Strategy Part Twelve

[thebratqueen]

PART TWELVE

Wesley's in his bedroom, alone, when Angel appears.

"You know," the vampire says, in that casual way that says he's maybe half a second, three quarters tops, from peeling off your scalp just to hear it make that interesting squishy noise, "if *I* had a secret passage into my bedroom that *my* greatest enemy knew about I might take a minute. Nail the door shut. Maybe throw down some broken glass for the guy to step on. Booby trap it a bit."

Wesley looks at him. Tries not to panic. Knows that even a quick rapid beating of his heart will end up telling Angel too much and get the vampire killed. "We have different approaches to these things," Wesley says.

"Looks like we do," Angel replies. He walks forward. Surveys the place. Notes the fabric of the drapes. "Damask? Nice. I had drapes like these once. Of course, I had to kill a whole family in order to get the house to put them in." Dark eyes zero in on Wesley, a hawk sighting itself on a mouse. "How many did you kill to get them?"

Wesley's proud that his voice doesn't quaver. "I did what I had to do."

Angel comes closer now. Gets a scent. Says, weightedly. "Did you?"

Wesley draws himself up. Is almost glad that it's going to be this easy to drive the vampire away. "I believe you know I did," Wesley tells him. "But, as I do want to make this clear for you, the answer to your terribly subtle question is yes. I've fucked your son."

"Still doing it, far as I can tell," Angel replies.

"Not at the moment, granted," Wesley agrees. "But yes. The last time was - oh yes, just a few hours ago. By the way," Wesley says, feeling that he needs to at least make a show of this, "you realize I only need to say the word to have a squadron of guards in here ready to turn you to dust?"

"Yeah," Angel says, casual as anything. "Just as you realize I'll break your fucking neck before you get to the 'u'. Cut the shit, Wes. Talk to me."

Wesley turns away from him. "I've nothing to say to you."

The turn's not half done before Angel grabs his wrist, wrenches him around. The action moves Wesley's sleeve, exposes the brand. Angel's retort dies, is replaced by another. "What? They out of fraternity symbols?"

Wesley answers honestly. "I needed to make my loyalties clear."

"You're crystal," Angel tells him. Doesn't let go. The tiniest movement would break Wesley's bones. "How long?"

"Long enough," Wesley tells him.

"Why?"

Wesley has no ready reply for that. The truth is far too tempting.

Angel tightens his grip. Repeats, his voice without inflection. "Why?"

Lacking a story, Wesley aims for Angel's weaknesses. "Do you know," he whispers, as though this conversation were intimate, "the thing I love best of all is sucking Connor's cock. I used to wonder why, but then I realized: It's not attached to a corpse."

Direct hit. The hand tightens again and Wesley can't stifle a sound of pain. "You've got vamp-hating on me now? Is that it?"

"I've done what I've had to do," Wesley says. Doesn't struggle. Wonders if the bones are slowly crushing into powder.

Wesley is slammed back against a wall. Pinned there by the undead shackle around his wrist. "And what is that, Wes? Enlighten me."

Honesty proves the best lie. "What I had to, in order to survive."

"Shack up with Connor?" Angel asks. "Turn on all your friends?" Flicker of emotion in dark eyes. "Turn on me?"

Wesley laughs at him. It's his father's laugh. "I'm glad you at least realize that you and I were never friends."

"I'm getting that now," Angel tells him.

"We might have been, once," Wesley says, wanting to take no chances on Angel holding on to sentiment, in any way losing sight of the real goals. "If you hadn't tried to kill me. On multiple occasions. True friends don't do that."

"True friends don't steal each other's sons."

"Which should've told you right there where my priorities were as far as you were concerned," Wesley replies, smoothly. "Hardly my fault if you're too blind or stupid to notice it."

Too much. Angel's not entirely buying it. "Why do you hate me?"

"It's not about hate," Wesley says. "It's about winning."

"You want to win."

"Something like that."

"Fucking my kid? That's winning?"

"Well Jasmine wouldn't let me fuck her personally so I settled for the next best thing."

"This what your note meant? The one about Lilah? Too much in love with saving your own ass to care about anybody else?"

Wesley looks away. Doesn't want Angel to see him remembering their secret notes and the Pylean puns inside. "My priorities are different now."

"No kidding," Angel looks at him with contempt. "Nice clothes. You enjoy wearing those while your friends scrounge for food?"

"The same 'friends' who left me to die in a park once my throat was slit?" Wesley asks. "Then sided with *you* after you tried to kill me? In which case yes, I quite enjoy the contrast."

"Enjoy trying to get them killed too?" Angel asks.

"I've been aiming for you but I can't say the others aren't a side benefit."

"Do you and your boyfriend find it funny?" Angel asks. "Do you two sit here and cook up these little schemes to double cross us?"

"I notice," Wesley says, softly, "you never doubted that I was the one double crossing you."

"Do I have reason to?" Angel asks. "You're here with the nice suite, the good clothes, *reeking* of my son all over you. And, oh yeah, you've got intelligence leaks for *shit*. We know it's you, Wes. I just needed to see the look on your face."

Wesley faces him down. Says, coldly. "Look all you like."

Angel locks gazes with him, then shakes his head. Drops Wesley's wrist. "Hope it was all worth it to you, Wes. Hope you *love* facing that guy you see in the mirror."

"How could I not?" Wesley asks, unable to resist stoking the fire. "I succeeded, didn't I? Wrapped you around my bloody finger. Made you think you could trust me, made you think I *cared*. As though I could. As though I could ever feel emotion for a *monster* like you. As though I could look into your eyes and not see every single person you ever killed, every child you ever tortured. I must tell you, Angel, it was quite a challenge putting up with it but the only thing which got me through that night down in the sewers was thinking about Connor while tuning out every word out of your *stupid* mouth as I - "

Silence. Angel's hand is wrapped around Wesley's throat. Squeezing. Lightbulbs are going off in Wesley's eyes. His lungs jerk with the desperate need for air.

"You're a piece of shit, Wes," Angel says, flatly. "Big bad traitor with all your plans and your double crossing - give me a break. You're nothing but that *shit* little boy who couldn't get his daddy to love him and that's all you're ever going to be. And guess what? Now you're going to be that *shit* little man who can't even hold on to his boyfriend because you're finished. We're not taking anymore from you or Lorne so let's see how long you last when you can't *cheat* your way into pretending you know what the fuck you're talking about."

A blackout is imminent. Angel still keeps going. "Hate to break it to you too, but from what I hear this act of yours? Didn't fool anybody on this side either. Know what your men call you? They call you that cocksucking fag. And that's when you were somewhat *useful*. What do you think they're going to call you now, Wes? Hum?"

Angel drops him. Wesley falls to the floor. Chest heaves. He's far too practiced at having to force his body to relearn how to take in air.

"Go to Hell, Wes." Angel says. He's leaving. Wesley can see his shoes walking towards the closet door.

Wesley closes his eyes. Fights against his first real flashback - a full-on five senses recreation of the times *Connor* has tried a little breath play. Knows he has to say one last thing.

"The night," he gasps, his voice rough and torn, "I didn't meet you.... Connor - Connor gave me the best orgasm of my life."

"If you and Lorne show your faces again," Angel says, quietly, "I'll kill you both myself."

The vampire leaves. Wesley is left alone with the knowledge that after all he's worked for, Angel's continued survival is the only thing he hasn't failed at.

It's not as much comfort as he wants it to be.

***

Connor comes home. Sees Wes on the floor. Smells his father. Panics. Calls for guards, medical attention, *action*.

Wesley submits to all this. He's stunned. Still coming down off the flashback. Trying desperately to figure out a way out of this. Pick up the pieces. At least make an omelet even if he can't put the egg back into the shell again.

Lorne is there, appearing as if by magic. Sends many questioning glances Wesley's way. Takes a moment to realize the hand-shaped bruise that now collars Wesley's throat is too large to belong to the usual suspect of Connor.

"We in trouble?" Lorne whisper-asks in Pylean, pretending to fuss over ice on Wesley's wrist.

Wes still can't speak in anything over a croak. It lends a heavier British accent to the demon language. "He found out about my relationship with Connor. He thinks we're traitors." Meets Lorne's eyes. Can't help but feel a tiny bit regretful - he never meant to repay the demon's kindness towards him by making *him* an acceptable loss. "We can't go back. If Angel sees us, he'll kill us."

"Oh," Lorne says. Hides his worry over this well. "Well we'll just cross that bridge when we come to it."

Wesley closes his eyes. His body tremors with another flashback. He feels his inner walls start to crumble. He wonders if he should even fight the tide.

***

Later, when Lorne vanishes and does not return, Wesley finds he cannot blame him. The ship is sinking. It's every man for himself.

***

Connor, oblivious to these behind the scenes dealings, storms and rages. Breaks things. Curses his father's name. Says words he thinks Wesley will find a comfort.

"I'll kill him," the boy declares. "I'll *kill* him for ever touching you. Just you watch."

Wesley takes this in. Considers the passion behind it. Thinks about his position in the grand scheme of things.

That night, after Connor fucks him, Wesley gets up. Goes into the kitchen. Gets a knife.

With no emotion whatsoever moves to plunge it into Connor's back.

Connor, sadly, has his father's reflexes. The knife is wrenched away. Wesley is beaten. Then - and even Wesley can use no other word for it now - raped. Connor does it with tears in his eyes, wondering why Wesley is trying to hurt him.

Wesley abuses his wounded throat further by laying it all out for him. Explains every single bit of his betrayal, because he knows the look on Connor's face is most likely to be the only revenge he'll ever get.

Connor beats him again. Even harder than he ever has before.

When he's done Wesley is dragged off. Deposited downstairs. In the basement, with the rats. Inside of, appropriately enough, Angelus's old cage, which has been left to go to dust down there.

Wesley's locked in. There's a pipe if he wants water. No one visits him. There is no food. Not even, and Wesley isn't unaware of the karma of this, a bucket.

Wesley lies there, on his side, which is the only position he can somewhat exist in. Knows he's been left here to die.

Doesn't fight this fate in the slightest.

***