"Listen, Wesley," Giles turned his hand to grasp his lover's. "This discussion is moot until we sound Angel out on what he wants. He could very well tell us to all bugger off, and that's his right." Giles kissed Wesley's tensing palm to soothe the sting of he words. "As inconvenient, and as distressing, to his friends as that might be. Illyria has wedged her - philodendron - in the door. Why don't you stop 'round later and see how he is? Perhaps he'll let you further than the courtyard this time."
Wesley smiled grimly. "Perhaps. You don't mind a late tea, then?"
"Not in the slightest, love. Spike wanted to have a "private word" with me anyway."
"Any idea what for?"
"Mm, no. But there has been another incident of the "Watcherdogs."
Wesley's smile was puzzled. "The what?"
Giles fiddled irritably with a file folder and made a rude noise with this lips. "The chaps that hang brooding over his training sessions like a bunch of brooding gargoyles. Prats. "
"Watcherdog gargoyles? My, your descriptions get more colorful by the day."
"The 'Watcherdog' bit is Sarah's. She's the one who told me about this morning's visit. It's a group led by the last of Traver's sycopants."
"Oh god, not Gerald McGinny?"
'The same. They make it a point to 'ensure' the girls' safety during their training sessions with Spike. I've had a word with them, several times. Quite severely. Doesn't seem to sink in. I'm going to have to sit down with them again, I'm afraid."
"Oh, my, so giving up his existance to save the world not proof enough of his intentions for good?"
"Apparently not, nor is my word, or Buffy's on the matter. They've sent some recommendations along for the 'handling of non-human instructors.' There's a report around here somewhere."
Wesley stood and pawed through the papers on Giles' desk. "Gerald McGinny was not called 'McGinny the Ninny' for nothing. Here it is." He flipped through the pages. "Mm, well then, nothing too irrational. A guard in each corner with a crossbow and taser. Ooh, and here's a bit that recommends de-fanging.....pity that's got to be done every day....."
"What?" Giles was out of his chair and at Wesley's side in a flash. "You're having me on."
"I wish I was."
Giles flipped through the pages and read the signatures at the end of the report, "Good lord." He whipped off his glasses and pinched his nose. "Six of them. All of them with Slayers."
"We can't afford to sack them, can we?"
"I don't see how I could without shorting the.....oh god, seventeen girls they train. I think they're counting on that. Blind, pompous idiots!"
Wesley was scrabbling for the printout of patrol rotations. "We have to get those audits started immediately."
"Well, that goes without saying. I had no idea that there was still such deep-seated....he bloody well burnt-up and was buried underground! He channeled sunlight through his body! He went to Africa to get a sodding soul, for pity's sake!"
"Well, technically, that bit was rather to impress Buffy."
But Giles was was on a roll, "He's done more in the cause of Good than those....over-educated, self-inflated prats.... have ever hoped to accomplish, and yet here they sit, nattering on about the danger he poses to the Slayers! Who better to train them? Who better to teach them how to fight that someone who is just as strong and who better to protect them in the field while they're -" Giles broke off mid-rant to stand stock-still in the center of his office, his mouth open slightly. After a long moment, he closed it with a click and hauled off his glasses for a brutal polish.
"Mm, disconcerting, isn't it, love?"
"What?"
"Realizing your best friend is one of the most notorious vampires in history."
"Second best...friend, love." He repiled pointedly, and smiled. Painfully.
"Thank you. Having trouble getting used to the idea?"
"Spike and I as friends at all? Oh, Wesley," Giles smiled ruefully, "You have no idea."
Angel woke chained to his bed. Looking around as best he could, he realized he was in the apartment underneath the first office of Angel Investigations. An apartment that last he had seen in tiny little dynamited pieces.
He craned his head to look around the room. He hadn't done so bad a job with this place. Elegant. Warm, comfortable. Well, except for the hundred pounds of iron chains wrapped around his body. He'd had worse dreams. Much worse. He relaxed on the bed as much has he could.
Suddenly, his senses tingled. Someone was here, but maddeningly, he couldn't smell them - just the sound of footfalls in the kitchen. Doors opened and shut, and there was a huff of frustration as the contents of the refrigerator didn't pass muster. The footsteps came impatiently closer, and just as they reached the pool of light by the bedroom door, Angel recognized the gait. He closed his eyes in pain.
A weight dipped the corner of the bed next to his left leg. "Well, I didna expect you to get up and greet me, man, but ya coulda laid in a bit o' beer."
"Don't live here anymore. There is no here. And there is no yo-" Angel gritted out between his teeth. He kept his eyes firmly closed. Why he was reasoning with a nightmare he didn't know.
"Looks like you're movin' back in ta me." His visitor bounced on the edge of the bed a few times, making Angel's bindings rattle. A padlock shifted and fell heavily against his Adam's apple. Angel winced, but kept his eyes tightly shut.
"Keepin' yer peepers shut is not going to make me go away, ya know." A few moments passed and his dream jostled the bed again. "Come on, you daft, stubborn vampire. Don't got all night." Bounce, bounce, bounce - thud. A mintue later, he did it again, harder. Bounce, bounce, bounce, thud, thud. Right after the padlock thunked against his neck, a hand reached forward and flicked it, causing it to strike him a second time. Another wince. After approximately two-dozen flicks of the padlock, Angel's eyes snapped open angrily.
"This has got to be the lamest torture ever."
"Feels off, doesn't it?" His tormentor flicked his own Adam's apple a couple of times. "Kinda - icy." He smiled down at Angel. "Though I don't know what it's like havin' a chunk of steel tappin' against me voicebox, but it seemed to do the trick."
"Can I go now?"
"Not hardly, me lad, since it's you that's got yerself pinned up like this." his ghost said softly, "not hardly. Not until you're at least within spittin' distance o' gettin' back on the path."
"Oh god, you're not going to kiss me too, are you?" Angel's voice went up in a worried squeak as the ghost leaned ominously forward.
"Sorry. Just jerkin' yer chain," he snickered. "Ah, ya hurt me, Angel, ya do. Right in the heart, that one. Nope. Don't got any visions for ye anymore. Just here to tell you straight. Yer still needed, lad."
"Since when do you call me lad? I'm way older than you."
"Since you started actin' like a big baby."
"Am not!"
All he got was raised eyebrows to that one.
"Am not," Angel repeated petulantly, and off his visitor's look, huffed a small laugh.
"Are. too.
Angel laughed more and when he opened his eyes, they were standing on the roof, watching the last of the sunset. He turned and smiled. "Doyle."
"Yeah," the shorter man said expansively, "good to see you to, you daft bugger."
Angel's smile faded. "I don't know if I can do this again, Francis."
"Sure you can, if you can remember a bloody thing I ever told you. What's yer skull made of, cheese?" He reached up to knock Angel in the head.
"Hey, watch the hair."
"Oh, Jesus H. Christ, man, this is a dream! Who the hell cares what yer hair looks like!"
Angel just struck out his jaw stubbornly.
"Oh fine, you great baby." A thunderclap sounded and buckets of rain poured down on them. Angel's hair collapsed and stuck to his skull. Doyle grinned.
"It's amazing how much your people skills have improved, Doyle. I mean, I feel so very motivatedright now." Angel reached out, his hands curled into claws, for Doyle's neck. The rain stopped.
"You ready to listen now, or do I have to get a mirror?"
"Yeah, everybody's noticed that one, chum. Look. I'm sorry it's got ya so down."
"You have no idea," Angel whispered.
A screech sounded overhead. Doyle yelled and ducked behind Angel. "That thing's feckin' huge!"
Angel watched as the dragon flew toward the mought of the alley. The hordes of demons charging beneath them. He watched himself run forward, sword swinging. He watched Gunn swing his axe.
"I don't want to watch Gunn die, Doyle."
"You're the one who brought us here, an I'm too bloody freaked....!"
A blink later, and they stood in his London apartment. "Well," Doyle said, shaking off his shudders, "It's like the old place, but without that Batcave vibe. Or really any vibe at all." He strolled over to the sketch pads stacked on the table.
"Don't."
"You think I don't know what's in here?" He flipped the pages, searching furiously.
"Doyle."
"You think I don't know what you're doing to yourself? Thick-headed creature of habit..did you think the Powers were just going to sit by and let you spend the rest of your days staring in to your non-reflection and talking to a bloody plant?. Doyle looked at Illyria's gift. "No offence intended there, Phil."
"Doyle"
Doyle ripped out five pictures and walked over to the wall. He snapped his fingers and got a handfull of tacks. He tacked the portraits up in a row.
"Got to start connecting again, Angel, or this time, you won't come back. Start with this lot."
"Huh?"
"Aw, ya lazy sod, have ya forgotten everything? Ya hunted tonight, right? Felt good? Didn't talk to a soul but this blue-haired chippy." He tapped the picture of Illyria. "Not that she's actually got a soul, but she's got some o' Fred still in her. Enough."
"Enough for what?"
"Don't rightly know yet, do I? Haven't been told. My point is, me lad, you're about to start off on the wrong foot again, isolating yerself. Wrong move."
"Yeah, like I've done any of those people favors by being in their lives."
"Oh, right, all yer victims, aren't they? Hmm. Well, you'll get 'em for sure this time, ya keep holed up here in this stupid cave."
"What do you mean?"
Doyle walked over and took each picture off the wall. "Illyria, Spike, Wes, Rupert, Sarah." He walked over and put the portraits in Angel's hands. "You stay out of it. They die, the Slayer line dies, and then? Well...." He pulled a picture from his pocket. "This one won't fare so well either." He placed a sketch of Connor on top of the pile. "Though he's not a part of this fight. Not right now. But the ripple effect....." Doyle tsked.
Doyle sighed. "No, lad. It's the truth. Cross me heart. It's why you're here. You're a Champion. All but the boy and Miss Blue are yer team this time. The team you need to make it not happen."
"Make what not happen?" He shuffled the pictures again and looked at the faces of Spike, Giles, Wes and Sarah.
Doyle snorted. "You got yer hands full enough with your social schedule. Wouldn't want to overload you."
"Doyle."
"Stop isolatin' yerself and ya might find out. This skinny brown-haired fella - Wes - is going to drop by. Maybe you should get another chair. And some beer. Jeez, when you start all over, you really start over don't cha? Least you half-way remember how to have a conversation."
Angel stood and stared down at the pictures. "I-I hurt these people Doyle, and a lot of others. Just being around me.....not been so good for them."
"Do I haveta to a Jimmy Stewart thing to show you how much worse it could have been if you hadna been around?"
"I'm not Jimmy Stewart. I tortured Giles. I nearly killed Wesley. And I messed with his mind. Illyria's living in the shell of my friend. And Spike - Spike......"
"I'm telling you, Angel. It. Could. Have. Been. Worse."
"How?"
"You don't want to know."
"But you were just going to....Jimmy Stewart me."
"I got me wings, Angel. Just trust me. If things....if you hadn't... Well, there'd be no point, wouldn't it? The world would be gone, and we'd be talking long distance via hellphone. No one woulda had a feckin' chance."
"And they won't this time if I don't join the team."
"That's the idea. This, actually, is why there are two of you, you and Spike. Souled. Needs to o' you. This is why he's back."
"To Shansu?"
"No, you stupid sod. To help save the world. To be a part of this team. To be there for you." Doyle gave him a significant look and Angel decided to ignore it.
"Do I Shansu?"
"What? Savin' the world with your best mates not good enough for you?" He began to shimmer out.
"Doyle!"
"Quit talkin' to plants and ghosts, ya great booby, and leave the damn house!"
Angel woke with a snort. "Booby?"
A shadow flickered across his mirror, and Phil's leaves shook. Then it was quiet. Angel closed his eyes.
Spike was already waiting in the pub when Giles arrived. Nodding to the man, Giles bought a pint for himself and joined Spike at the table.
"There ya are, Rupes. Thought maybe you got caught up with your watchdogs." Spike snorted. "I've been dodging the bastards all day and, I gotta say, they don't need more training in tracking people." There was a slightly bitter tone to Spike's voice and Giles sighed, feeling rather guilty about the situation.
"I haven't spoken with them yet, but the whole lot of them will be in my office in the morning. I’m dreadfully sorry, Spike--and good lord, someone please cut my tongue out." Giles let out a snort of laughter, shaking his head and taking a swig of his lager. He knew it really wasn't a joking matter, but given that he couldn't actually get his hands on the overblown annoyances now . . .
Spike gave him a look and then shook his head. "Who'd a thought we'd be having a drink together? I mean, how many times did we try to kill each other?"
"Hmmm," Giles thought back and then sighed. "I'd rather not remember, actually. It makes this all too surreal."
"Oh, yeah," Spike lit a cigarette and raised an eyebrow at Giles. "Because you dating Wes Wyndam-Pryce, Angel's best friend, ain't at all out of the ordinary."
Giles considered that for a moment before shrugging. "Hell, it's been so long since I 'dated' anyone I should have known it wasn't going to be your average, run of the mill experience." Smiling at that, Giles leaned back in his chair, mind still half on Wesley. He had to wonder how it was going with Angel.
"How are Wes and you doin'?" Spike asked, actually appearing interested.
"Well . . . I think," Giles smiled as his thoughts turned to Wesley. "I think we're doing well. He's just as infuriated by the hoops the old guard is attempt to make us all jump through. He and I--oh, yes, I wanted to talk to you about this as well--we're working on setting up an auditing structure for the Watchers in the field. After we finish the audit, we'd reorganize everyone into more efficient groups. He and I were hoping you'd agree to being one of the auditors?"
"Oh, those Council blokes won't like that one bit," Spike's smile was only slightly brutal. "I think I'd like that. So, you and Wes are getting' on. That's good. Happy for ya both." Spike wouldn't quite look at him as he said it and Giles found that amusing.
"Were you concerned we wouldn't be?"
Spike shrugged, taking another long drink before putting his pint aside. "Not really. Just . . . well, wondering. You and Angel aren't exactly buddies. Gotta be an issue."
Spike gave him a look that said he knew exactly how uncomfortable the conversation made Giles. He knew and wasn't going to back off. Lovely.
"Spike, that's really between Wes and I and--"
"No. It's not. The four of us, we're kinda all stuck together. Er, you know what I mean. Angel's Wes' best friend. I'm pretty sure I'm as good a friend as you really got, besides Wes. You're with Wes and I . . ." Spike looked away at the last bit, and Giles saw his chance to turn the conversation away from himself.
"You want to be with Angel." Giles sighed, nodding. "I've been telling Wes that Angel just needs time, but I think that, in your case--"
"Oh, no," Spike said, giving Giles a glare. "We're not talkin' about that and you're not squirming out of the conversation so easy, Watcher. You and Angel . . . you're gonna have to make some kind of peace with him. 'Cause, if you don't, you'll lose Wes. You know you will."
Giles sighed, fidgeting with the glass before him and nodding. "I know. I worry about that myself."
"So, fix it with Angel. What, you want to beat him up over it? 'Cause, hell, just ask and you know he'd let you wail on him with any number of implement. 'Specially if he thought that'd actually make things right with you. He doesn't . . . it's not as if it don't matter to him at all, ya know. It wasn't him, you know that. He still blames himself though. Probably even more than you blame him."
Giles let out a deep breath, trying not to see how his hand trembled, trying not to see the light scaring on his fingers as he picked up his pint and took a long swallow. He set it down with exacting care.
"It's not about 'beating up Angel'," he said in a tightly control voice. "It's not even about blaming him. I don't. I know it wasn't Angel, however, Angelus is still in there. The monster that . . . that killed J-Jenny is now, every day, by Wesley's side." He looked up to meet Spike's eyes. "It was never about hurting Angel, Spike. It's about being able to look at him without being terrified."
Spike gave him a blank look for a moment, then ducked his head. "You still worried I'm gonna kill the Slayers?" When Spike looked up, it was with his vampiric visage. Giles' first thought was to wonder if they were in a dark enough corner for such theatrics.
"You know I'm not."
"Killer's still in me too, Rupes. Just cause I went got me a shiny soul don't mean it's not still here, just like with Angel. Surrounded by all that Slayer blood, fresh and tender, and you're not worried I'm gonna slip up and take a bite?"
"No." Giles shook his head. "And it's just because of the soul, Spike. Even after I . . . well, even after the debacle with Robin--for which I am still not sorry by the way--" Spike smiled at that, shaking away his game face and motioning for Giles to continue, "you did what was right. Beyond that . . . I was never afraid of you in the same way Spike. I worried you'd hurt the girls, Buffy, Willow, Xander, not me."
Spike raised his scared eyebrow at that, looking rather offended. "Why not you? Not even a little afraid?"
"Spike . . . at the time, I didn't care if you did. You could have ripped me to shreds and my last thoughts would have been of Buffy and the others." Giles snorted, remembering the numb chill that had filled him in those days, the sense that he was going to die and the hope that he could save just one more Potential before he did.
Spike snorted, almost pouting.
"Well? What about Red? You don't treat her any different and she got even closer to actually taking out the world than Angelus or me. Hell, she didn't exactly go easy on you either."
Giles sighed, nodding tiredly. "Spike? I never said I was being fair. It isn't as if I can simply snap my fingers and not see . . . and not see Angelus' face every time I look at him."
"Yeah," Spike muttered, apparently equally tired. There was silence between them for a long moment and Giles wanted it gone. He might hate to admit it, might even find it extremely surreal, but Spike was his friend and he'd have preferred if their drink hadn't turned into a depression party.
"Darts and enough beer to make us both forget this conversation?" He finally suggested.
"Might at that, Rupes." Spike started to rise out of his chair, then sat back heavily. "Though of course..."
Gile pre-empted Spike's warning. "I do realize that - for either of us - the actual chance of forgetting this conversation or it's primary subject, is far from possible."
"Ooo, takes my advice and manages to make it sting." Spike mock-pouted. "I should make you pay for the next round."
Giles gave his companion a level look. "And if I was to mention all that that liquor you stole from me in Sunnydale?"
"Didn't have a soul then!"
"Which is, I believe, my point." Giles simply held Spike's gaze a long moment, until the vampire rolled his eyes.
"Wanker," he replied affectionately and strolled to the bar.
~~~
Wesley stood outside Angel's building and gave the buzzer to his flat one last try. It seemed as if Angel's mood was dark enough this evening to include ignoring visitors. Spendid. Sighing, he debated whether to go home for his lock picks, swearing at himself for not thinking to bring them. Part of him was just that concerned - and the other part -just as loath to explain a bit of friendly breaking-and-entering to Rupert.
Something in air shifted slightly and the hair on the back of Wes' neck suddenly stood up. With instincts honed by years of fighting, he reached inside his jacket and whirled simultaneously, ready to defend himself.
"Nice reflexes." Angel said mildly, blocking his heart with a package that rattled glassily
Wes' expression hovered between exasperation and relief as he tucked his stake and knife away. "Don't. Do. That."
"Sorry? Really. Um, just....."
"Out of practice not sneaking up on people?"
"Guess so," Angel said awkwardly, shifting his package. "No gun?"
"Not for civilians. Not here. We're working to get permission for Council operatives to have firearms. It's not like the gun laws deter nastier humans or demons. Though getting them to actually believe in demons is rather difficult despite the fact that a former MP was a…"
Angel headed Wes off before he really got going. "O-kay. uh, you wanna come in, have a beer? And Thai, I got some....Thai. You like that, right?"`
"You were expecting someone? I just stopped by to say hello, see how you were...I could…"
"No, no." Angel said distractedly, handing over the bags while he searched for his keys. "Knew you were coming."
Wes just stood there, staring a moment before mustering up a faint, "What?"
"Come on, Wes," Angel smiled shyly and opened the door wide, "Food's getting cold."
For a moment Wesley thought Angel was taking him to the courtyard in the middle of his building again, and his heart sunk. Still only letting me in so far. he thought gloomily, until Angel stopped at a doorway a few feet away from the courtyard entrance. Unlocking it, a warm pool of light spilled through the door into the hallway and lit one side of his face as he stood, once more formally allowing Wesley to precede him.
Wes' footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. It was an interesting space - a basement flat with high, small windows, white walls and nearly nothing in it. "Very minimalist," he observed drily.
"Not you, too," Angel repiled, not without humor, as he brushed past Wes to the kitchen. "Let me get a plate; have a seat."
"Wesley turned around, "And you'll be sitting….where?" There was only the one chair, one table and one plant.
Angel poked his head out of the kitchen, his brow furrowed. "The floor? Maybe a picnic? That's fun, right?"
"Fine." Making a valiant at valiant attempt to have fun after an extended depression. I wonder which one of us he's trying to convince? Wes removed the chair cushions and set them on the floor, then shed his jacket, sat down and watched his host fuss about with the beer and food for Wesley. He let the silence spin out a moment.
"How did you know?"
"Well, I remembered we used to have Thai a lot - back when we were at the Hyperion - and I thought it might be nice….I mean, you do like it, right?…."
"Angel," Wesley cut him off. "How did you know I was coming to see you?"
The vampire kept his eyes on his beer. "Dream," he said quietly, then cleared his throat and repeated it in a stronger voice. "I had a dream."
Wesley felt a sudden jolt of excitement and worry. "Was it a vision?"
Angel looked up to reassure him, "No! No. Definitely a dream. I fell asleep and had a visit from…a friend."
"Cordelia?"
Angel's shoulders slumped, sorry he had to disappoint him. "No, Doyle."
"Oh. That must have been painful."
Angel spared him a brief, wry look. "No more than usual." He took a swig of his beer, considering. "It was good to see him. Really." Angel's eyes wandered over Wesley's shoulder a moment, his eyes glazing as he thought. Wes knew that if he turned around, he'd be looking into Angel's mirror. That could wait.
"Doyle just stopped by to order my dinner?"
Angel got up and started to pace, deep in his train of thought. "Cordy gave me a vision - which you know, for Cordy was pretty typical. Giving me every thing she had *bam* right between the eyes." He rubbed his head thoughtfully a moment. "'Take out The Black Thorn' - pretty clear as instructions go, you know? But Doyle - Doyle always hints and suggests and says, Get out of the house, you great booby.'"
"Booby?"
"Don't even." Angel stopped and leaned against the wall, his head tipped back.
"Sorry. So, Doyle came to give you information on…?"
"Next apocalypse," Angel replied wearily, staring at nothing.
Wesley wisely bit down his excitement and remained silent.
Angel snorted softly. "Don't have to try to hide it, Wes, I can hear your heartbeat."
"Not hiding, Angel. Just waiting."
"Right. For me. Well," he said irritably, launching himself to pace again. "Ya got me. And Spike, and Giles and, evidently Sarah."
"Sarah?"
"Yeah. Working as a team, we're supposed to avert something from happening." He held up a forestalling hand. "Don't even ask me what; I don't know. So instead of something I can use, he tells me to go out there and interact with people and I'll find out." "Is that so bad?"
Angel slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. "Doyle told me I had to interact with people - know the humanity I was supposed to help - so I did. Got great friends. And then I lost them all." Raising his eyebrows he amended, "Well, you resurrected, but we were kinda lost as friends way before that."
"Angel, we -"
"I know and it's more than I deserve," he bit off angrily, and propped his head in his hands so he wouldn't have to look at Wes. "I took your mind, I tortured Giles, killed his girlfriend, and Spike...how'm I supposed to…?" Angel's head popped up as he had a realization, "And you'd think that adding Buffy to the mix would really cap it all off - complete the set - but no, the Powers send a new Slayer. It's really a great move, torture-wise. I should know."
"Angel." Wes' voice so much compassion that Angel had to close his eyes against it.
"Sarah. She pulls at me, like slayers do, you know, pulls me to get closer to all that power. And she says she likes me - trusts me - even though, even though she knows. Like that's not going to end badly. I mean, you, Giles and Spike are the poster boys for how well that goes. I mean, it's perfect -surrounded by some of my worst failures with and without the soul - the Powers put Sarah in front of me like a new, fresh, start. I just wish - I wish…arrrgh." Angel beat his head against the wall a couple of times. "I mean, I don't know if I can do this, Wes. I'll try. I have to apparently, or…*boom*…but…can't I just hit stuff for awhile?"
"How about lurking? Lurking's getting out of the house," Wes offered, trying to lighten the mood. "I was actually coming to see if you could help us with some observation."
Wes immediately backtracked. "Although, Giles thinks that perhaps we should give you more time to adjust to your new circumstances. I don't want to push you either. I'm sure Spike could…."
"Oh, great!"
"We just wanted to give you some space."
"Well, all brooded up now, thanks! Put me to work. And if you had any sense at all, you'd know that Spike is hopeless at surveillance work." Angel glowered a moment before he rolled his eyes in realization. "Way to motivate, Wes."
Wesley inclined his head graciously, valiantly suppressing a smirk.
"Shut up and eat your dinner."
It was a start, more than a start. A bit of weight lifted off of Wes' shoulders, and he began think about possible books they where they might find something, anything about the coming apocalypse. Looking up, he caught Angel watching at him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He grinned around a mouthful of pad thai.
Angel snorted. "You're already working the problem aren't you?"
Still chewing, Wes gave him his most innocent look. Angel grinned briefly and shook his head, and Wes suddenly felt more hopeful than he had in weeks. Angel was going to be all right.
Angel and Wesley ate in silence for a little while. Wesley couldn't help but think of the Hyperion, about all the times he and Angel and . . . it was painful, but he liked those memories, didn't want to let them go just because it hurt to think about. He didn't want to let Angel let them go, either, not that he really thought Angel could. Still, he guessed the man was doing his best to not remember the specifics.
"You said you wanted me to do some lurking?" Angel asked. Of course, business. It was a start, though. Their business and their lives were so intertwined; it was a good sign that Angel was considering either again.
"Well, Rupert and I were discussing the matter of Slayers and Watchers. Some of the Watchers are soon new they have no field experience, freshly from the academy. We're worried about how they're handling have not just a Slayer, but Slayers. We'd hoped to find more experienced people to, uh, audit them."
Angel raised an eyebrow. "And you think these Watcher's are just going to open there arms and welcome my interference?"
"Of course they won't," Wesley snorted. "They're already trying to de-fang Spike."
"What?"
Wesley wasn't at all surprised by the volume of Angel's voice, but he thought the plant might have been. Wes waved his hand, dismissing it. "There are these . . . six prats, all previously Travers' 'yes men'. They don't like Spike training the Slayers." Wesley snorted then, shaking his head. "This is one of the reasons that the auditing needs to be done quickly. Rupert wants to sack them--you should have heard him rant on Spike's behalf--but they have seventeen Slayers between them."
"And they're counting on that to keep Giles from doing anything." Angel was pacing now and Wesley hid a smile. His intent in mention Spike had been twofold. The first was to engage Angel in the problem, using Spike--who the man obviously cared about, even if he refused admit it--as bait. The second had been to point Angel's own feelings out to him. He wasn't sure he'd accomplished the second, but, again, it was a start.
They were making a lot of those tonight.
"What am I supposed to do? In the auditing?" Angel folding himself back down onto his cushion, looking intently at Wesley. Oh, yes, his interest was piqued.
"Well, we're assessing both Slayers and Watchers. Observe; find out how the Watchers are handling their Slayers, how well they get along, even among the Slayers. Rupert's re-organizing them into groups based on skills, so you'll have to find out what skills they have, how they use them. He wants to encourage the girls to branch out from slaying, give them basic medical training. He's got--"
"A tight hold on you," Angel interrupted with a grin. "You guys really, uh . . . you really 'click,' don't you?"
Wesley couldn't hide the smile that came over his face. "Uh, yes . . . yes, I believe we do. I . . . can't even begin to tell you how happy he makes me."
Angel looked a little sad for a moment, but nodded. "I'm glad for you, Wes. You deserve it."
"As do you," Wesley said and then waved that away, not wanting to get into that kind of thought. "But you still haven't agreed to the auditing and if you think you're going to distract me with thoughts of Rupert Giles, well you might manage it, but I'm going to keep coming back to this topic as well."
Angel snorted. "Fine," he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and then looked down again, that brooding look coming over his features. "And, uh, Giles doesn't have a problem with . . . sending me out with 'His Slayers'."
Wesley smiled at the emphasis on the last words. That's what everyone called them. Usually behind Rupert's back as the phrase tended to make Rupert roll his eyes and ask if whoever had used it if really thought of the Slayers as puppies. The truth was that Rupert used it when he was talking to others as well. 'My Slayers' need this, etc. He just didn't realize he did it and he'd probably not like having it pointed out.
"He's not said a word about not being comfortable with it," Wesley answered, which was true. Rupert just tended to squirm a bit when it was brought up.
"Right," Angel said with a sigh. "He hasn't 'said' anything."
"Exactly," Wesley said, giving Angel a glare. "If Rupert were truly concerned, instead of . . . perhaps a bit uncomfortable, he'd have said something. Angel, do you really believe he'd stay quiet when it came to His Slayers?"
Angel snorted at that. "No. So . . . who am I lurking around?"
"I thought you'd like to be assigned to Sarah's group," Wesley smiled, only a tad bit smugly. "One of the six Watchers to suggest de-fanging Spike? Is her Watcher. Pauline Souther. She's a real treat, I'm sure you'll agree."
Angel glared at him for a moment and then nodded. "All right. So when do you want me to start?"
Wesley smiled, motioning toward the door. "No time like the present. They're in Sherridan Cemetery tonight."
-----
Giles couldn't stop laughing. He wasn't even sure what was funny any longer, but Spike was laughing. No, Spike was giggling and if a punked out vampire more than a century old could giggle, Giles so no reason not to join in.
The might be the whiskey doing his reasoning for him, but he wasn't sure he cared either. He wasn't as pissed as all that, really. He was just drunk enough to make him relax, which felt damn good, but not so much so that he couldn't have staked a vampire, if the need arose.
At least, that's what he was hoping. He and Spike exited the pub, turning toward Giles' flat. Giles couldn't tell if he were weaving or not. It wasn't until he almost dripped on nothing that he realized he probably was.
"Hope Wes isn't going to pitch a fit 'bout me bringing you back in this state," Spike laughed.
"I don't it. Probably not home, yet. Went to visit hairboy." Giles laughed at his own joke, finding it rather funny. It took him a moment to realize Spike had stopped walking.
He turned, blinking to find Spike staring at him and giggling insanely. "Did you just call Angel 'hairboy'?"
Giles blinked and then nodded, laughing again. "Hairman didn't sound as good?"
Spike laughed, walking to catch up with. Giles shrugged, turning to start back toward his flat. He and Spike stumbled up to the door and Giles fumbled with his keys. The door opened and Wesley raised an eyebrow at him.
Giles grinned back. "Hello, love."
"Hello, Rupert," Wesley looked to be trying not to laugh. He nodded toward Spike, who was currently propped against Giles, staring at a lighter that refused to work. "Spike. I take it you two had a good time?"
"Bloody marvelous," Spike growled and it took Giles a moment to realize he was talking about his lighter not working.
Giles shrugged, upsetting Spike, who almost stumbled backward down the few stairs in front of Giles' door. "It was a good time," he replied with a smile, watching as Spike caught his balance.
"Right. Walked him home for ya, Wes. Thought, uh, thought he looked a little unsteady." Spike made a vaguely wave like gesture. "I'm off. Got some demons to beat up. Uh, least, I'm sure there are some."
"Don't get yourself killed," Wesley replied as he motioned Giles inside.
"Right, don't . . . uh, don't die," Giles said waving to Spike and walking--rather steadily, he thought--inside.
Once inside he stood in the hall, trying to decide whether to go into the kitchen for coffee, and perhaps a snack, or the living room because the cough looked very comfortable.
"You're pissed," Wesley said in an amused down. "I've never seen you drunk."
Giles turned to look at him and smiled. "There's a first time for everything," he said and then wondered why Wesley blushed. He blinked, realized what he'd said, and decided that he definitely needed coffee. "Er, I'm going to retreat to the kitchen to hide my embarrassment."
Shaking his head at himself, Giles went into the kitchen and blinked at the coffee pot.
"Sit down," Wesley said with a chuckle. "I'll make it. You'd probably wind up burning yourself."
"Wes, love, you probably don't want to know the number of times that's been exactly what happened," Giles snorted, sitting.
Giles watched Wesley as the man made him coffee and retrieved some biscuits from the cupboard. "How'd it go with hair--Angel?" Giles had to stifle a laugh, trying to look as if he wasn't very drunk at all. He knew better than to try for somber. Wes would never buy that.
"It went very well," Wesley answered. "He's out auditing Sarah's group as we speak. Or perhaps lurking." Giles liked the wry twist to Wesley's voice. He accepted the coffee with a smile, glad when Wesley sat down to join him. "I think he's going to be all right."
"I'm glad," Giles said, meaning it. He didn't actually wish Angel any harm and Angel's well being made Wesley happy.
They were both quiet for a moment, then Wesley asked, "What were you going to call Angel a moment ago?"
Giles, savoring his coffee, answered without thinking. "Hairboy." Wesley raised an eyebrow at him and then shook his head. Giles tried to look contrite, but didn't think it had worked when Wesley took the plate of biscuits away as Giles was reaching for one.
"Hey!" Giles said in a pouting tone. "Don't I even get one?"
Wesley tilted his head as he gave him a considering look. "I don't know if you deserve one," Wes said with a slight shake of his head.
"Oh?" Giles raised an eyebrow. "And how could I prove my worth?"
"Well, given that I can smell the whiskey from here, a shower really is in order."
Giles opened his mouth to ask Wes to join him, but cut himself off in time, instead saying, "And will you join me on the couch after that?"
"Now you want a biscuit and couch time?" Wesley chuckled. "You know I will, Rupert."
Giles smiled, reaching out to rub his fingers lightly over Wes' hand before quickly finishing his coffee. "I'll be right out."
"I'll be waiting," Wesley replied with a smile. "On the couch. With the biscuits."
"Three treats. My I must have done something right today," Giles replied over his shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom.
Wesley smiled grimly. "Perhaps. You don't mind a late tea, then?"
"Not in the slightest, love. Spike wanted to have a "private word" with me anyway."
"Any idea what for?"
"Mm, no. But there has been another incident of the "Watcherdogs."
Wesley's smile was puzzled. "The what?"
Giles fiddled irritably with a file folder and made a rude noise with this lips. "The chaps that hang brooding over his training sessions like a bunch of brooding gargoyles. Prats. "
"Watcherdog gargoyles? My, your descriptions get more colorful by the day."
"The 'Watcherdog' bit is Sarah's. She's the one who told me about this morning's visit. It's a group led by the last of Traver's sycopants."
"Oh god, not Gerald McGinny?"
'The same. They make it a point to 'ensure' the girls' safety during their training sessions with Spike. I've had a word with them, several times. Quite severely. Doesn't seem to sink in. I'm going to have to sit down with them again, I'm afraid."
"Oh, my, so giving up his existance to save the world not proof enough of his intentions for good?"
"Apparently not, nor is my word, or Buffy's on the matter. They've sent some recommendations along for the 'handling of non-human instructors.' There's a report around here somewhere."
Wesley stood and pawed through the papers on Giles' desk. "Gerald McGinny was not called 'McGinny the Ninny' for nothing. Here it is." He flipped through the pages. "Mm, well then, nothing too irrational. A guard in each corner with a crossbow and taser. Ooh, and here's a bit that recommends de-fanging.....pity that's got to be done every day....."
"What?" Giles was out of his chair and at Wesley's side in a flash. "You're having me on."
"I wish I was."
Giles flipped through the pages and read the signatures at the end of the report, "Good lord." He whipped off his glasses and pinched his nose. "Six of them. All of them with Slayers."
"We can't afford to sack them, can we?"
"I don't see how I could without shorting the.....oh god, seventeen girls they train. I think they're counting on that. Blind, pompous idiots!"
Wesley was scrabbling for the printout of patrol rotations. "We have to get those audits started immediately."
"Well, that goes without saying. I had no idea that there was still such deep-seated....he bloody well burnt-up and was buried underground! He channeled sunlight through his body! He went to Africa to get a sodding soul, for pity's sake!"
"Well, technically, that bit was rather to impress Buffy."
But Giles was was on a roll, "He's done more in the cause of Good than those....over-educated, self-inflated prats.... have ever hoped to accomplish, and yet here they sit, nattering on about the danger he poses to the Slayers! Who better to train them? Who better to teach them how to fight that someone who is just as strong and who better to protect them in the field while they're -" Giles broke off mid-rant to stand stock-still in the center of his office, his mouth open slightly. After a long moment, he closed it with a click and hauled off his glasses for a brutal polish.
"Mm, disconcerting, isn't it, love?"
"What?"
"Realizing your best friend is one of the most notorious vampires in history."
"Second best...friend, love." He repiled pointedly, and smiled. Painfully.
"Thank you. Having trouble getting used to the idea?"
"Spike and I as friends at all? Oh, Wesley," Giles smiled ruefully, "You have no idea."
Reply
He craned his head to look around the room. He hadn't done so bad a job with this place. Elegant. Warm, comfortable. Well, except for the hundred pounds of iron chains wrapped around his body. He'd had worse dreams. Much worse. He relaxed on the bed as much has he could.
Suddenly, his senses tingled. Someone was here, but maddeningly, he couldn't smell them - just the sound of footfalls in the kitchen. Doors opened and shut, and there was a huff of frustration as the contents of the refrigerator didn't pass muster. The footsteps came impatiently closer, and just as they reached the pool of light by the bedroom door, Angel recognized the gait. He closed his eyes in pain.
A weight dipped the corner of the bed next to his left leg. "Well, I didna expect you to get up and greet me, man, but ya coulda laid in a bit o' beer."
"Don't live here anymore. There is no here. And there is no yo-" Angel gritted out between his teeth. He kept his eyes firmly closed. Why he was reasoning with a nightmare he didn't know.
"Looks like you're movin' back in ta me." His visitor bounced on the edge of the bed a few times, making Angel's bindings rattle. A padlock shifted and fell heavily against his Adam's apple. Angel winced, but kept his eyes tightly shut.
"Keepin' yer peepers shut is not going to make me go away, ya know." A few moments passed and his dream jostled the bed again. "Come on, you daft, stubborn vampire. Don't got all night." Bounce, bounce, bounce - thud. A mintue later, he did it again, harder. Bounce, bounce, bounce, thud, thud. Right after the padlock thunked against his neck, a hand reached forward and flicked it, causing it to strike him a second time. Another wince. After approximately two-dozen flicks of the padlock, Angel's eyes snapped open angrily.
"This has got to be the lamest torture ever."
"Feels off, doesn't it?" His tormentor flicked his own Adam's apple a couple of times. "Kinda - icy." He smiled down at Angel. "Though I don't know what it's like havin' a chunk of steel tappin' against me voicebox, but it seemed to do the trick."
"Can I go now?"
"Not hardly, me lad, since it's you that's got yerself pinned up like this." his ghost said softly, "not hardly. Not until you're at least within spittin' distance o' gettin' back on the path."
"Oh god, you're not going to kiss me too, are you?" Angel's voice went up in a worried squeak as the ghost leaned ominously forward.
"Sorry. Just jerkin' yer chain," he snickered. "Ah, ya hurt me, Angel, ya do. Right in the heart, that one. Nope. Don't got any visions for ye anymore. Just here to tell you straight. Yer still needed, lad."
"Since when do you call me lad? I'm way older than you."
"Since you started actin' like a big baby."
"Am not!"
All he got was raised eyebrows to that one.
"Am not," Angel repeated petulantly, and off his visitor's look, huffed a small laugh.
"Are. too.
Angel laughed more and when he opened his eyes, they were standing on the roof, watching the last of the sunset. He turned and smiled. "Doyle."
"Yeah," the shorter man said expansively, "good to see you to, you daft bugger."
Angel's smile faded. "I don't know if I can do this again, Francis."
"Sure you can, if you can remember a bloody thing I ever told you. What's yer skull made of, cheese?" He reached up to knock Angel in the head.
"Hey, watch the hair."
"Oh, Jesus H. Christ, man, this is a dream! Who the hell cares what yer hair looks like!"
Angel just struck out his jaw stubbornly.
"Oh fine, you great baby." A thunderclap sounded and buckets of rain poured down on them. Angel's hair collapsed and stuck to his skull. Doyle grinned.
"It's amazing how much your people skills have improved, Doyle. I mean, I feel so very motivatedright now." Angel reached out, his hands curled into claws, for Doyle's neck. The rain stopped.
"You ready to listen now, or do I have to get a mirror?"
Angel stiffened and turned away.
Reply
"You have no idea," Angel whispered.
A screech sounded overhead. Doyle yelled and ducked behind Angel. "That thing's feckin' huge!"
Angel watched as the dragon flew toward the mought of the alley. The hordes of demons charging beneath them. He watched himself run forward, sword swinging. He watched Gunn swing his axe.
"I don't want to watch Gunn die, Doyle."
"You're the one who brought us here, an I'm too bloody freaked....!"
A blink later, and they stood in his London apartment. "Well," Doyle said, shaking off his shudders, "It's like the old place, but without that Batcave vibe. Or really any vibe at all." He strolled over to the sketch pads stacked on the table.
"Don't."
"You think I don't know what's in here?" He flipped the pages, searching furiously.
"Doyle."
"You think I don't know what you're doing to yourself? Thick-headed creature of habit..did you think the Powers were just going to sit by and let you spend the rest of your days staring in to your non-reflection and talking to a bloody plant?. Doyle looked at Illyria's gift. "No offence intended there, Phil."
"Doyle"
Doyle ripped out five pictures and walked over to the wall. He snapped his fingers and got a handfull of tacks. He tacked the portraits up in a row.
"Got to start connecting again, Angel, or this time, you won't come back. Start with this lot."
"Huh?"
"Aw, ya lazy sod, have ya forgotten everything? Ya hunted tonight, right? Felt good? Didn't talk to a soul but this blue-haired chippy." He tapped the picture of Illyria. "Not that she's actually got a soul, but she's got some o' Fred still in her. Enough."
"Enough for what?"
"Don't rightly know yet, do I? Haven't been told. My point is, me lad, you're about to start off on the wrong foot again, isolating yerself. Wrong move."
"Yeah, like I've done any of those people favors by being in their lives."
"Oh, right, all yer victims, aren't they? Hmm. Well, you'll get 'em for sure this time, ya keep holed up here in this stupid cave."
"What do you mean?"
Doyle walked over and took each picture off the wall. "Illyria, Spike, Wes, Rupert, Sarah." He walked over and put the portraits in Angel's hands. "You stay out of it. They die, the Slayer line dies, and then? Well...." He pulled a picture from his pocket. "This one won't fare so well either." He placed a sketch of Connor on top of the pile. "Though he's not a part of this fight. Not right now. But the ripple effect....." Doyle tsked.
"This is blackmail."
Reply
"Make what not happen?" He shuffled the pictures again and looked at the faces of Spike, Giles, Wes and Sarah.
Doyle snorted. "You got yer hands full enough with your social schedule. Wouldn't want to overload you."
"Doyle."
"Stop isolatin' yerself and ya might find out. This skinny brown-haired fella - Wes - is going to drop by. Maybe you should get another chair. And some beer. Jeez, when you start all over, you really start over don't cha? Least you half-way remember how to have a conversation."
Angel stood and stared down at the pictures. "I-I hurt these people Doyle, and a lot of others. Just being around me.....not been so good for them."
"Do I haveta to a Jimmy Stewart thing to show you how much worse it could have been if you hadna been around?"
"I'm not Jimmy Stewart. I tortured Giles. I nearly killed Wesley. And I messed with his mind. Illyria's living in the shell of my friend. And Spike - Spike......"
"I'm telling you, Angel. It. Could. Have. Been. Worse."
"How?"
"You don't want to know."
"But you were just going to....Jimmy Stewart me."
"I got me wings, Angel. Just trust me. If things....if you hadn't... Well, there'd be no point, wouldn't it? The world would be gone, and we'd be talking long distance via hellphone. No one woulda had a feckin' chance."
"And they won't this time if I don't join the team."
"That's the idea. This, actually, is why there are two of you, you and Spike. Souled. Needs to o' you. This is why he's back."
"To Shansu?"
"No, you stupid sod. To help save the world. To be a part of this team. To be there for you." Doyle gave him a significant look and Angel decided to ignore it.
"Do I Shansu?"
"What? Savin' the world with your best mates not good enough for you?" He began to shimmer out.
"Doyle!"
"Quit talkin' to plants and ghosts, ya great booby, and leave the damn house!"
Angel woke with a snort. "Booby?"
A shadow flickered across his mirror, and Phil's leaves shook. Then it was quiet. Angel closed his eyes.
Reply
"There ya are, Rupes. Thought maybe you got caught up with your watchdogs." Spike snorted. "I've been dodging the bastards all day and, I gotta say, they don't need more training in tracking people." There was a slightly bitter tone to Spike's voice and Giles sighed, feeling rather guilty about the situation.
"I haven't spoken with them yet, but the whole lot of them will be in my office in the morning. I’m dreadfully sorry, Spike--and good lord, someone please cut my tongue out." Giles let out a snort of laughter, shaking his head and taking a swig of his lager. He knew it really wasn't a joking matter, but given that he couldn't actually get his hands on the overblown annoyances now . . .
Spike gave him a look and then shook his head. "Who'd a thought we'd be having a drink together? I mean, how many times did we try to kill each other?"
"Hmmm," Giles thought back and then sighed. "I'd rather not remember, actually. It makes this all too surreal."
"Oh, yeah," Spike lit a cigarette and raised an eyebrow at Giles. "Because you dating Wes Wyndam-Pryce, Angel's best friend, ain't at all out of the ordinary."
Giles considered that for a moment before shrugging. "Hell, it's been so long since I 'dated' anyone I should have known it wasn't going to be your average, run of the mill experience." Smiling at that, Giles leaned back in his chair, mind still half on Wesley. He had to wonder how it was going with Angel.
"How are Wes and you doin'?" Spike asked, actually appearing interested.
"Well . . . I think," Giles smiled as his thoughts turned to Wesley. "I think we're doing well. He's just as infuriated by the hoops the old guard is attempt to make us all jump through. He and I--oh, yes, I wanted to talk to you about this as well--we're working on setting up an auditing structure for the Watchers in the field. After we finish the audit, we'd reorganize everyone into more efficient groups. He and I were hoping you'd agree to being one of the auditors?"
"Oh, those Council blokes won't like that one bit," Spike's smile was only slightly brutal. "I think I'd like that. So, you and Wes are getting' on. That's good. Happy for ya both." Spike wouldn't quite look at him as he said it and Giles found that amusing.
"Were you concerned we wouldn't be?"
Spike shrugged, taking another long drink before putting his pint aside. "Not really. Just . . . well, wondering. You and Angel aren't exactly buddies. Gotta be an issue."
Spike gave him a look that said he knew exactly how uncomfortable the conversation made Giles. He knew and wasn't going to back off. Lovely.
"Spike, that's really between Wes and I and--"
"No. It's not. The four of us, we're kinda all stuck together. Er, you know what I mean. Angel's Wes' best friend. I'm pretty sure I'm as good a friend as you really got, besides Wes. You're with Wes and I . . ." Spike looked away at the last bit, and Giles saw his chance to turn the conversation away from himself.
"You want to be with Angel." Giles sighed, nodding. "I've been telling Wes that Angel just needs time, but I think that, in your case--"
"Oh, no," Spike said, giving Giles a glare. "We're not talkin' about that and you're not squirming out of the conversation so easy, Watcher. You and Angel . . . you're gonna have to make some kind of peace with him. 'Cause, if you don't, you'll lose Wes. You know you will."
Giles sighed, fidgeting with the glass before him and nodding. "I know. I worry about that myself."
Reply
Giles let out a deep breath, trying not to see how his hand trembled, trying not to see the light scaring on his fingers as he picked up his pint and took a long swallow. He set it down with exacting care.
"It's not about 'beating up Angel'," he said in a tightly control voice. "It's not even about blaming him. I don't. I know it wasn't Angel, however, Angelus is still in there. The monster that . . . that killed J-Jenny is now, every day, by Wesley's side." He looked up to meet Spike's eyes. "It was never about hurting Angel, Spike. It's about being able to look at him without being terrified."
Spike gave him a blank look for a moment, then ducked his head. "You still worried I'm gonna kill the Slayers?" When Spike looked up, it was with his vampiric visage. Giles' first thought was to wonder if they were in a dark enough corner for such theatrics.
"You know I'm not."
"Killer's still in me too, Rupes. Just cause I went got me a shiny soul don't mean it's not still here, just like with Angel. Surrounded by all that Slayer blood, fresh and tender, and you're not worried I'm gonna slip up and take a bite?"
"No." Giles shook his head. "And it's just because of the soul, Spike. Even after I . . . well, even after the debacle with Robin--for which I am still not sorry by the way--" Spike smiled at that, shaking away his game face and motioning for Giles to continue, "you did what was right. Beyond that . . . I was never afraid of you in the same way Spike. I worried you'd hurt the girls, Buffy, Willow, Xander, not me."
Spike raised his scared eyebrow at that, looking rather offended. "Why not you? Not even a little afraid?"
"Spike . . . at the time, I didn't care if you did. You could have ripped me to shreds and my last thoughts would have been of Buffy and the others." Giles snorted, remembering the numb chill that had filled him in those days, the sense that he was going to die and the hope that he could save just one more Potential before he did.
Spike snorted, almost pouting.
"Well? What about Red? You don't treat her any different and she got even closer to actually taking out the world than Angelus or me. Hell, she didn't exactly go easy on you either."
Giles sighed, nodding tiredly. "Spike? I never said I was being fair. It isn't as if I can simply snap my fingers and not see . . . and not see Angelus' face every time I look at him."
"Yeah," Spike muttered, apparently equally tired. There was silence between them for a long moment and Giles wanted it gone. He might hate to admit it, might even find it extremely surreal, but Spike was his friend and he'd have preferred if their drink hadn't turned into a depression party.
"Darts and enough beer to make us both forget this conversation?" He finally suggested.
Reply
Gile pre-empted Spike's warning. "I do realize that - for either of us - the actual chance of forgetting this conversation or it's primary subject, is far from possible."
"Ooo, takes my advice and manages to make it sting." Spike mock-pouted. "I should make you pay for the next round."
Giles gave his companion a level look. "And if I was to mention all that that liquor you stole from me in Sunnydale?"
"Didn't have a soul then!"
"Which is, I believe, my point." Giles simply held Spike's gaze a long moment, until the vampire rolled his eyes.
"Wanker," he replied affectionately and strolled to the bar.
~~~
Wesley stood outside Angel's building and gave the buzzer to his flat one last try. It seemed as if Angel's mood was dark enough this evening to include ignoring visitors. Spendid. Sighing, he debated whether to go home for his lock picks, swearing at himself for not thinking to bring them. Part of him was just that concerned - and the other part -just as loath to explain a bit of friendly breaking-and-entering to Rupert.
Something in air shifted slightly and the hair on the back of Wes' neck suddenly stood up. With instincts honed by years of fighting, he reached inside his jacket and whirled simultaneously, ready to defend himself.
"Nice reflexes." Angel said mildly, blocking his heart with a package that rattled glassily
Wes' expression hovered between exasperation and relief as he tucked his stake and knife away. "Don't. Do. That."
"Sorry? Really. Um, just....."
"Out of practice not sneaking up on people?"
"Guess so," Angel said awkwardly, shifting his package. "No gun?"
"Not for civilians. Not here. We're working to get permission for Council operatives to have firearms. It's not like the gun laws deter nastier humans or demons. Though getting them to actually believe in demons is rather difficult despite the fact that a former MP was a…"
Angel headed Wes off before he really got going. "O-kay. uh, you wanna come in, have a beer? And Thai, I got some....Thai. You like that, right?"`
"You were expecting someone? I just stopped by to say hello, see how you were...I could…"
"No, no." Angel said distractedly, handing over the bags while he searched for his keys. "Knew you were coming."
Wes just stood there, staring a moment before mustering up a faint, "What?"
"Come on, Wes," Angel smiled shyly and opened the door wide, "Food's getting cold."
For a moment Wesley thought Angel was taking him to the courtyard in the middle of his building again, and his heart sunk. Still only letting me in so far. he thought gloomily, until Angel stopped at a doorway a few feet away from the courtyard entrance. Unlocking it, a warm pool of light spilled through the door into the hallway and lit one side of his face as he stood, once more formally allowing Wesley to precede him.
Wes' footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. It was an interesting space - a basement flat with high, small windows, white walls and nearly nothing in it. "Very minimalist," he observed drily.
"Not you, too," Angel repiled, not without humor, as he brushed past Wes to the kitchen. "Let me get a plate; have a seat."
"Wesley turned around, "And you'll be sitting….where?" There was only the one chair, one table and one plant.
Angel poked his head out of the kitchen, his brow furrowed. "The floor? Maybe a picnic? That's fun, right?"
"Fine." Making a valiant at valiant attempt to have fun after an extended depression. I wonder which one of us he's trying to convince? Wes removed the chair cushions and set them on the floor, then shed his jacket, sat down and watched his host fuss about with the beer and food for Wesley. He let the silence spin out a moment.
"How did you know?"
"Well, I remembered we used to have Thai a lot - back when we were at the Hyperion - and I thought it might be nice….I mean, you do like it, right?…."
"Angel," Wesley cut him off. "How did you know I was coming to see you?"
Reply
Wesley felt a sudden jolt of excitement and worry. "Was it a vision?"
Angel looked up to reassure him, "No! No. Definitely a dream. I fell asleep and had a visit from…a friend."
"Cordelia?"
Angel's shoulders slumped, sorry he had to disappoint him. "No, Doyle."
"Oh. That must have been painful."
Angel spared him a brief, wry look. "No more than usual." He took a swig of his beer, considering. "It was good to see him. Really." Angel's eyes wandered over Wesley's shoulder a moment, his eyes glazing as he thought. Wes knew that if he turned around, he'd be looking into Angel's mirror. That could wait.
"Doyle just stopped by to order my dinner?"
Angel got up and started to pace, deep in his train of thought. "Cordy gave me a vision - which you know, for Cordy was pretty typical. Giving me every thing she had *bam* right between the eyes." He rubbed his head thoughtfully a moment. "'Take out The Black Thorn' - pretty clear as instructions go, you know? But Doyle - Doyle always hints and suggests and says, Get out of the house, you great booby.'"
"Booby?"
"Don't even." Angel stopped and leaned against the wall, his head tipped back.
"Sorry. So, Doyle came to give you information on…?"
"Next apocalypse," Angel replied wearily, staring at nothing.
Wesley wisely bit down his excitement and remained silent.
Angel snorted softly. "Don't have to try to hide it, Wes, I can hear your heartbeat."
"Not hiding, Angel. Just waiting."
"Right. For me. Well," he said irritably, launching himself to pace again. "Ya got me. And Spike, and Giles and, evidently Sarah."
"Sarah?"
"Yeah. Working as a team, we're supposed to avert something from happening." He held up a forestalling hand. "Don't even ask me what; I don't know. So instead of something I can use, he tells me to go out there and interact with people and I'll find out."
"Is that so bad?"
Angel slid down the wall to sit on the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. "Doyle told me I had to interact with people - know the humanity I was supposed to help - so I did. Got great friends. And then I lost them all." Raising his eyebrows he amended, "Well, you resurrected, but we were kinda lost as friends way before that."
"Angel, we -"
"I know and it's more than I deserve," he bit off angrily, and propped his head in his hands so he wouldn't have to look at Wes. "I took your mind, I tortured Giles, killed his girlfriend, and Spike...how'm I supposed to…?" Angel's head popped up as he had a realization, "And you'd think that adding Buffy to the mix would really cap it all off - complete the set - but no, the Powers send a new Slayer. It's really a great move, torture-wise. I should know."
"Angel." Wes' voice so much compassion that Angel had to close his eyes against it.
"Sarah. She pulls at me, like slayers do, you know, pulls me to get closer to all that power. And she says she likes me - trusts me - even though, even though she knows. Like that's not going to end badly. I mean, you, Giles and Spike are the poster boys for how well that goes. I mean, it's perfect -surrounded by some of my worst failures with and without the soul - the Powers put Sarah in front of me like a new, fresh, start. I just wish - I wish…arrrgh." Angel beat his head against the wall a couple of times. "I mean, I don't know if I can do this, Wes. I'll try. I have to apparently, or…*boom*…but…can't I just hit stuff for awhile?"
"How about lurking? Lurking's getting out of the house," Wes offered, trying to lighten the mood. "I was actually coming to see if you could help us with some observation."
"Lurking? Really?" Angel sounded wistful.
Reply
"Oh, great!"
"We just wanted to give you some space."
"Well, all brooded up now, thanks! Put me to work. And if you had any sense at all, you'd know that Spike is hopeless at surveillance work." Angel glowered a moment before he rolled his eyes in realization. "Way to motivate, Wes."
Wesley inclined his head graciously, valiantly suppressing a smirk.
"Shut up and eat your dinner."
It was a start, more than a start. A bit of weight lifted off of Wes' shoulders, and he began think about possible books they where they might find something, anything about the coming apocalypse. Looking up, he caught Angel watching at him, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He grinned around a mouthful of pad thai.
Angel snorted. "You're already working the problem aren't you?"
Still chewing, Wes gave him his most innocent look. Angel grinned briefly and shook his head, and Wes suddenly felt more hopeful than he had in weeks. Angel was going to be all right.
More than a start.
Reply
"You said you wanted me to do some lurking?" Angel asked. Of course, business. It was a start, though. Their business and their lives were so intertwined; it was a good sign that Angel was considering either again.
"Well, Rupert and I were discussing the matter of Slayers and Watchers. Some of the Watchers are soon new they have no field experience, freshly from the academy. We're worried about how they're handling have not just a Slayer, but Slayers. We'd hoped to find more experienced people to, uh, audit them."
Angel raised an eyebrow. "And you think these Watcher's are just going to open there arms and welcome my interference?"
"Of course they won't," Wesley snorted. "They're already trying to de-fang Spike."
"What?"
Wesley wasn't at all surprised by the volume of Angel's voice, but he thought the plant might have been. Wes waved his hand, dismissing it. "There are these . . . six prats, all previously Travers' 'yes men'. They don't like Spike training the Slayers." Wesley snorted then, shaking his head. "This is one of the reasons that the auditing needs to be done quickly. Rupert wants to sack them--you should have heard him rant on Spike's behalf--but they have seventeen Slayers between them."
"And they're counting on that to keep Giles from doing anything." Angel was pacing now and Wesley hid a smile. His intent in mention Spike had been twofold. The first was to engage Angel in the problem, using Spike--who the man obviously cared about, even if he refused admit it--as bait. The second had been to point Angel's own feelings out to him. He wasn't sure he'd accomplished the second, but, again, it was a start.
They were making a lot of those tonight.
"What am I supposed to do? In the auditing?" Angel folding himself back down onto his cushion, looking intently at Wesley. Oh, yes, his interest was piqued.
"Well, we're assessing both Slayers and Watchers. Observe; find out how the Watchers are handling their Slayers, how well they get along, even among the Slayers. Rupert's re-organizing them into groups based on skills, so you'll have to find out what skills they have, how they use them. He wants to encourage the girls to branch out from slaying, give them basic medical training. He's got--"
"A tight hold on you," Angel interrupted with a grin. "You guys really, uh . . . you really 'click,' don't you?"
Wesley couldn't hide the smile that came over his face. "Uh, yes . . . yes, I believe we do. I . . . can't even begin to tell you how happy he makes me."
Angel looked a little sad for a moment, but nodded. "I'm glad for you, Wes. You deserve it."
"As do you," Wesley said and then waved that away, not wanting to get into that kind of thought. "But you still haven't agreed to the auditing and if you think you're going to distract me with thoughts of Rupert Giles, well you might manage it, but I'm going to keep coming back to this topic as well."
Angel snorted. "Fine," he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and then looked down again, that brooding look coming over his features. "And, uh, Giles doesn't have a problem with . . . sending me out with 'His Slayers'."
Wesley smiled at the emphasis on the last words. That's what everyone called them. Usually behind Rupert's back as the phrase tended to make Rupert roll his eyes and ask if whoever had used it if really thought of the Slayers as puppies. The truth was that Rupert used it when he was talking to others as well. 'My Slayers' need this, etc. He just didn't realize he did it and he'd probably not like having it pointed out.
Wesley thought it rather endearing.
Reply
"Right," Angel said with a sigh. "He hasn't 'said' anything."
"Exactly," Wesley said, giving Angel a glare. "If Rupert were truly concerned, instead of . . . perhaps a bit uncomfortable, he'd have said something. Angel, do you really believe he'd stay quiet when it came to His Slayers?"
Angel snorted at that. "No. So . . . who am I lurking around?"
"I thought you'd like to be assigned to Sarah's group," Wesley smiled, only a tad bit smugly. "One of the six Watchers to suggest de-fanging Spike? Is her Watcher. Pauline Souther. She's a real treat, I'm sure you'll agree."
Angel glared at him for a moment and then nodded. "All right. So when do you want me to start?"
Wesley smiled, motioning toward the door. "No time like the present. They're in Sherridan Cemetery tonight."
-----
Giles couldn't stop laughing. He wasn't even sure what was funny any longer, but Spike was laughing. No, Spike was giggling and if a punked out vampire more than a century old could giggle, Giles so no reason not to join in.
The might be the whiskey doing his reasoning for him, but he wasn't sure he cared either. He wasn't as pissed as all that, really. He was just drunk enough to make him relax, which felt damn good, but not so much so that he couldn't have staked a vampire, if the need arose.
At least, that's what he was hoping. He and Spike exited the pub, turning toward Giles' flat. Giles couldn't tell if he were weaving or not. It wasn't until he almost dripped on nothing that he realized he probably was.
"Hope Wes isn't going to pitch a fit 'bout me bringing you back in this state," Spike laughed.
"I don't it. Probably not home, yet. Went to visit hairboy." Giles laughed at his own joke, finding it rather funny. It took him a moment to realize Spike had stopped walking.
He turned, blinking to find Spike staring at him and giggling insanely. "Did you just call Angel 'hairboy'?"
Giles blinked and then nodded, laughing again. "Hairman didn't sound as good?"
Spike laughed, walking to catch up with. Giles shrugged, turning to start back toward his flat. He and Spike stumbled up to the door and Giles fumbled with his keys. The door opened and Wesley raised an eyebrow at him.
Giles grinned back. "Hello, love."
"Hello, Rupert," Wesley looked to be trying not to laugh. He nodded toward Spike, who was currently propped against Giles, staring at a lighter that refused to work. "Spike. I take it you two had a good time?"
"Bloody marvelous," Spike growled and it took Giles a moment to realize he was talking about his lighter not working.
Giles shrugged, upsetting Spike, who almost stumbled backward down the few stairs in front of Giles' door. "It was a good time," he replied with a smile, watching as Spike caught his balance.
"Right. Walked him home for ya, Wes. Thought, uh, thought he looked a little unsteady." Spike made a vaguely wave like gesture. "I'm off. Got some demons to beat up. Uh, least, I'm sure there are some."
"Don't get yourself killed," Wesley replied as he motioned Giles inside.
"Right, don't . . . uh, don't die," Giles said waving to Spike and walking--rather steadily, he thought--inside.
Once inside he stood in the hall, trying to decide whether to go into the kitchen for coffee, and perhaps a snack, or the living room because the cough looked very comfortable.
"You're pissed," Wesley said in an amused down. "I've never seen you drunk."
Giles turned to look at him and smiled. "There's a first time for everything," he said and then wondered why Wesley blushed. He blinked, realized what he'd said, and decided that he definitely needed coffee. "Er, I'm going to retreat to the kitchen to hide my embarrassment."
Reply
"Sit down," Wesley said with a chuckle. "I'll make it. You'd probably wind up burning yourself."
"Wes, love, you probably don't want to know the number of times that's been exactly what happened," Giles snorted, sitting.
Giles watched Wesley as the man made him coffee and retrieved some biscuits from the cupboard. "How'd it go with hair--Angel?" Giles had to stifle a laugh, trying to look as if he wasn't very drunk at all. He knew better than to try for somber. Wes would never buy that.
"It went very well," Wesley answered. "He's out auditing Sarah's group as we speak. Or perhaps lurking." Giles liked the wry twist to Wesley's voice. He accepted the coffee with a smile, glad when Wesley sat down to join him. "I think he's going to be all right."
"I'm glad," Giles said, meaning it. He didn't actually wish Angel any harm and Angel's well being made Wesley happy.
They were both quiet for a moment, then Wesley asked, "What were you going to call Angel a moment ago?"
Giles, savoring his coffee, answered without thinking. "Hairboy." Wesley raised an eyebrow at him and then shook his head. Giles tried to look contrite, but didn't think it had worked when Wesley took the plate of biscuits away as Giles was reaching for one.
"Hey!" Giles said in a pouting tone. "Don't I even get one?"
Wesley tilted his head as he gave him a considering look. "I don't know if you deserve one," Wes said with a slight shake of his head.
"Oh?" Giles raised an eyebrow. "And how could I prove my worth?"
"Well, given that I can smell the whiskey from here, a shower really is in order."
Giles opened his mouth to ask Wes to join him, but cut himself off in time, instead saying, "And will you join me on the couch after that?"
"Now you want a biscuit and couch time?" Wesley chuckled. "You know I will, Rupert."
Giles smiled, reaching out to rub his fingers lightly over Wes' hand before quickly finishing his coffee. "I'll be right out."
"I'll be waiting," Wesley replied with a smile. "On the couch. With the biscuits."
"Three treats. My I must have done something right today," Giles replied over his shoulder as he made his way to the bathroom.
Reply
Leave a comment