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Lost and Found, Part Five

Gunn was waiting for him in the lobby – hanging around by the front desk looking simultaneously furtive and as if he were steeling himself to some great and difficult task. Angel checked the message pad for calls, saying over his shoulder: “That mystic guy must have done his stuff because his ribs aren’t broken any more, just bruised. I’ve strapped them up again. His lungs are fine, no coughing. The rest seems to be healing okay. Probably best if he sleeps for a few hours then try him with some more of that soup, maybe some ice cream.”

He noticed Gunn’s face; the expression of someone about to tell him something he wasn’t going to want to hear.

“What?” Angel demanded.

“I’ve been thinking, if Wes wants to go back to his place, I could go with him.” Gunn evidently expected Angel to say something and when he didn’t, plunged on: “He doesn’t want to be here and you don’t want him here so why don’t I take him home and stay there a few days until he’s back on his feet and…”

“Because it won’t be a few days until he’s back on his feet. It will be weeks. And what happens if we get a client? I call you, you have to come over here instead of being on the spot and meanwhile Wes is left by himself. If he’s here and we have a case, Lorne or Fred or Cordy can take care of him while we’re out.”

“I don’t like him being a prisoner.” Gunn faced him. “I’m not sure I can go on being a party to him being a prisoner, Angel.”

“He’s not.”

“What else do you call it when the guy wants to be someplace other than here and you’re not letting him go there?”

“It’s for his own good.” As Gunn looked unconvinced, Angel said, “So, you’re seriously going to spend the next month babysitting Wesley in his place when he’s better off here? It’s crazy.”

“Is he safe here?” Gunn gazed at him intently.

“Are you talking about earthquakes? Subsidence? Roof falling in? Demons invading? Wolfram & Hart trying to kill us all or…?”

“You. I’m talking about you. Is Wesley safe from you?”

Angel took a moment before answering, not sure he wanted to give up his current position as angry enigma, then he had to concede the point. “Yes. He’s safe from me, Gunn. I’m not over what he did but I’m over wanting to kill him for it. The moment’s passed.”

“I need to know you’re telling me the truth.” Gunn gazed at him intently.

“And when did I ever lie to you?”

“When you pretended you cared about Wesley’s welfare to get into that hospital room.”

Angel sighed. “Fine. Be like that. I’ve told you the truth. I’m no threat to him. And it’s all academic anyway. Giles is coming to fetch him home to England so the Council can reprogram him as a research assistant to some stuffy old fart of a Watcher.”

“What?” Gunn looked dismayed, and Cordelia, coming out of the office, shared his expression. “Is that what Wes wants?”

“I don’t think Giles is consulting him. He’s going to do what’s best for him. That’s what Watchers do, you know. Take it on themselves to do what’s best for others.”

Cordelia put her hands on her hips. “Giles can’t just take Wesley back to England like he’s lost luggage or something. And why would Wesley want to go back to England anyway? The food’s terrible, so is the weather, and his father’s there.”

“Well, tell Giles that because he’s sure he knows best.”

“Well, he’s not going,” said Cordelia in her best brooking-no-argument tone. “He’s staying right here.”

“Or at his place,” Gunn suggested. “His place would be good.”

“Were you planning to take Fred with you or just have conjugal visits?” Angel enquired. “And were you planning to share the one bed with Wesley or sleep on the couch?”

Gunn looked at him narrowly. “You know, sarcasm from a vampire – not a good look.”

“And if Wolfram & Hart want him as badly as their thousand dollars a day pay offer suggests what were you planning to do if they decided to just extract him to their offices?”

Cordelia looked at Gunn. “Much as I hate to agree with Angel when he’s in sarky bitch mode – he does have a point. Wesley knows a lot about Angel Investigations and Wolfram & Hart have evidently noticed. I wouldn’t put it past Lilah the evil bitch queen to decide that if Wesley won’t go willingly they’ll just kidnap him anyway. And right now – Wes not exactly in a position to put up much of a fight.”

“So, he stays here then.” Gunn looked across at Angel. “But I meant what I said, Angel. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’ll cut your damned head off.”

“And as I said, it’s all academic anyway as Giles is going to take him back to England.”

“No, he isn’t,” Cordelia said shortly. “There’s nothing for Wesley in England. This is where his life is.”

“What life?” Gunn countered. “As someone who used to work for Angel and used to be our friend?”

Cordelia looked across at him. “He made a terrible mistake and I’m not saying that anyone should just forget what he did, but he’s still my friend. I forgot that for a while because I was so upset about what he did, but him being back here has made me realize that I can’t just stop caring about him just because he did something that makes me want to…” She sighed. “And I don’t even want to do that any more. He’s paid for what he did and paid way more than anyone here – even Angel, if he’s honest – would want him to pay. If he goes running back to England it’s just going to make everything he did here worthless and a failure. I had to go back into high school and face everyone after Xander cheated on me with geek girl – well, Wesley has to stay here and work through his redemption like everyone else in this place.” As Gunn looked at her cynically, Cordy poked him in the chest. “And yes, those two things are comparable, smarty pants. Do you know how much of a plummet in popularity I took dating Loser Harris? And getting cheated on by Loser Harris that was like, social death. By the time my father lost all his money and they took my pony away, I was already on social skid row. So, don’t give me that what do you know about hitting rock bottom look, because I so do.”

Gunn sighed. “I don’t want Wes going back to England. He screwed up here. Everyone agrees he screwed up as much as anyone can – well, that means he has to fix it, and he can’t fix it if he’s in England. And I don’t mean getting Connor back. We know that can’t happen.” He glanced at Angel as if to check if this was news to him and Angel conceded the point with a shrug. “Any more than Angel can undo what Angelus did. But running away to England to escape from what he did, that’s not going to solve anything.”

“Tell Giles,” Angel countered. “Maybe he’ll listen to you. He certainly wasn’t listening to me.”

***

“Wakey, wakey, pumpkin pie. It’s the jolly green…demon with the soup of the day and something Cordelia made that actually smells quite edible.”

Wesley blinked at Lorne in confusion for a moment and then began to painfully attempt to sit up; his muscles still ached whenever he tried to move, his ribs creaking a protest while every burn and cut and bruise complained at him bitterly. Things were getting better; it didn’t feel as if he were going to throw up every time he breathed in; swallowing wasn’t quite so much like gargling with razor blades, and the internal bruising was starting to ease off, but he still felt kitten-weak after a sleep and his spine still seemed to have been put together wrong. Lorne seemed to know all that, immediately putting down the tray to catch him gently under the arms and help him to ease him into a sitting position.

Lorne slipped a pillow behind his back and took him by the shoulders, helping him sit back.

“Okay, sugar plum? Ready for your latest snackette?”

“Lorne.” Wesley gazed at the demon. “I never said sorry for… I am sorry…”

“That’s okay. I get that you were in a panicking place. Not to mention a stressed halfway to insanity’s parking garage place.”

Wesley thought back to that day and flinched. “Yes. I’d say that was a fair assessment. But I’m still sorry for knocking you out.”

Lorne put the tray on his lap, sat on the bed next to him and held out a spoon. “Apology accepted. For my part I’m sorry I didn’t read you a little better and give Angel a rather fuller explanation of what you’d been up to. I was a little freaked by the whole ‘running away with Connor and not coming back’ vibe.”

Wesley nodded. “Understandable.”

“You just weren’t the one anyone was expecting to go snap, crackle and pop, crumpet. We expected that to be Angel’s preserve. Guess we kind of took you being the sane one for granted.”

Wesley sighed and took the spoon from Lorne. “Well, that’s a mistake no one else will be making in a hurry.”

Lorne let him drink some of his soup, holding the tray steady for him as he did so, although Wesley appreciated that it wasn’t so much the practical use of the demon sitting on his bed that was so healing, as him sticking around to make friendly small talk. He appreciated that more and more, the way they could have just dumped the food on his lap in the manner of jailors with a criminal guilty of a particularly repellent crime whom common decency demanded they must still nevertheless feed; but no one had treated him like that. Cordelia had certainly told it like she saw it, in the manner of someone who needed to blow him up once and then turn a new page, and he’d appreciated her honesty and her willingness to move on, and Angel had certainly made no secret of how angry he was initially, but Groo, Lorne and Fred had all been careful of his feelings and gentle towards him.

Gunn, of course, had been freaked. And Wesley had been equally freaked. He hadn’t really expected that. Hadn’t really expected to be having this much contact with them ever again for one thing. He’d found himself in a basement with no blood and no mattress and no ropes or chains or unpleasant implements scattered around and realized that the strange sensation he’d felt which had seemed to be the gershunik nut doing its job at last had indeed been the ending of the spell; which meant he was in the Hyperion in his own time with an Angel who wanted to kill him; an Angel he thought he could hear approaching along the sewer route. He’d staggered up the stairs, clutching that stinking blanket to him, dragging his beaten shaking body by sheer willpower alone, still keeping a hold of the carrier bag the Angelus of the other dimension had put ready to take to the nearest mailing point, which he’d snatched at as soon as he felt his body beginning to undergo some cataclysmic change. He still didn’t know how he’d made it across the lobby and outside, only that he had been fuelled by a combination of the need to survive that avoiding Angel finding him here demanded, and the equally strong compulsion to know that Fred and Cordelia were still alive. He hadn’t expected that he would be having to gaze into Gunn’s eyes, or feel the man touch him, his face suddenly changed not just from that of a friend to an ex-friend, but from an ex-friend to a sadistic tormentor and back again.

“What happened to the blanket?”

Lorne looked at him for a moment and then got what he was talking about. “It’s incinerated. Burnt to the crispiest crisp and now the ashiest ash you can imagine. We figured you probably wouldn’t want it for a keepsake.”

Wesley nodded. “You figured right.”

As he went to put down his spoon, Lorne said, “Uh-huh, muffin. You need to eat all of those or there’s no extra tasty fruit sorbet for you today. And did I mention that Cordelia made the sorbet?”

“You’ve all been very…” He felt abruptly choked up. He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to sit here and feel that he wasn’t worthy of anyone’s regard, or so painfully grateful for their kindness to him; didn’t want to get himself into a place where all he did was look at them with apologetic eyes and try to excuse himself for breathing while they rained their lofty beneficence down upon him, but he couldn’t pretend that they weren’t being kinder than he not only expected but felt that he deserved. And they weren’t doing this to make him feel bad or because common humanity dictated that they should; they were doing this because on some level they still thought of him as a friend.

Lorne said, “Guess what they’ve all been doing downstairs?”

Wesley looked at him in confusion. “Killing demons?”

“Nope. Arguing over who gets to keep you. Giles wants you for – well, not a sunbeam, it being England and all and so seriously lacking in the sunbeams, but to whisk you away from all this. Gunn thinks you’d be better off at home, with him guarding the door against incoming vampires with possible grudges. And Cordy wants you here where she can take care of you.”

Wesley moistened his lips. “What does Angel want?”

Lorne smiled, red eyes kinder than any horned demon’s had the right to be. “Well, let’s just say he wasn’t exactly dancing a jig about Giles’s proposal – or Gunn’s. And whatever he’s saying in public his aura is saying – well, pretty much ‘hands off my Watcher’.”

Wesley felt a terrible pang for what might have been – what had been for the best part of two very good years. “I can’t ever be that again, Lorne.”

The demon took the soup bowl away and put the sorbet in front of him, gently tugging the soup spoon out of his fingers that he was holding so tightly, and putting the clean one into them in its place, red eyes wise and kind as he said gently: “You may be surprised.”

***

The next few days mostly consisted of everything beginning to hurt a little less: physically, emotionally, mentally. Wesley realized just how badly he had been doing in isolation, when the only human contact he had was with Lilah Morgan turning up to remind him how alone he was these days. The way no one was talking to him had made it impossible to believe that what he had done was anything other than unforgivable. Even though he knew intellectually that he had been trying to save Connor from being murdered by a man he admired above all others, and saving Angel from carrying the possibly unbearable guilt of having killed his much-loved son, the fact that it had ended in such disaster would have been difficult to bear even without Angel’s murderous fury making it clear that, yes, he was being blamed for what had happened, that no allowances were going to be made for his intentions, his actions judged entirely on their end result.

Things were now very different. A day didn’t go by when he didn’t get at least one visit from Cordelia, Lorne and Fred. Groo daily stuck his head around the door with a bright smile for him and some halting greeting and question about his health. Gunn also tended to hover in the doorway, saying, “So, how are you feeling?” and then edging away quickly as soon as Wesley said he was feeling a lot better, thank you. Making eye contact still seemed to be off the agenda as far as he and Gunn were concerned but the man was being kind to him albeit usually before ducking and running. Cordelia and Lorne usually brought him his meals while Fred had taken to almost bouncing onto his bed to show him a paper she was mulling over that seemed to be a new and exciting attempt to explain sub-dimensional physics. She also had a few gadgets she was making that she suggested they could work on together when he was better, to add a mystical element to her practical know-how.

He’d been mildly amused by that. “You really want me adding a magical element to your working model given the way my last spell turned out?”

She grimaced and unexpectedly bent and kissed his forehead. “Don’t let’s talk about that, Wesley. I’m just glad you’re back.”

Cordelia had turned up with scissors, saying that he needed a haircut. “In fact, let’s be honest here, Wes, you’ve needed a haircut for six months. I just haven’t been brutal enough to tell you your hair looks like crap.”

“But I don’t want…”

“And what makes you think you get a choice? What’s the point in having a friend under house arrest if you can’t give him a make over he doesn’t want but really needs?” She dropped a couple of magazines open on his lap. “As a special concession, I’ll let you pick which style you want but it has to be one of these.”

Remembering her affection for Jude Law, he thought it would be most tactful to pick that style; it was also short and spiky and didn’t look too unmanageable. He had evidently made the right choice as she beamed at him, giving him the full thousand watt smile he had certainly never expected to see turned in his direction again. Pointing quickly, he said, “I like that one best and that one second best.” He didn’t recognize the second actor but his style was similar, just with a straighter line across the brow although still doing strange sticking up things that he couldn’t really imagine his hair doing. Cordelia, however, seemed to think differently.

“Right, I’ll improvise. Now – sink, so I can dampen it down.” She practically hauled him out of the bed, and he tried not to lean on her as she tugged him in the direction of the bathroom. An hour of spraying him with warm – and sometimes cold – water, snipping of scissors and much Cordelia walking around him gazing intently at her work while frowning in a way that made him nervous, and she declared her work done. She gave his hair a quick rub, flicked the towel around the back of his neck, and then took him by the elbow and pushed him in front of the mirror. “Tell me what you think.”

He glanced at her warily. “Don’t you mean tell you that I like it?”

She grinned. “Damned straight. And a ‘thank you, Cordelia’ would also be a good idea.”

Dutifully, he said, “Thank you, Cordelia.” They smiled at each other and it was momentarily just like old times.


Angel was still taking responsibility for helping him bathe, and changing the dressings on his wounds, although each time they were changed there were less that needed to be re-applied. They weren’t communicating much but Angel was being distantly civil to him. There was a sense with Angel that there wasn’t with anyone else that Wesley was not only here on sufferance but also not entirely safe, but Angel’s sometimes brusque manner was contradicted by his unexpectedly gentle handling of Wesley’s cuts and burns, applying ointment and bandages with as deft a touch as Lorne or Cordelia.

“Giles wants you to go back to England with him.”

That came out of the blue after a particularly long and awkward silence as he sat in the bath once again as Angel washed his new, shorter and, according to Cordelia, very fashionable, hair.

Wesley blinked water out of his eyes. “Oh.”

“Is that an ‘oh, how jolly, I can’t wait to pack my toothbrush’ or an ‘oh, I have to think about that’?”

“It’s just an ‘oh’ really.”

“Do you want to go back to England?”

“Not particularly. But if Giles thinks I can be useful there…” He didn’t meet Angel’s eye. “I’d like to be useful.”

“What’s stopping you being useful here?” Angel sounded positively belligerent and Wesley darted him a somewhat nervous glance.

“I don’t know.” That seemed the safest answer.

Angel finished rinsing off his hair before abruptly switching off the flow again. “Gunn wants to take you home.”

“I don’t mind going home.” Wesley cast around for the right thing to say. “Get out of your hair.”

Angel got up; movements still quick and more angry than not. “So, you want to go home?”

Wesley licked his lips nervously. “I know I’m taking up a lot of everyone’s time. I don’t have the right to expect… You’ve all been very…forgiving but I don’t…”

Angel wheeled around. “You fucked up, Wes. Big time.”

“I know. I know that.”

“And you did it here. To us. Don’t you think you ought to make amends to us, not the Watchers’ Council?”

“Yes, of course, if…” Wesley realized he had no idea what Angel wanted from him. He gazed up at him in confusion, aware of being naked, and wet, droplets cooling rapidly on skin still marked with yellowing bruises, healing cuts, still-shiny burns.

Angel turned around and looked into his eyes for a long moment; the connection between them like some tangible presence that had come into the bathroom with them. “If you go home someone’s going to have to go with you – take care of you. That’s one less person around if something comes up.”

“I can manage by myself.”

“No, you can’t.” Angel picked up a towel. “And let’s review the last two things you tried to do by yourself, shall we, Wesley?”

Wesley flinched and ducked his head. He could imagine standing up to Angel and sometimes even managed it, but he couldn’t look at the man now without seeing the way he had smiled at Connor, the love he’d had for that baby; the baby Wesley had lost.

“Come on.”

Wesley looked up to see Angel shaking out the towel and obediently tried to struggle to his feet. Angel’s fingers closed on his arm to steady him, helping him step out of the bath, and then the towel was wrapped around him. It was soft and warm from the radiator and felt so good against his still tender skin. Angel gave his hair another rub with a different towel. In a different tone, he said, “I’m just saying that if you’re here we can take care of you without splitting our forces. And why can’t you be useful in LA?”

“I’ll do whatever you want.” That came out much too breathless and spineless but he couldn’t help himself; sometimes the urge to grovel for forgiveness could only be beaten down by a tremendous effort of will.

“What do you want, Wesley?”

He took a deep breath and faced the man. “If I thought it were possible for you to ever…take me back, I’d like to stay here and be useful. I know it can never be the way it was before.”

“No. It can’t.” Angel seemed to be trying to pick his words with care. “But it can be what it is from now on. Which is – whatever we choose to make it, I suppose.”

Wesley wasn’t sure what Angel meant by that and didn’t feel quite prepared to ask. He wondered if they would ever feel like equals again; almost wishing that he had just gone to England, severed all ties with these people; walked off in high dudgeon and told himself that he didn’t owe them anything any more. Except he owed Angel the son he’d stolen and that was something he could never replace.

Angel helped him limp back to the clean bed with the clean sheets and the fresh towel on it, the first aid kit laid out next to it ready for Angel to strap up his ribs again and put ointment on the stubborn last few cuts and burns.

Wesley darted a glance at him. “I want to be useful.”

As if he hadn’t spoken, Angel said, “We’re still doing the same things here. Cordy gets the visions. Gunn, Groo and I go out and slice and dice it. A few times it would have been useful to know what we’re up against. Fred’s been trying but – half your books aren’t even in English, Wes. What language is that old red one with the weird pictures?”

“Geshundi.”

“Just saying, there’s a few times we could have done with your help. What’s the deal with Tharlock demons and the spitting in your eyes thing?”

“It’s a venomous bile, not unlike the poison of the spitting cobra. It can cause blindness if it’s not washed out quickly with condensed milk.”

“Condensed milk?” Angel looked at him in disbelief. “We paid fifty bucks in Meg’s for some special de-blinding lotion she said Gunn needed.”

“Condensed milk is actually better. I always kept a tin of that and black treacle in the back of the cabinet in the office. The treacle is the best antidote to a Hefraxan bite. Magic shops will always try to sell you that overpriced Guntorian Night – “

“Nightshade Elixir.” Angel pulled a face. “Meg stung us for a bottle of that as well. Said there was a nest of Hefraxans down by the railway.”

“They usually nest near running water. Interestingly it appears to be due to a superstition on their part about vampires not being able to cross it. If you put black treacle on a Hafraxan bite it works as an antidote to the poison. It usually reduces the swelling within an hour or so.” Wesley sat down on the bed carefully. “In the back of Coolidge’s Common Demonic Remedies I’ve written down a list of the household supplies one can use as an antidote to common venomous or semi-venomous bites.”

“Okay – and this is why you’d be more useful here than over in England where they don’t even fight demons, they just…read about them.”

“We do have demons in England, Angel.”

“So, how many demons had you killed before you came to Sunnydale?”

Wesley conceded the point with a shrug. “None.”

“We have more demons than we know what to do with here and we need informed…information about them.”

“If I can be useful here of course I’ll stay.” Wesley wondered if Angel really did not know that.

Angel walked over to the sideboard and moved some of the ornaments around. “I’m not going to hurt you. Gunn thinks I’m…just biding my time.”

Wesley watched him carefully. “Well, revenge supposedly is a dish best eaten cold.”

Angel spun around. “I was angry, Wesley. You stole my son. He ended up in a hell dimension because of you. I wanted to hurt you as much as you’d hurt me. I wanted to do what you’d done and look into your eyes and pretend to be something I wasn’t…” He looked away. “But, that was then – this is now. I have people I’m responsible for. If you stay here I need to know that you’re going to be looking out for them. That I can trust you to try to keep them safe.”

“I will certainly do my best.”

Angel looked at him again. “I trusted you with my son. That’s more trust than I have left. But despite everything that’s happened I do believe you’d do what you could to keep Cordelia and Fred safe.”

Wesley inclined his head. “I would. But I can understand you not believing that after what happened.”

“So, will you do it?”

Wesley wondered if he had missed a page of this conversation. “Do what?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “Research, Wes. For us?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Okay.” And that actually looked like a hint of a grin from Angel, and there was something almost jaunty about his step as he came back to the bed. “Let’s get these ribs strapped up.”

Wesley couldn’t help thinking that if what Angel was aiming for in their interaction with one another at the moment was to constantly wrong foot him and keep him guessing that he was certainly managing that very well indeed.

***

It was strange how easy it was to fall into this new pattern. The office was no longer his, of course, even supposing he had been strong enough to walk to it. Nothing here was ‘his’. His books had been pretty much confiscated and as he’d bought them as research tools for Angel Investigations, and Angel Investigations was still continuing without him that seemed fair enough. He was most certainly no longer the man in charge; just the resident patient. But as well as feeding him and helping him to shower and binding up his healing wounds, the others were also starting to allow him to be useful.

“Wes – five claws, dorsal ridge, three horns and really big… any ideas?”

That was Gunn, carrying a selection of books which he offered to Wesley hopefully as he burst into his door without knocking.

Wesley was more pleased than not about the ‘without knocking’ thing; it suggested Gunn was getting slightly less freaked about the prospect of being around him.

“Between six and eight feet or between eight and ten feet tall?” He helped Gunn to stack the books on the bed around him, reaching for a pen and the notebook Angel had left for him a few days earlier.

“Cordy…?” Gunn went to the door to shout down the question then came back to the bed. “She says her visions don’t actually come with a measuring stick, dumbass.”

Wesley barely concealed a grin. “Let’s start with the Gefryllg family and see if anything matches her description. Worry about whether we’re dealing with the major or minor sub-species after we’ve identified it.”

“If that means I don’t have to ask her any more questions when she’s crabby, I’m all over that idea.”

“Are she and Groo not…?” Wesley asked diffidently. He wasn’t sure if he was still included in talking about their private lives. He was certainly very careful never to ask Gunn or Fred anything about their love life.

“Damned vision turned up on her day off just before the moment of truth. You bet she’s crabby.” Gunn held out a book pathetically. “Where do I look?”

Wesley took it from him, turned to the section that would deal with the most likely demons and then handed it back.

They researched together, occasionally calling down to Cordelia to ask her questions about her vision, Wesley neatly listing the demons that were possibilities and then crossing them off as their research revealed them to have the wrong physical characteristics or habits to be a threat.

After about an hour of passing books between each other, turning pages, cross-referencing, mostly in a surprisingly companionable near-silence, Gunn got up and closed the door then came back to the bed.

Wesley wondered if he was now going to hear from Gunn all the reasons why Wesley was a screw-up.

“Wes, are you okay staying here?”

Wesley blinked at him in confusion. “In the hotel?”

“In Angel’s hotel. After what he nearly did to you in the hospital. Would you rather be home?” As Wesley didn’t immediately say anything, Gunn said, “Because I can take you home. If that’s what you want. Stay there with you until you’re back on your feet again. If you don’t want to be here. If Angel’s…” He gritted his teeth. “Is he bullying you?”

“No.” Wesley’s eyes widened. “He’s – been very kind to me.”

Gunn looked at him sadly. “Are you just saying that because you don’t trust me? Do you think I’m going to report back to him?”

“No.” And the thought had never crossed his mind. “Of course, I trust you, Gunn, it’s just that… He’s angry, yes. He doesn’t pretend otherwise. But he hasn’t… I want to stay here. I want to be useful.”

“I know he can threaten you without laying a finger on you. We both know how long he needs to snap someone’s neck. I need to know you’re not a prisoner. That I’m not just going on downstairs answering the phone like nothing’s wrong when all the time… Like some spineless son-of-a-bitch neighbour not calling social services when the kid next door never stops crying.”

“Gunn, I swear it isn’t like that. He asked me what I wanted to do. I said I wanted to stay here and help. Is that okay with you…?” He looked at him uncertainly; not really sure about Gunn’s opinion of the proceedings.

“Yeah. Of course.” Gunn sighed in relief. “Okay, just needed to know…”

“It’s appreciated.” Wesley swallowed, any talk of that night making his throat hurt, as if the gash were going to open up again, his blood spill. “I never thanked you for saving my life. You and Fred – you found me.”

“Yeah. Took too damned long. That bitch Justine…” Gunn shook his head then glanced at Wesley. “About what went down in that other dimension…? Are we…? Are we good?”

“Of course.” Wesley had to admit Gunn was surprising him today. “It was nothing to do with you. The Gunn in that dimension was already dead before I got there.” He snatched a breath and then made a vague gesture between his chest and Gunn’s. “Are we…okay?”

Gunn nodded. “Yeah, English, we’re good. You fucked up. You nearly died. You tried to fix it. You nearly died again. Shit happens. I’m sorry so much of it happened to you. Just don’t be going too…you know…brainy boy around Fred. Makes me look bad. Could you at least pretend you don’t know what she’s talking about when she’s spouting all that physics trans-dimensional sub-space stuff?”

Wesley smiled faintly. “I really don’t understand all of it.”

Gunn sighed and straightened up. “I guess I’ll just have to hope she ain’t dating me for my mind.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your mind, Charles.” Wesley frowned at the thought that he didn’t know that. It stung that Fred had picked Gunn. It had felt wrong to him and it still did; it probably always would; if he were honest; but it still bothered him to hear Gunn talking about himself as if he lacked intelligence. Book-learning was something Wesley and Fred had in common and Gunn and Fred did not; intelligence was common to all of them. “The fact you’re still alive when you were living on the streets fighting vampires at an age when I was worrying about getting all my prep done rather proves it, I would have thought.”

Gunn made to answer and then noticed the page upon which the book had fallen open. “Hey – is this…?”

Wesley craned his neck to look and then beamed at Gunn. “Five claws. Three horns. A Xakanal Demon – extremely violent and aggressive, the horns are venom-tipped and the claws can rip apart metal, feeds on human flesh, particularly the young. As candidates go for a demon that’s nesting by a primary school… I think you’ve found it. Can you take the book to Cordelia?”

Gunn grabbed the book and was halfway to the door before he said, “You okay? You need anything?”

“Gunn, I can get to the bathroom by myself now.” Wesley didn’t add that he sometimes had to sit down halfway when the buzzing in his ears became too loud and certainly did a lot of clinging to walls. The fact was he could do it and he was proud of it.

“Okay – maybe tonight we can have take out? You want a game of Risk?”

Wesley realized there was a real chance he was going to get teary-eyed if Gunn didn’t leave soon. “That would be…fun.” As Gunn headed for the door he felt a terrible pang of loss and anxiety; realizing that this was how it must have been for Cordelia when he and Gunn were going off to fight the monsters in her visions together. This, too, had been his inheritance, because this was what Watchers did, waited to find out if when the dawn came around again, they would still have a Slayer to Watch for. “Be careful,” he added quickly. “They’re very nasty creatures. Be sure to read everything it says about them in Rheinhardt’s. I think some ground up ivy leaf toadflax may be efficacious in confusing it when you first enter its lair. Check in Rheinhardt’s – oh, and there’s some of the powder you’ll need in the back of the cupboard in the office…”

Gunn paused in the doorway to give him a fond smile. “Hey, a few more weeks and you’ll be out there mixing it with us again.”

Wesley had to swallow a lump in his throat at the look on Gunn’s face. “Won’t that be jolly?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t miss the entrails splattering on your favourite shirt? Not to mention the many opportunities demon hunting presents for dying a horrible painful death?”

“Well, when you put it like that… I’ll be counting the days.” Wesley realized that losing any of these people would be unbearable; and that was also what had turned that other Wesley in the other dimension into a basketcase. Not just witnessing what had happened to Cordelia and Fred, but losing Gunn and Angel. There had been no one left for him at all by the end of it. “You will be careful? Xakanals are…”

“Not going to invite us in for milk and cookies? Don’t tend to go in much for the rescuing of fluffy kittens? You think I’m not safe without you there to nag me on the job, Wes?”

Wesley conceded the point with a sigh. “No. I admit you are fully able to dismember scaly demons without me holding your hand.”

“Cause I was thinking if you did think that, the best way to help me out would be to get better so you can come along, right? So, why don’t you work on that while I go get me a Xakanal horn for my collection.”

“You can’t touch the horn, it’s poisonous!”

Gunn grinned at him, a real old-fashioned wind up grin. “Your buttons are so easy to push.” He held up the book, with his finger marking the page, showing he was indeed intending to do a little research. “I’ll be back later – in one piece – and you are so going to get your ass kicked at Risk.”

Then Gunn was gone, the door closed gently behind him, and Wesley was left alone in a room that somehow didn’t feel anything like as lonely as it felt even an hour before.

***

Angel had to admit he was feeling hurt. It wasn’t that he wanted everyone to hate Wesley forever, but the man had stolen his son. He knew everyone hadn’t just forgotten about Connor, but he did worry that the baby had maybe receded for them a little, like a dream.

This morning as he came into the lobby he found Fred preparing Wesley’s breakfast tray. And he was glad the man was getting breakfast, he really was. He’d always been too skinny and six days of being starved by sadistic torturers hadn’t done a lot to help with that problem. So, it was fine that Wesley got the cloth napkin and the good cutlery, and the wholemeal toast he liked best, all six slices of it – so he guessed Fred was planning to have breakfast with him – and it was even okay about the little pot of English marmalade and the pat of butter and English Breakfast tea – made in a pot because the flavour was so much nicer according to Wesley although frankly Angel had never been able to tell the difference – but did he really need that little vase with the flowers in it as well?

He tried not to look too hurt and reproachful but Fred must have seen his expression because she immediately looked guilty and tried to shield the tray with her arm. “Oh, I was just… you know… because his room is kind of dark and he can’t… get out much…” she trailed off lamely.

“It’s fine.” Angel tried not to sound as if he’d just been kicked, despite feeling that way. “You could try eggs another day. He likes eggs.”

Fred wordlessly lifted up the top of the little metal covered platter he hadn’t noticed until then with the scrambled egg in it. She gestured vaguely at the kitchen. “There’s all those little pans and things and it seems a shame to waste it…”

“You should take it to him while it’s hot.” He forced a smile onto his face and then went into the office, feeling unloved. It wasn’t as if he could really enjoy scrambled eggs or marmalade on toast or freshly-brewed tea anyway; and it wasn’t as if people hadn’t been full of sympathy for him over the loss of Connor. Everyone knew what it had done to him and –

He found Fred squeezing his arm. “Angel, you know we haven’t forgotten about Connor, don’t you? That everyone knows you’re still hurting? And how much we appreciate you not… you know, how much we appreciate you being good to Wesley. It’s just that he’s our friend too…”

He felt a lot better. “It’s fine.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Take him his breakfast.” It was only once she was out of earshot that he found himself thinking ‘our friend too’? As if you’re my friend and his friend but I’m not his friend? He was my friend first. He wasn’t quite sure when Wesley had been hijacked by everyone else. Okay, Cordelia had liked him first, but Wesley and Gunn hadn’t even liked each other the first time they met – well, not the first time because Wesley had been unconscious then –

Flip side of vampire perfect recall; the way the bad memories could just come rushing back in full sensaround just when you wanted them least. Smoke and flames and Wesley lying there so scarily still. The spike of terror at the thought that he’d lost him too. Turning him over to look at his blood-stained face, listening for a heartbeat and hearing it, faint but there.

He was still reeling from that unwelcome memory as Gunn walked into the lobby, whistling and carrying a bundle of mail, some of which actually looked interesting. Angel looked up hopefully. “We’ve got mail? Mail that isn’t just bills?”

Gunn came over to the front desk. “No, this is Wes’s mail. Thought I may as well pick it up for him on my way to work. He gets cool stuff, look – weapons catalogue, musty old book catalogue, musty old book auction catalogue, magic ingredients catalogue, another weapons catalogue, another book catalogue, and something that looks like it could be an invitation to a seminar on something about crypto-zoo-something or other.”

“How can you tell?” Angel took the mail from him and noticed that most of the catalogues were in see-through plastic cases or had a stamped return address on the envelope usually with a little logo showing a book or interesting weapon of some kind. For a moment there he’d thought Gunn’s detective abilities had just sky-rocketed.

“Held it up to the light,” Gunn admitted. “Hey, I needed to check it wasn’t from Lilah the bitch lawyer from hell. Last thing he needs is her getting at him.”

“No bills? No circulars? No ‘you may have already won ten thousand dollars’?” Angel felt a little miffed.

“Guess he pays his bills by direct debit or something and bothered to fill in one of those forms that means people can’t send you junk mail.”

Angel held one of them up to the light. “Why don’t we get weapons catalogues?”

Cordelia paused in her elegant breeze past to say coolly, “Because I told Wesley he couldn’t have those come here on pain of me kneecapping him with a Bavarian fighting adze.”

“Why?” Angel complained.

“Because you and Gunn would spend all our meagre income buying cool new weapons if you knew they were out there and available by mail order.”

Gunn took the mail back from Angel. “I’ll just take these up to him. Help him look through them.”

“I manage the finances around here and you’re not ordering any more weapons,” Cordelia warned him.

Angel looked at her reproachfully. “They may have special offers.”

“I don’t care,” Cordelia assured him, before heading off.


Angel gave it ten minutes before just happening to wander in the direction of Wesley’s room; the hurt feeling coming back when he looked in through the half open door and found Fred, Gunn and Groo all sitting on Wesley’s bed, having apparently already helped him to eat his breakfast and now being very proactive about assisting him with opening his mail.

“…how come you never told me about these catalogues, English? They’ve got pictures and everything. Look how cool this one is!”

Wesley looked suitably apologetic. “Cordelia threatened to do some very nasty things to me if I did and I never felt it was an empty threat.”

Groo also looked fascinated. “We have a number of these weapons on Pylea although their names are very different. This, for instance, is called a laksunika and this one is a nergurnak-iknikital.”

Gunn looked at him sideways. “I gotta say, Groo, I wouldn’t feel too smart calling for one of those in the middle of a battle.”

Fred was avidly reading another catalogue. “Did you know the noise a bullwhip makes is caused by a mini sonic boom?”

“I want a sappara. How come we don’t have a sappara?”

Wesley looked over Gunn’s shoulder. “Because we have a kopesh.”

“So, why don’t we have a shamshir?”

“Because we have a tulwar.” Wesley pointed it out in the catalogue.

“Shamshir sounds cooler.” Gunn turned a page and gasped. “Oh man, will you look at these war axes…?”

Wesley, Fred and Groo all gazed at them with suitable reverence while Gunn got the look of a man who had just fallen in love.

“That one is just so…it’s so…”

Fred peered closer. “Expensive?”

Gunn pointed at the page triumphantly. “Ten percent discount if you buy two weapons at the same time – and free shipping. And look at that – a free tigerclaw with every broadsword.”

Fred brightened. “Is that like a bearclaw? Because I’m still hungry.” She looked guiltily at the empty plate on the tray on Wesley’s lap. “Even though I did kinda…eat everything.”

“It’s a bagh nakh – a favoured weapon of assassins throughout India and the Middle East, an artificial claw, hence its name, easily concealed within the clothing.” Wesley pointed to the entry in the catalogue. “It’s really more of a weapon for a brawl. But I see they’re offering thirty crossbow bolts free with every arbalest. We can never have too many of those.”

“Axes are always useful,” Gunn said emphatically. “Wes, what say you and me wait until Cordelia’s out of earshot and then ask Angel if we can get a new war axe?”

Groo said regretfully, “I cannot be party to any deception that may cause my princess unhappiness.”

“You’re not going to rat us out to Cordy, are you?” Gunn pleaded.

Unable to bear any longer being left out of what was actually looking like a pretty interesting conversation, Angel cleared his throat. “So, what are we looking at?”

“Wesley’s weapons’ catalogues.” Gunn held one up. “And all the reasons why I need one of these war axes – and I mean yesterday.”

Angel came into the room, aware that everyone was acting a little more awkward as he did so, and also aware that it was totally unfair he should be the one having that effect on people instead of Wesley; what with it being his hotel and all. He sat on the bed next to Fred and held his hand out for a catalogue. Wesley handed him one, looking up at his face as he did so in a way which, after his memory of their first office blowing up, was way too reminiscent of that bespectacled boy always needing to check if Angel was mad at him.

Angel flicked through the pages. “Maybe we can spring for something. But no more knives for killing Kek demons.”

Wesley looked up at him in surprise, relieved and touched at that reference to a time when it had just been the three of them. He rallied with a conscious imitation of his earlier self. “You know I still say one could be hibernating somewhere.”

“In your dreams. Great falchion.” Angel examined the picture and then winced at the price. “Or maybe I could just get a new wetstone for sharpening the one we already have.”

“Page sixty-two.” Gunn pointed to the entry. “Right next to the really cool two-handed war axes that we so need to buy.”

Angel glanced at the toast crumbs that were all that remained of Wesley’s breakfast. “Did Wesley actually get to eat this or did the rest of you help him out?”

Fred looked guilty. “I may have helped a little – okay, a lot. I don’t always notice right away how much I’m eating if I’m reading. And this conference on crypto-zoology – it looks really interesting.”

“Why are you turning the page?” Gunn demanded of Angel. “The axes are right there.”

“We have axes.”

“Not like that. Look at that one. That is so cool.”

Angel sighed, feeling parental again and rather enjoying it. “Let’s order in some breakfast before Fred goes into hypoglycaemic shock and maybe this time Wesley will actually get to eat some of it. And then see if we really do have any gaps in the weapons cabinet.”

“And research books,” Fred added kindly, evidently seeing Wesley’s wistful expression. “We can always do with those as well.”

“Yeah, sure, but the axe takes priority, right, Angel?”

“One book, two weapons, and only if we really need them. What about magical supplies, Wes?” He tried to make it sound casual, as if everything were okay between them, and though it still came out a little awkward, the look Wesley gave him made it clear that he really appreciated the effort.

“We can always do with twice-blessed sage and chicken feet,” Wesley admitted. “But given the price of shipping it’s not really worth putting in a small order.”

“Okay, make a list of the stuff we use all the time. Check with Lorne. See if he has any suggestions. Gunn, I counted twenty-seven different axes in that catalogue. You get one.”

“Yes!” Gunn punched the air and then seeing everyone looking at him, grimaced. “I just…really want a new axe.”

“What about Ironheart?” Fred asked.

Angel gazed at him. “You named your hubcap axe?”

“No.” Seeing their expressions he said defensively, “Okay, yeah. But it’s not like I called it ‘Gerald’ or something. And I’m just thinking a back up would be a good idea.”

“And you’ll explain that to ‘Ironheart’, will you?” Wesley murmured innocently. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt its feelings.”

Gunn pointed a finger at him. “Yeah, and let’s see how much fun you’re having when I’m kicking your ass at Risk tonight, Mr Irkutsk & Nowhere Else By Nine pm.”

“In Pylea it is also the custom to name one’s weapon,” Groo observed helpfully. “My princess has suggested several titles for mine.”

Angel found that he and everyone else was now looking at Groo’s groin; Fred positively peering as if compelled by forces beyond her control. With a conscious effort Angel looked elsewhere. “Okay – breakfast and then a shopping list.”

“Are you talking about weapons again?” Cordelia demanded, sticking her head around the door.

“Just what you call Groo’s,” Gunn observed innocently.

Cordelia looked at him narrowly, said, “You get one lousy axe and that’s it,” and stalked away.

As Angel watched, a beaming Gunn held up his hand for Wesley to high five it, which, after a fractional hesitation the man did. Gunn grinned at Wesley and then swept Fred into an embrace as he rose to his feet. “Okay, look out Taco Bell, here we come. You want tacos, Wes? Or pancakes? Don’t even try telling me you want oatmeal.”

“Pancakes would be very nice, but…” Wesley looked awkward and Angel knew he was worrying about the money he was costing them.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to make you work it off in research,” he assured him.

Wesley gave a faint smile of relief. “I’d be happy to.”

Angel reached across the bed to snag the notebook and pen and put them into Wesley’s hands. “Ingredients list and one book, remember?”

Wesley nodded and smiled again, less faintly. “Thank you.”

“Hey, I didn’t say it would be an expensive book.” Angel briefly touched his shoulder and then picked up the tray. “And next time Fred brings you breakfast, grab some of it before she does. That girl is a human gannet. Where she puts it is one of the great unanswered questions of our time.” As he headed back downstairs to find Lorne, he realized this was a better way to get through this without feeling hurt and as if his pain was being passed by unnoticed, to try to move on, not without the ever-present sorrow for the son he would always love, but at least in the hope that he could still do some good, and some of that good could perhaps be aimed at the people around him, even Wesley.

***