"On the Run" part 4, Angel/Wes, AU in AtS s3, NC-17 overall
Here's the next part of my Angel/Wes crack!fic. This chunk has been finished for more than a week, but I had originally planned for there to be another scene in this part, so I've been holding onto it until that scene was finished. However, my plans for what comes next have changed, so I'm breaking the story here. Sorry for the delay!
Previous parts.
"On the Run," part 4
As soon as the door to the dingy motel room is shut behind them, Wesley takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. He's been awake for more than a day, and his face is pinched and pale, so it could be just fatigue. Angel doesn't think so.
Connor is fussy, and he waves his arms around as Angel holds him in the crook of his elbow as he fixes his formula. Angel knows how he feels; he's rationing his blood, and he's kind of hungry, too. Plus, he really misses his own bed.
By the time Connor is fed, Wesley has showered and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looks well-worn and soft to the touch. His eyes are tired and red behind his glasses as he sits on the edge of the bed and opens the bag of fast food. It's got to be cold by now, and he looks at it with about as much enthusiasm as Angel would.
"You have to eat," Angel says, just in case Wesley gives into his obvious desire to close up the bag again.
"I'm not sure salt, fat, and preservatives are enough to count as food," Wesley replies. He takes out the box of chicken pieces, though, and picks at the biscuit inside.
Angel bounces Connor and gets a happy gurgle in response. "Maybe we should stop by a grocery store tomorrow. Pick up something fresh."
"This is less expensive. It's good enough." Wesley takes a bite of chicken and slowly chews it.
After another few bites, Angel says quietly, "We can't keep going like this." He's been thinking about it for the past couple of hours, about how run down they're both getting and about how it's not fixing the problem. It's only delaying the inevitable.
Wesley doesn't look up, but he does sigh. "I know. Outrunning them isn't possible."
"And none of us can keep up this pace."
"You could," Wesley tells the box on his lap.
Angel thinks about it. "Maybe. But Connor can't even if I can."
"He's a baby. His needs are simple."
Angel looks at the infant in his arms, who seems to be growing bigger every day. "They won't be for long."
Wesley nods, and he goes back to his meal - his dinner, Angel supposes, even though it's the middle of the afternoon. When he's finished Wesley says, "We should find somewhere to rest for a few days." He crumples the bag and throws it into the small trash can by the door. The flimsy can tips over, and the bag spills out. He frowns at it. "Somewhere better than this. It will give us a chance to regroup."
"And sleep."
For this first time since they started the conversation, Wesley meets Angel's gaze. He smiles - just faintly, but enough to show Angel that he's still in there. "And sleep," he agrees and then yawns.
"Hey, maybe you should try that now," Angel suggests, trying a smile of his own. "You know, get some practice."
It's a meaningless suggestion, since they pulled over specifically so that Wesley could sleep for a few hours before it's dark enough for Angel to drive, but Wesley's eyes soften, like he's touched by Angel's concern. He stands up and stretches. "I think I vaguely remember how." He pulls back the covers and doesn't even blink at the muddied grey color of the sheets. At least they look clean. He takes off his glasses and sets them on the bedside table, rubbing at his eyes again.
Before Wesley can get in bed, though, Angel walks over, still holding Connor, and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he says.
Wesley turns his head to look at him. He seems younger somehow without his glasses, or maybe it's just because of the vagueness in his bright blue eyes. It's from exhaustion and myopia, but it makes him look kind of innocent. Feeling a rush of something warm and soft in the region of his heart, Angel leans in and gives him a kiss. It's nothing fiery - just a gentle meeting of mouths with no plans for more - but it still seems important, like turning a corner they didn't even know was there. They look at each other wonderingly for a minute after they pull apart.
Then Wesley yawns, and the moment is broken.
Angel carefully sets Connor in his carrier as Wesley slides into bed. "You going to be able to sleep even though we're up?" he asks.
Wesley's eyes are closed, but he smiles. "Try to stop me."
"I'll be as quiet as I can."
"Trust me; it won't matter." Wesley reaches out blindly and finds Angel's leg, stroking it. It's a soothing touch, so different from the way his hand had felt on Angel's cock that morning. His other hand drifts up to his face again.
"How are your eyes?" Angel asks. He knows the question won't make Wesley happy, but he has to ask it.
Wesley's smile disappears immediately. His hands still. "They're... not back to normal," he admits.
Angel was waiting for a lie, so the truth is a relief, even though he hates what it is. "Are they getting better?" He puts his hand over Wesley's on his thigh, gently holding it.
"Some. They're not a problem in the daylight, but at dusk or darker it's still an issue. It's like my pupils are constantly contracted and aren't dilating when they should."
"Let me see."
Wesley opens his eyes, and Angel studies them not just as something pretty but as something useful.
"They look normal to me," he says finally. The pupils expand and contract as he moves in front of the light.
"It's probably magical." Wesley's eyes shut again. "I'm sure it will wear off."
Angel runs his hand up Wesley's arm. "Are you?"
Wesley doesn't answer. He's so still that he looks like he's sleeping, but he's anything but relaxed.
"Wes?"
"I don't know," Wesley says, almost a sigh.
"We should - " Angel begins. He doesn't have a clue about what they should do since it probably doesn't involve hitting someone, but they need to do something.
"Angel, I need to sleep." Wesley sounds as worn thin as the flimsy pillowcase his head rests on, and Angel's heart lurches in an unpleasant direction as he realizes even more deeply how much of a toll this trip and the events leading up to it are taking on him. Wesley has been his rock, the one person he could depend on completely, and he can't lose that. He can't.
It takes a moment before Angel trusts his voice not to give away his unhappiness. "Okay." He squeezes Wesley's shoulder and then releases it, patting his side before standing up and going over to pick up Connor again.
"Thank you." Within minutes Wesley's breathing has evened out into sleep, but he looks no less troubled.
Angel feels just as troubled, and instead of focusing on the joy of being with his son he turns over solutions to impossible problems as he bounces the baby in his arms.
*
They drive for two days straight, only stopping for food and Connor's needs. Angel drives at night, and Wesley drives during the day, each of them catching what rest they can when off duty. Neither of them sleeps very well, especially Wesley, who stays up for far more of Angel's shift than he should. He says he's not tired, but Angel can see from the translucence of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes that he's running on fumes and the coffee he buys every time they stop. They don't talk much besides making decisions about where to go and when to pull over.
Straight is the wrong word to describe how they're driving, really, since they meander all over the place to avoid detection, sometimes doubling back or driving out on narrow two-lane highways into the middle of nowhere. It'd be impossible for someone else to figure out where they were going. They don't really know, themselves. There's no reason to assume that anyone's on their trail - Wesley says the orb is cloaking them from magic, and they're careful not to leave anything behind - but there's no reason to assume that they aren't, either. Neither one of them is stupid enough to think that their problems are going to go away.
Finally, they break into a house just before dawn in the woods near a lake in one of the Dakotas. It seems to be a hunting or fishing cabin, closed up for the season. No neighbors are in sight, but it still has electricity. Wesley finds the valve to turn on the water. It has two small bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, and a compact kitchen/living room, and it looks even nicer to Angel than a five-star hotel.
Angel thinks he ought to be feeling guilty about breaking into some weekend rental cabin, but in the grand scheme of things it's a minor sin compared to the rest on his soul, and Wesley's already left fifty dollars in cash on the little dining table to cover whatever they use. They'd happily pay ten times that much for a day or two of rest.
Angel takes care of Connor while Wesley secures the doors and windows, and by the time Connor is fed and changed Wesley is sitting on the plump, corduroy-covered sofa, leaning forward with the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes.
Angel sits next to him with Connor on his lap. The baby waves his arms around and makes happy gurgling noises.
"I think he's going to be a cop," Angel says, smiling down at his son. "He's already directing traffic."
Wesley smiles, too. "Or perhaps the conductor of a symphony."
"Think they get dental?"
"He doesn't have any teeth yet."
Angel leans back and shifts over so that his leg is touching Wesley's. "Good point."
"He will soon, though." Wesley holds out his finger for Connor to grab onto.
"We'll ask about the dental then."
They both focus on the baby for a little while, Angel bouncing him gently on his lap and Wesley allowing Connor to cling to his finger, even when he drools on it.
Finally Wesley breaks the silence. "I don't have a plan," he says, glancing up at Angel. He looks upset, his brow furrowed and his eyes worried. He's learned how to disguise most of his emotions over the years Angel has known him, but he isn't trying right now. Angel hopes that it's because he's talking to him.
"It's not up to you to come up with one," Angel tells him. "Not that I don't want your help, but we're in this together, you know?"
"I've been trying," Wesley says, like he hasn't really heard. "Considering our options, assessing the relative merits of different solutions, but I can't come up with anything long-term. Even with the orb, we have to keep moving around or we'll be found, but we can't keep this up. Connor can't."
Connor kicks his little foot and makes a happy noise.
"He seems to be doing okay," Angel says.
"That's because he's so young. He can't live his life strapped into the back seat of a car." Wesley's voice is rising, and Angel reaches out to cup the back of Wesley's neck with one hand.
"I know, Wes. I know. We talked about this." Angel rubs small circles over Wesley's warm skin.
"I should have been able to think further ahead, but we were just trying to get out at all, and..."
"I think we did great," Angel says, pulling Wesley in closer until he's sitting in the curve of Angel's arm. "We're here. We're together. We're alive." He grins, more for Wesley's sake than his own. "As much as we were before, anyway."
"We don't know about Cordy and the others," Wesley reminds him quietly.
"They're okay." They have to be. Angel can't think of them having died because of Connor. "That's why we split up, to keep them safe, too."
"Yes, but - "
"There is no 'but'," Angel interrupts him. He catches Wesley's gaze and holds it. "We did what we had to do to get out, and now we'll figure out how to stay safe." Wesley's face crumples just a tiny bit. "It's not your job. We'll figure it out. Together."
Wesley nods. He still looks troubled, but the tension is slowly ebbing from his body. He leans into Angel and smiles absently as Connor tugs on his finger again. "I know. You're right."
"Yeah," Angel says. "It happens."
"It does." Wesley stifles his yawn behind his Connor-free hand.
"Why do I get the feeling right now you'd agree to anything?" Angel asks. He settles his arm more snugly around Wesley's shoulders.
"It's a sure sign of your status as a champion that you're not taking advantage of that fact."
Angel doesn't feel all that heroic, since what he'd really like to do is suggest getting out of their clothes and into the double bed in the other room. It's been days since they've even kissed, and he's missing the taste of Wesley's mouth, not to mention the feel of his skin. Just thinking about it makes him feel restless. "Not yet, anyway."
Wesley chuckles softly. "Well, that's something to look forward to." Then he ruins the moment by yawning.
With a silent sigh, Angel says, "You should get some sleep. You look really tired." Maybe he's more of a champion than he thinks. It doesn't always seem worth it.
Wesley nods and says, "I am. You see? You're right again."
"Hey, maybe it's a trend."
"Quite possibly." Wesley doesn't make any move to get up, though. He bobbles Connor's fist around with his finger but doesn't pull his hand free from the baby's grip. "I do have one suggestion."
Angel skims his palm along Wesley's shoulder and upper arm, enjoying the strength he finds there. For all that Wesley can look tall and skinny, he feels really good. Solid, strong. It's how Angel thinks of him. Also, hot, but he's trying not to think about that right now. "What's that?"
"We should find the time to try out the bed for more than sleeping." He looks at Angel out of the corner of his eye, his expression a cross between temptation personified and mildly apprehensive.
Angel's own fatigue is suddenly gone, and he shifts Connor in his lap so that he won't need decades of therapy when he's older. He tries to sound cool, like he's not surprised by Wesley being forward. Not that he doesn't like it - It's Wes, and he's being forward; what's not to like? - but it still comes as a shock. "Um, yeah?"
No, he thinks, that definitely wasn't cool.
"If you'd like." Wesley turns his head so that their mouths are nearly touching and then bridges the gap. His breath and his lips are deliciously warm, and he kisses like he knows what he wants. There's something hard and needy there, simmering just beneath the surface, even if he pulls away too soon to yawn yet another time.
"I'm good with that," Angel says, clearing his throat and moving Connor a little bit further away from the bulge in his pants.
Wesley smiles more broadly before settling in against him once more. "Then that's the beginning of our plan. Sleep for me, then other things for both of us in that bed."
"I'm liking this plan a lot."
"I thought you might." Wesley sounds almost smug.
"You're a smart guy, Wes." Angel means it as teasing, but the sentence lingers in the quiet room for longer than it should.
The reply, when it comes, is soft. "I just hope I'm smart enough."
Angel squeezes Wesley's shoulders in the best hug he can give him in that position. "You are."
~end this part~
Previous parts.
"On the Run," part 4
As soon as the door to the dingy motel room is shut behind them, Wesley takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes. He's been awake for more than a day, and his face is pinched and pale, so it could be just fatigue. Angel doesn't think so.
Connor is fussy, and he waves his arms around as Angel holds him in the crook of his elbow as he fixes his formula. Angel knows how he feels; he's rationing his blood, and he's kind of hungry, too. Plus, he really misses his own bed.
By the time Connor is fed, Wesley has showered and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that looks well-worn and soft to the touch. His eyes are tired and red behind his glasses as he sits on the edge of the bed and opens the bag of fast food. It's got to be cold by now, and he looks at it with about as much enthusiasm as Angel would.
"You have to eat," Angel says, just in case Wesley gives into his obvious desire to close up the bag again.
"I'm not sure salt, fat, and preservatives are enough to count as food," Wesley replies. He takes out the box of chicken pieces, though, and picks at the biscuit inside.
Angel bounces Connor and gets a happy gurgle in response. "Maybe we should stop by a grocery store tomorrow. Pick up something fresh."
"This is less expensive. It's good enough." Wesley takes a bite of chicken and slowly chews it.
After another few bites, Angel says quietly, "We can't keep going like this." He's been thinking about it for the past couple of hours, about how run down they're both getting and about how it's not fixing the problem. It's only delaying the inevitable.
Wesley doesn't look up, but he does sigh. "I know. Outrunning them isn't possible."
"And none of us can keep up this pace."
"You could," Wesley tells the box on his lap.
Angel thinks about it. "Maybe. But Connor can't even if I can."
"He's a baby. His needs are simple."
Angel looks at the infant in his arms, who seems to be growing bigger every day. "They won't be for long."
Wesley nods, and he goes back to his meal - his dinner, Angel supposes, even though it's the middle of the afternoon. When he's finished Wesley says, "We should find somewhere to rest for a few days." He crumples the bag and throws it into the small trash can by the door. The flimsy can tips over, and the bag spills out. He frowns at it. "Somewhere better than this. It will give us a chance to regroup."
"And sleep."
For this first time since they started the conversation, Wesley meets Angel's gaze. He smiles - just faintly, but enough to show Angel that he's still in there. "And sleep," he agrees and then yawns.
"Hey, maybe you should try that now," Angel suggests, trying a smile of his own. "You know, get some practice."
It's a meaningless suggestion, since they pulled over specifically so that Wesley could sleep for a few hours before it's dark enough for Angel to drive, but Wesley's eyes soften, like he's touched by Angel's concern. He stands up and stretches. "I think I vaguely remember how." He pulls back the covers and doesn't even blink at the muddied grey color of the sheets. At least they look clean. He takes off his glasses and sets them on the bedside table, rubbing at his eyes again.
Before Wesley can get in bed, though, Angel walks over, still holding Connor, and puts his hand on his shoulder. "Hey," he says.
Wesley turns his head to look at him. He seems younger somehow without his glasses, or maybe it's just because of the vagueness in his bright blue eyes. It's from exhaustion and myopia, but it makes him look kind of innocent. Feeling a rush of something warm and soft in the region of his heart, Angel leans in and gives him a kiss. It's nothing fiery - just a gentle meeting of mouths with no plans for more - but it still seems important, like turning a corner they didn't even know was there. They look at each other wonderingly for a minute after they pull apart.
Then Wesley yawns, and the moment is broken.
Angel carefully sets Connor in his carrier as Wesley slides into bed. "You going to be able to sleep even though we're up?" he asks.
Wesley's eyes are closed, but he smiles. "Try to stop me."
"I'll be as quiet as I can."
"Trust me; it won't matter." Wesley reaches out blindly and finds Angel's leg, stroking it. It's a soothing touch, so different from the way his hand had felt on Angel's cock that morning. His other hand drifts up to his face again.
"How are your eyes?" Angel asks. He knows the question won't make Wesley happy, but he has to ask it.
Wesley's smile disappears immediately. His hands still. "They're... not back to normal," he admits.
Angel was waiting for a lie, so the truth is a relief, even though he hates what it is. "Are they getting better?" He puts his hand over Wesley's on his thigh, gently holding it.
"Some. They're not a problem in the daylight, but at dusk or darker it's still an issue. It's like my pupils are constantly contracted and aren't dilating when they should."
"Let me see."
Wesley opens his eyes, and Angel studies them not just as something pretty but as something useful.
"They look normal to me," he says finally. The pupils expand and contract as he moves in front of the light.
"It's probably magical." Wesley's eyes shut again. "I'm sure it will wear off."
Angel runs his hand up Wesley's arm. "Are you?"
Wesley doesn't answer. He's so still that he looks like he's sleeping, but he's anything but relaxed.
"Wes?"
"I don't know," Wesley says, almost a sigh.
"We should - " Angel begins. He doesn't have a clue about what they should do since it probably doesn't involve hitting someone, but they need to do something.
"Angel, I need to sleep." Wesley sounds as worn thin as the flimsy pillowcase his head rests on, and Angel's heart lurches in an unpleasant direction as he realizes even more deeply how much of a toll this trip and the events leading up to it are taking on him. Wesley has been his rock, the one person he could depend on completely, and he can't lose that. He can't.
It takes a moment before Angel trusts his voice not to give away his unhappiness. "Okay." He squeezes Wesley's shoulder and then releases it, patting his side before standing up and going over to pick up Connor again.
"Thank you." Within minutes Wesley's breathing has evened out into sleep, but he looks no less troubled.
Angel feels just as troubled, and instead of focusing on the joy of being with his son he turns over solutions to impossible problems as he bounces the baby in his arms.
*
They drive for two days straight, only stopping for food and Connor's needs. Angel drives at night, and Wesley drives during the day, each of them catching what rest they can when off duty. Neither of them sleeps very well, especially Wesley, who stays up for far more of Angel's shift than he should. He says he's not tired, but Angel can see from the translucence of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes that he's running on fumes and the coffee he buys every time they stop. They don't talk much besides making decisions about where to go and when to pull over.
Straight is the wrong word to describe how they're driving, really, since they meander all over the place to avoid detection, sometimes doubling back or driving out on narrow two-lane highways into the middle of nowhere. It'd be impossible for someone else to figure out where they were going. They don't really know, themselves. There's no reason to assume that anyone's on their trail - Wesley says the orb is cloaking them from magic, and they're careful not to leave anything behind - but there's no reason to assume that they aren't, either. Neither one of them is stupid enough to think that their problems are going to go away.
Finally, they break into a house just before dawn in the woods near a lake in one of the Dakotas. It seems to be a hunting or fishing cabin, closed up for the season. No neighbors are in sight, but it still has electricity. Wesley finds the valve to turn on the water. It has two small bedrooms, a tiny bathroom, and a compact kitchen/living room, and it looks even nicer to Angel than a five-star hotel.
Angel thinks he ought to be feeling guilty about breaking into some weekend rental cabin, but in the grand scheme of things it's a minor sin compared to the rest on his soul, and Wesley's already left fifty dollars in cash on the little dining table to cover whatever they use. They'd happily pay ten times that much for a day or two of rest.
Angel takes care of Connor while Wesley secures the doors and windows, and by the time Connor is fed and changed Wesley is sitting on the plump, corduroy-covered sofa, leaning forward with the heels of his hands pressed to his eyes.
Angel sits next to him with Connor on his lap. The baby waves his arms around and makes happy gurgling noises.
"I think he's going to be a cop," Angel says, smiling down at his son. "He's already directing traffic."
Wesley smiles, too. "Or perhaps the conductor of a symphony."
"Think they get dental?"
"He doesn't have any teeth yet."
Angel leans back and shifts over so that his leg is touching Wesley's. "Good point."
"He will soon, though." Wesley holds out his finger for Connor to grab onto.
"We'll ask about the dental then."
They both focus on the baby for a little while, Angel bouncing him gently on his lap and Wesley allowing Connor to cling to his finger, even when he drools on it.
Finally Wesley breaks the silence. "I don't have a plan," he says, glancing up at Angel. He looks upset, his brow furrowed and his eyes worried. He's learned how to disguise most of his emotions over the years Angel has known him, but he isn't trying right now. Angel hopes that it's because he's talking to him.
"It's not up to you to come up with one," Angel tells him. "Not that I don't want your help, but we're in this together, you know?"
"I've been trying," Wesley says, like he hasn't really heard. "Considering our options, assessing the relative merits of different solutions, but I can't come up with anything long-term. Even with the orb, we have to keep moving around or we'll be found, but we can't keep this up. Connor can't."
Connor kicks his little foot and makes a happy noise.
"He seems to be doing okay," Angel says.
"That's because he's so young. He can't live his life strapped into the back seat of a car." Wesley's voice is rising, and Angel reaches out to cup the back of Wesley's neck with one hand.
"I know, Wes. I know. We talked about this." Angel rubs small circles over Wesley's warm skin.
"I should have been able to think further ahead, but we were just trying to get out at all, and..."
"I think we did great," Angel says, pulling Wesley in closer until he's sitting in the curve of Angel's arm. "We're here. We're together. We're alive." He grins, more for Wesley's sake than his own. "As much as we were before, anyway."
"We don't know about Cordy and the others," Wesley reminds him quietly.
"They're okay." They have to be. Angel can't think of them having died because of Connor. "That's why we split up, to keep them safe, too."
"Yes, but - "
"There is no 'but'," Angel interrupts him. He catches Wesley's gaze and holds it. "We did what we had to do to get out, and now we'll figure out how to stay safe." Wesley's face crumples just a tiny bit. "It's not your job. We'll figure it out. Together."
Wesley nods. He still looks troubled, but the tension is slowly ebbing from his body. He leans into Angel and smiles absently as Connor tugs on his finger again. "I know. You're right."
"Yeah," Angel says. "It happens."
"It does." Wesley stifles his yawn behind his Connor-free hand.
"Why do I get the feeling right now you'd agree to anything?" Angel asks. He settles his arm more snugly around Wesley's shoulders.
"It's a sure sign of your status as a champion that you're not taking advantage of that fact."
Angel doesn't feel all that heroic, since what he'd really like to do is suggest getting out of their clothes and into the double bed in the other room. It's been days since they've even kissed, and he's missing the taste of Wesley's mouth, not to mention the feel of his skin. Just thinking about it makes him feel restless. "Not yet, anyway."
Wesley chuckles softly. "Well, that's something to look forward to." Then he ruins the moment by yawning.
With a silent sigh, Angel says, "You should get some sleep. You look really tired." Maybe he's more of a champion than he thinks. It doesn't always seem worth it.
Wesley nods and says, "I am. You see? You're right again."
"Hey, maybe it's a trend."
"Quite possibly." Wesley doesn't make any move to get up, though. He bobbles Connor's fist around with his finger but doesn't pull his hand free from the baby's grip. "I do have one suggestion."
Angel skims his palm along Wesley's shoulder and upper arm, enjoying the strength he finds there. For all that Wesley can look tall and skinny, he feels really good. Solid, strong. It's how Angel thinks of him. Also, hot, but he's trying not to think about that right now. "What's that?"
"We should find the time to try out the bed for more than sleeping." He looks at Angel out of the corner of his eye, his expression a cross between temptation personified and mildly apprehensive.
Angel's own fatigue is suddenly gone, and he shifts Connor in his lap so that he won't need decades of therapy when he's older. He tries to sound cool, like he's not surprised by Wesley being forward. Not that he doesn't like it - It's Wes, and he's being forward; what's not to like? - but it still comes as a shock. "Um, yeah?"
No, he thinks, that definitely wasn't cool.
"If you'd like." Wesley turns his head so that their mouths are nearly touching and then bridges the gap. His breath and his lips are deliciously warm, and he kisses like he knows what he wants. There's something hard and needy there, simmering just beneath the surface, even if he pulls away too soon to yawn yet another time.
"I'm good with that," Angel says, clearing his throat and moving Connor a little bit further away from the bulge in his pants.
Wesley smiles more broadly before settling in against him once more. "Then that's the beginning of our plan. Sleep for me, then other things for both of us in that bed."
"I'm liking this plan a lot."
"I thought you might." Wesley sounds almost smug.
"You're a smart guy, Wes." Angel means it as teasing, but the sentence lingers in the quiet room for longer than it should.
The reply, when it comes, is soft. "I just hope I'm smart enough."
Angel squeezes Wesley's shoulders in the best hug he can give him in that position. "You are."
~end this part~