”
They stand for a moment, eyes locked, and finally Angel looks away, to yank again at the steel bars. The silence is thick, and Wes isn’t sure what to say. Finally, slowly, Wes moves down the stairs. Angel looks up again, staring right at him, but Wes is certain Angel doesn’t really see him. He still sees Connor. Wes himself still hears Connor, the blasé tone, the lack of response to Angel’s heartfelt, “I love you.”
His feet stumble, just a little, on the stairs. Fucking little brat. The thought goes through him in a rush, and he feels the words rip through him on a wave of anger, of contempt. What he wouldn’t give to hear these words, and Connor shrugged them off with little more than a mumble. Wesley’s fists clench, but the emotions pass quickly, allowing him to regain control.
The slight scuff of Wes’ feet on the stairs has caught Angel’s attention, and he’s looking at Wes now, seeing him, a puzzled expression furrowing his brow. Wes meets his gaze, his cold composure wrapped around him again like a coat. Like armor.
“It’s done, then?” The steel cage looms behind them, a gray specter. Wes tries not to look at it, but does, anyway.
“Looks like it.” Angel’s voice is carefully controlled, the edges as strong as the cage itself. The tone draws Wes’ attention back to him.
“It’ll be all right.” He can’t help himself—his voice goes gentle, reassuring, and as he comes to the bottom of the stairs, he reaches for Angel.
Almost. His fingers curl back over his palm as soon as he realizes what he’s doing, and he draws his hand back.
Angel’s eyes have gone blank and emotionless, and it’s almost as if a barrier has come up around him. “So you said.”
Wes’ head moves back a little, involuntarily, as if he’s been struck. Angel just looks at him. Wes struggles to form words, but he can’t find them in a mouth gone suddenly dry. “I—” He can’t manage anything else.
They are silent for a long moment, the tension between them almost unbearable. Then, suddenly, Angel’s shoulders droop and the distance between them, the armor he seems to have erected, just…drops.
“If this works,” Angel says, his voice barely more than a murmur, “then you save the world.”
Wes can’t answer. The weight, the responsibility of the decision is more than he can take. He’s just done what he knew needed to be done, blocking off all emotions, all fear. The greatest fear, of course, being the loss of Angel.
“You saw what had to be done,” Angel continues, his voice softening a little, “and you did it.” His hand lifts, as if to touch Wes, but he doesn’t.
Wes looks at him, tries to find the courage he had when he tracked down Wo-Pang. “So did you.” His voice is barely audible, as he nods toward the cage.
“Only because you did first.”
Wes shrugs this off, uncomfortable with the implied praise. He can’t forget the result of his last “big picture” decision—the loss of Connor. “I only hope it works.”
Angel looks at him, and for a moment Wes sees, deep in his dark eyes, a profound emotion. But it’s only a flash, gone before he can quite identify it.
Then Angel says, “I trust you,” and before Wes can stammer out a reply, he has turned his back, and gone back to his examination of the cage.
Behind Wes, on the stairs, Gunn comes down, and there is no chance now to say
anything else to Angel. Wes goes back upstairs to fetch the Shaman.
TWO--ANGELUS
Angelus. Wes thought he was prepared, but he isn’t, not by a long shot.
There’s something – larger – about him. His broad shoulders seem to fill the cage as he sits there in the corner, languidly examining his fingernails. Wes wonders if Angel’s manicure lives up to Angelus’ expectations. Wonders if his own does. He swallows his nervousness. Angelus, of course, knows everything. Everything.
Angelus looks up at Wes, his head tipping back against the wall. A small, derisive smile curves his mouth and his gaze travels down Wes as if remembering every detail of his naked skin. When his focus returns to Wes’ face, it is all Wes can do to meet the vampire’s eyes.
His eyes. They are deep, chocolate brown, Angel’s eyes, but they are so unlike Angel’s there is no doubt another being inhabits the small cage. The demon. Wes remembers the raw, primal demon form from Pylea, how horrifying it was, brutal and animalistic.
This is worse.
“You seem a little edgy, Wes.” Even the voice is different, subtly. More sibilant, quieter. And he talks more. Yammers, even. Arrogance oozes from him.
Wes’ hands tighten on the rifle. “Why would I be edgy?”
“Afraid I’m going to tell our little secret?” His smile twitches, eyes glinting.
Wes will not look at the camera. Will not think about who might be watching and listening. What they might think if Angelus does spill the secret. He’s already seen the strange looks and withdrawal the others offered Cordelia at Angelus’ revelation that she slept with Connor. Wes is still hurting from the look Fred gave him when she discovered he’d been with Lilah. How would she look at him if she knew he’d been with Angel?
He looks at the camera. Angelus chuckles.
“Go ahead and turn it off.” Wes swings his gaze back toward the vampire as Angelus continues. “Not sure I want them knowing about it, either. I mean, God. He let you top him.” The big vampire shudders.
Wes jolts to his feet and tries not to scramble as he gets to the camera and shuts it down. Angelus’ chuckle follows him across the room. “There’s nobody up there. Fred went to take a piss.”
Regaining his composure, Wes turns. The camera is off now. He starts to ask how Angelus knows this, but it’s a pointless question. Of course Angelus knows. His hearing is vampire-acute and he lacks the discretion Angel always shows in keeping this to himself. Angelus’ mocking smile makes him bristle and shrivel inside from humiliation at the same time. He forces himself to meet the vampire’s derisive look, then slowly returns to his chair.
Angelus looks at him, gaze drawing along his body, head to crotch. Lingers there. Wes forces himself to hold still, not to twitch. His cock stirs, though, as if Angelus has touched it.
Finally Angelus’ gaze returns to Wes’ eyes. “He doesn’t love you.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Wes’ voice is hard, angry, but it shivers, and he hates himself for that.
“And God, how you wish it weren’t true.” He laughs that infuriating, high-pitched chuckle. “You want it all hearts and candy, don’t you? You’d like nothing better than to neck in the back seat of that stupid car.”
Wes says nothing. Angelus wants a reaction; Wes refuses to give him one.
“Spike was better. Spike used to cry after.”
“You raped him.”
Angelus shrugs. “Whatever.”
There is silence for a moment. Wes’ hands clench and loosen on the gun. He doesn’t want to look at Angelus, but he can’t not.
“I know what you want.” The words are so quiet at first Wes isn’t sure he heard them. But he can tell by the smirk growing on Angelus’ face that the vampire did indeed speak. His lips press together. Angelus chuckles.
“What do you think I want?” Wes doesn’t want to know – but he does. Desperately.
Angelus tilts his head a little, regarding Wes. He smiles. “You want him to punish you.”
Angelus pauses, as if he expects Wes to react, but Wes is silent. It seems to be difficult for Angelus to leave a conversational void unfilled; he continues. “You want him to hate you for what you did, and you want him to show you how much he hates you. You want him to hurt you, fuck you till you bleed, tear your skin with his teeth . . . flay you.”
Wes’ breath has quickened and he fights to control it, at the same time knowing it’s no use. The vampire can hear his rapid heartbeat, can smell his betraying arousal.
Angelus chuckles. “You know you deserve it, and you want him to give it to you. You know he won’t.” His eyes narrow a little. “I would.”
“I’m sure you would.” God, his voice is uneven and trembling and he can’t control it. He knows Angelus can smell every hint of need wafting from his body. His hands clench on the rifle. One shot, a single projectile into the vampire’s body, and the insinuating, crawling voice will stop.
“Flay you.” Angelus’ voice has fallen to a lilting murmur, tilting on the edge of Irish. “Take that pretty white British skin off you a piece at a time, lick up the blood. God, you taste good, you know that? Rich blood, my love, rich and thick –”
“Don’t call me that,” Wes grates out. “Don’t ever fucking call me that.”
Angelus chuckles. “You’re so easy. Didn’t take much to get you to spread for him, did it? Open that pretty ass right up for him.”
Wes is shaking. His finger convulses against the trigger but he doesn’t fire.
Angelus watches him coolly. “Ever have a knife inside you, Wesley? Nice slim blade, turning . . . Rips all up into your guts, the pain does. Hell of a lot of blood –”
“Shut up.” Wes’ voice is deep and harsh and Angelus looks at him.
“That’s what you want. That’s what you deserve, isn’t it? For taking his son, making him into the sociopath he is today. You deserve that.”
Wes lurches to his feet. “Shut up.”
Angelus cackles. He opens his mouth to speak again, but there is a sudden, small sound at the head of the stairs.
“Wesley?” Fred’s voice comes soft and tremulous. “Y’all okay down here?”
Angelus turns to look at Fred, then turns back, a smug, knowing look in his eyes.
“I’m all right.” Wes has some measure of control back, enough that his voice is steady.
“The camera’s off,” Fred says. She takes a few more steps down, eyes turning warily toward Angelus.
“Is it?” Wes looks at it in feigned surprise. “I’ll have to see to that.”
Nonchalant, he goes to turn the camera back on. “Perhaps you could send Gunn down? I could use a bit of a break.”
“Um . . . yeah, sure, Wesley.” Fred goes back up the stairs. Wes fiddles with the camera, his back to Angelus.
“Fag.” The word is barely audible, but Wes hears it. He’s meant to. “Your father was right.”
When Gunn arrives to take over Wes’ watch, Wes is standing just outside the red line around the cage. Angelus is on his back on the floor, a tranquilizer dart protruding from his chest.
“What happened?” Gunn asks.
“He got mouthy.” Wes hands the rifle to Gunn and goes back upstairs.