Strategy Part Fourteen
Jul. 29th, 2003 08:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenOkay so I lied. I checked the page count on this and I realized it was getting up there so, say hello to part 14, the new possibly next-to-last part. In other words there's at least one more part after this. Hope you guys don't mind ;)
PART FOURTEEN
Wes is taken to the hospital. It's owned by Wolfram & Hart. Actually, as Angel finds out from some secretary-shaped person who natters at his ear until he glares at her and makes her go away, as the head of Wolfram & Hart it's technically *Angel's* hospital, and he happens to own several, and does he want Wes taken to the closest, the most discrete, or the one that's been recently renovated and has a kitchen run by Wolfgang Puck?
Wes gets taken to the best, and that particular discussion ends there.
There's a menu of choices. It starts out with a list of all of Wes's injuries - something Angel reads with a learned eye and concludes that his son was thorough, if not adept at hurting people. There's words like "fractures" "infection" "dehydration" and, always a favorite, "internal bleeding". It's the kind of thing that happens when someone wants to hurt somebody else but doesn't know the best way to do it. Prolong the pain. Take advantage of one injury so you can piggyback it on another and make even more screaming. Or whimpering, if that's your preference.
In practical terms it means Wes is pretty fucked up, physically speaking, but luckily they've got every form of medicine at their command.
"Fix him," Angel tells the doctors, not needing to say out loud that either they succeed at this or Angel will take time out of his day in order to remove their fingers one by one. He hands over the ubiquitous paperwork, his signature in all the right places. "And take that fucking scar off his arm."
A doctor hesitates. "What about - " gestures to his neck.
Angel thinks about the mark Justine left behind. "Leave that to Wes to decide."
***
Angel moves into the hospital. It's his hospital so he kicks somebody out of their office and makes it his own. Underlings fuss and cry over this, Angel tells them to go fuck themselves, they still object, and Angel makes his new rule clear by snapping a couple of necks.
After that there's little complaining, and he never has to remind anyone how he likes his coffee in the morning.
Outside the world moves on. Another phase of Angel's deal takes effect as reality and memories change. Turn the past year into a vague memory of earthquakes, fire, mass hysteria. Everything shifts just a little bit to the right, history rewriting itself to keep the main events, but remove the pain of Jasmine and her loss.
The only ones who remember the truth are the core groups from LA and Sunnydale.
The former AI gang, now W&H executives, hang around. Fret. Worry. Puzzle over the details of the deal Angel has thoughtfully made on their behalf. Angel doesn't involve himself with it much. He tells them they're free to go and they're free to stay. He's not going to live their lives for them.
There's discussion, and they all decide to stay. Lorne's comfortable with it, Gunn's interested, and Fred sticks around as a kind of wary conscience which would grate on Angel's nerves if not for the fact that he's an expert at tuning out things he doesn't care to listen to.
Well, except for one person.
"This is it? This is what you do?" Buffy's standing in front of his desk, looking thoroughly aware of the fact that the position suggests inequality of some sort. Or distance. Or maybe it's just bringing up annoying memories of having to go to the principal's office.
"It is now," Angel tells her.
"What about the helpless? Saving the world? Protecting *your* city?"
"Still doing it," Angel says. "Though there's less sweating now. Plus my clothes stay cleaner."
Tiny arms fold. Green eyes glare. "You sold your *soul*."
"My soul is my business," Angel tells her. Destined love aside, he feels no need to tell her the truth, to explain whose soul *was* sold to make it all possible. All anyone knows is that Connor is gone, and Angel won't talk about it. It was Fred who suggested maybe Connor got a second chance at a new life, and it's a neat enough ending to the story that people talk themselves into it and Angel sees no need to contradict them.
Quick look of hurt. "Angel, how could you - "
"What would you have done if it was Dawn?"
Buffy's got no argument there.
There's affection enough between them that Angel feels a need to make it easier on her. "I know what I'm doing."
Sardonic smile that few people are allowed to give him. "Yeah, because you are the *master* at making the best decisions."
It's an old joke. "I told you never to call me that."
Hint of a smile.
He keeps going. "I'm better looking than he ever was."
"Not like it's much competition," Buffy points out.
There's quiet.
"I can't stay here," Buffy finally says.
"I know."
"This isn't my life."
"I know."
"I've got...." vague gesture, a sense of displacement now that the Sunnydale Hellmouth is closed. "things."
"I know."
More quiet.
Buffy finally offers: "Spike's coming with me."
Angel takes this information in every way it's intended. Offers his own back in turn: "I'm staying here."
New relationships understood and given wary permission, if not full ringing endorsements, he and Buffy hug, share a kiss that probably goes on too long for people who are supposed to be moving on in life, and then Buffy and Spike head out of town.
The rest of the Sunnydale gang filters out in their own time. Most go back to Sunnydale, wanting to at least see their old home. Some things are different (closed Hellmouth) others the same (demons and vampires). A few stay, put down roots. Others leave, decide to explore other places for themselves.
Surprisingly Giles lingers in LA. Talks with Angel a bit about the law firm, the resources inside. Hints vaguely about possibilities that the future now holds. Notes how much young Slayers in Training could benefit from the kinds of things that a powerful organization could give them.
Angel lets this go on for a bit, knowing that he at least owes Giles that courtesy for a multitude of reasons, then, because he doesn't have to ask to know what *Wes* would think about all this, just as politely and casually tells Giles thanks for visiting, but fuck off.
Angel later hears through the grapevine that Giles moved to New York, and then France. Beyond that he doesn't care.
Faith stays. Shows up at Angel's office one day and tells him: "I'm in."
Angel, taken aback, "But I - "
Faith-like shrug. "Don't care. Know what you're doing here, sounds good to me. I'm in."
Angel studies her. "You know what that means, right? This place is evil. It's going to try to - "
She waves it off. "Been there, killed that. Now when do I get my hot secretary?"
So Faith stays.
All the while Angel keeps busy. Focuses on the new tasks in front of him.
Tries not to obsess too much about the fact that it's been a week now and Wes hasn't even left his room.
***
When Wesley wakes up there are doctors hovering over him.
He jerks away, ready to fight but sadly not possessing a body which grants him the ability to do so. Still, his displeasure is clear and the doctors step back, try not to push their luck.
From amongst the white-clad group, Lorne appears.
"Why don't you guys give us a moment?" the demon suggests. He makes a shoving motion towards the door. The doctors nod, leave. Wesley is amazed at the deference. Lorne notices it, grins. "Amazing the kind of treatment you can get when you zig past HMO and PPO and go right for the BFBC."
Wesley frowns. "BFBC?"
Lorne sits beside him. "Big Fat Blank Check."
Wesley wants to find this funny, but reality is too tenuous at the moment. "What's going on?"
Lorne pats his arm. "Get comfy, it's a story."
He explains what he knows. Goes in reverse. Starts off with the Wolfram & Hart deal that saved the world but came at a price Angel's not telling anyone about, hits on the part where there's all kinds of big budget side benefits, fills in the details about the rest of the gang and then eventually winds his way towards what started it all.
Lorne pauses, looks apologetic. "I had to tell him."
Wesley, who finds he can't take his eyes away from the gauze which covers his magically healing brand, doesn't need clarification. "Angel knows."
"Yeah."
Glances up at Lorne. "Everything?"
Small nod. "Yeah." Then, quickly, "But *just* him. Everybody else got told to mind their own business. Promise."
Wesley takes this in. Notes that it's only Lorne visiting him at the moment. Ponders it all. "And we… I can dictate whatever course of treatment that I like?"
"Dictate *anything* that you like," Lorne assures him. "If you want nothing but hot fudge sundaes for breakfast you got it."
Wesley accepts that. "Good. Send the doctors in. I'll tell them what to do."
Lorne stands, ready to help. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Wesley says. Meets the demon's eyes. "No visitors."
Lorne's mouth opens to protest.
"No visitors," Wesley repeats. "Only you."
Lorne shuts his mouth again. Decides not to fight this one out just yet.
***
Wesley, no stranger to supernatural medicine, looks over the course of treatments that he's been prescribed. He vetoes some, suggests others. In the end finds what for him is a comfortable medium between efficient healing and metaphysical safety. It will be a few weeks yet before he can leave, but it's a great improvement over the few months that it might have been. It's good enough.
He stays in his room - a thing so decadent that it's more like a hotel suite. There's a kitchenette, a jacuzzi bath, and a balcony with beautiful view of the sunset.
It's terrifyingly lonely.
The agoraphobia is back, comfortable and familiar. It's joined by nightmares, sleepless nights, phantom fears and the ever present hand trembling. Doctors suggest various treatments, but Wesley rejects all of them. It's psychological. He'll deal with it. Drugs, in his mind, would only prolong the inevitable.
So he loses a great deal of sleep and tries not to think about it.
Lorne keeps him company. He's a new job now, with Wolfram & Hart, and he entertains Wesley with news from it. The time spent is enjoyable, a distraction from it all.
One day a jarring chord is introduced.
"Wonder what your job is going to be?" Lorne asks as they amuse themselves reading about the private supernatural life of one of their favorite movie stars.
Wesley swallows. He reminds himself to be touched that Lorne thinks he would be a part of this. "I'll manage something, I'm sure."
Lorne scowls. "Wes, you're *going* to be a part of - "
"Let's not," Wesley asks him, making it more of a command than a request. He puts a file down, picks up another. "I believe I met this one once. Years ago, at a party."
Lorne notices the subject change, but doesn't press.
***
"Get in there."
Angel doesn't look up from his desk. "I can't."
Lorne folds his arms, glares down at him. "You're a champion. *Cope*."
Angel looks up. He doesn't have his amused face on. "He said no visitors."
Lorne thinks about arguing, then decides lying is faster. "He changed his mind. He's asking for you."
The look of childlike hope is unmistakable. "Really?"
"Really," Lorne says. Doesn't need a song to know there's a lot of awkward shuffling and not knowing what to do with one's hands coming up, so adds: "And bring him a coffee."
Angel gets up and doesn't even look back.
***
The door is more intimidating than he thought it would be. Angel stands outside of it for a long moment, then finally pushes it open.
Wes is sitting at a table, a thick book in front of him. He looks up, then blinks in surprise. "Angel?"
Angel realizes he's standing in the doorway as if he hasn't gotten an invitation. As though to perhaps buy himself one he holds up the cardboard cup in his hand. "Lorne said you wanted coffee?"
"I - " hesitation, then Wesley nods, stands. "Er - yes. Please. I just - "
But then coffee's forgotten, because Wes, for whom it's currently a miracle that he can *walk*, isn't supposed to be standing and moving much and he's starting to tip over and Angel *can't* let him fall so the coffee's dropped, spilled all over the floor, and the door's left to swing shut on its own as Angel grabs Wes, catches him, holds him tight.
Then there's a pause. Angel and Wes both realizing at the same moment what's happening. Angel yelling at himself. Chastising himself for moving too fast, not giving Wes what he *needs* not giving him *space* to *heal* because he's been hurt, seriously hurt and you don't *fuck* with healing on things like that.
And then it doesn't matter because he needs to kiss Wesley and not even a goddess could make him stop.
Wesley freezes. Angel can feel the fear licking through him. Then, like an explosion of joy, Wes clings to him and kisses him back.
"I thought I lost you," Wesley whispers, his forehead resting against Angel's own.
"You never could," Angel promises him. He picks Wes up and puts him into bed.
***
They lie together, side by side, Angel's chest against Wes's back. Hands thread together, tangle, warm against cool. It's hours later, after Wes has actually managed to get something that comes close to peaceful sleep. Wes is still shaking, though, and Angel knows it's going to be a long while before Wes totally resembles a man who is healthy.
Wanting to help that process, Angel offers a piece of information that he thinks will make for a good start.
"I sent him to Hell," Angel whispers. It's the first time he's said it.
Wes is quiet, but quick on the uptake. "That was the price."
Angel nods. Then, because he feels Wes should know this, says "It's okay if that makes you happy."
A look in Wes's eyes suggests this was the right thing to say. Wes has words of his own though: "It's okay if it makes you sad."
Angel hugs Wes tighter to himself. Ironically, Wes is the only person he can think of ever talking about this with. Especially since -
"Cordelia?"
"Couldn't save her," Angel tells him. "Coma. They say they'll keep trying."
Wes nods, accepts it. Then: "I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"I never wanted you to lose your son."
Angel feels the words like a fist in his gut, but it's the right kind of pain. "I don't think I ever had him."
"Even still."
Philosophical shrug. "Some things aren't meant to be."
"I'm afraid I don't know what those things are anymore," Wesley admits. He studies Angel's hand, runs a shaking fingertip over the back of it. "My plans - "
"Are good."
There's a bark of harsh laughter. "Unnecessary, is the word I think you're looking for."
"I know my own words," Angel tells him. "Now if you want me to say I would have ever agreed to this you're wrong. If I'd had *any* idea - " he bites this off, stops himself from yelling, from cursing Wes for the anger he feels at *himself* for that night down in the sewers. Controls himself, then settles on "Never again. You don't do that ever again."
"And when the next Apocalypse comes? Am I to stand on the sidelines? Value myself more than the world?"
"Yes."
"Angel - "
He cups Wes's chin, turns him around to face him. "Screw the world, Wes. Screw everything. You think I would've done all this for just anyone? When I found out what my own *son* was doing - " he stops, aborts the sentence because he knows it will only bring pain to the both of them. "I did it for you, Wes. But the catch is I've got nothing after this. So yeah. I kind of need you to keep yourself safe, 'cause if you won't do it then I'll have to. Even if it means I go down with you."
Wes stiffens. Starts to pull away. "Lorne didn't tell you everything."
Angel won't let him go. "He didn't have to. You did."
"You have no idea - "
"I know after a while you started to like it."
There's a long, tangible silence.
"It happens," Angel tells him. "Believe me, I know. Apple didn't fall far from the tree, Wes. It's nothing for you to be ashamed of."
Wes is sitting up now. Hands propped on either side of him to help him maintain the position. His back is to Angel, but even so Angel can hear him when he finally speaks.
"I wanted it to be you." Wes turns around, meets Angel's eyes, his own dark to the point of near blackness. "I always... I tried, but I couldn't - "
"I know," Angel says. He reaches for Wes, pulls him close again. Wes settles down, puts his head on Angel's chest. Angel thinks back to all the Wesleys *he's* tortured in his life. "It's okay. You got me now. Dead body and all."
"I lied," Wes says, unnecessarily. "I never liked him because he was human. I hated him because he was warm."
Angel, who hates admitting how much he needed to hear that, instead replies with a joke: "Could put my hands in ice if it makes you feel any better."
This coaxes a smile out of Wes. "Not if you ever..." falters, then can't help but be serious "Angel, don't leave? Don't.... It became so hard to remember you. Please, I -"
Angel kisses the top of his head. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."
Wes's shaking gets harder then, but Angel knows it's all right. Sometimes the toxins of the mind just have to work themselves out of the body just like anything else.
He holds Wes close and lets him tremble.
***
Days pass. Angel hardly ever leaves the room. He has clothes and blood sent in. Only goes outside into the hall to take care of business. Usually leaves Lorne in the room with Wes when he does.
It helps Wes, not being alone. But Angel has to admit the reason is selfish too. *He* feels better, keeping an eye on Wes. It makes him stable. Less cranky.
Doesn't stop him from wanting to work his frustrations out by killing people, but you take those things one day at a time.
Wes deals with the physical things. He starts walking again, though he needs a cane. He can eat foods and keep them down. The other things - the phobias, the sleeping - still bother him, but it's understood that will take some time.
Wes still refuses visitors, though, and one day Angel figures Wes is well enough to address this issue.
"There's other parts to the deal," Angel says.
Wes tries to puzzle this over. "There are?"
"If we want," Angel says, immediately clarifies. "You want."
Eyebrows come together in a frown. "And what do I want?"
"People to forget," Angel tells him. "About you and Connor."
"I thought that they - "
"Not the whole thing," Angel reassures him. "But... Connor's guys talked. Everybody knows you slept with him."
Wesley sits back. One hand curls into a fist. "I see."
"We can erase that."
"We can?"
"Already did it for the world," Angel reminds him. "All that's left is the people you know. We can make it so that it never happened. Make everyone forget. Even you."
Wes stands up. Walks out to the balcony. Angel follows. Stays in the safety of the shadows of the room.
"No more nightmares," Angel points out. "No more shaking, no more flashbacks, no more - "
"No more *me*," Wesley snaps. Looks back at him. "Do you demand this of me? To forget everything that I am? Everything I've *done*? I've *earned* this for God's - "
Angel holds up his hands. "No. Not demanding. Just saying. You can make it be whatever you want."
Wes searches his face, looks for the truth. "Would you forget Hell if someone asked you?"
Angel answers honestly. "I tend not to forget anything if someone asks me."
Wes leans back against the railing. It's tall enough that there's no chance of him tipping over. "All I can imagine is some fool version of myself doing this all over again, simply because he doesn't know better."
"Wouldn't want that to happen."
Wes thinks about it. "But we can make the others forget? About - about Connor and me?"
Angel nods. "Just like the world. No more memories of Connor and anything. All anybody would know is that you got captured, then helped us win."
Wes smiles bitterly at that. "Such a proud victory too."
"Doesn't make it less true," Angel reminds him.
Wesley doesn't respond to that. "Is there another price?"
"No. Connor's soul bought us a *lot* of stuff. You don't even know about half of it yet."
"Fine," Wesley says. He pushes away from the railing. "Do it. I want everyone to forget. Everyone except me."
Angel, assuming he's included in this, accepts this as fair. "Okay. You got it."
Wes reads Angel's mind better than most. He comes closer, touches Angel's cheek. "And you. And... Lorne, I think. He's earned it. Besides, decisions like this always have backlashes. We'll need his skills to navigate them."
Angel frowns. "You sure?"
Now it's Wes's turn to hold him. "I told you, Angel. I would never take away your son."
Angel hugs him and they go back inside.
***
PART FOURTEEN
Wes is taken to the hospital. It's owned by Wolfram & Hart. Actually, as Angel finds out from some secretary-shaped person who natters at his ear until he glares at her and makes her go away, as the head of Wolfram & Hart it's technically *Angel's* hospital, and he happens to own several, and does he want Wes taken to the closest, the most discrete, or the one that's been recently renovated and has a kitchen run by Wolfgang Puck?
Wes gets taken to the best, and that particular discussion ends there.
There's a menu of choices. It starts out with a list of all of Wes's injuries - something Angel reads with a learned eye and concludes that his son was thorough, if not adept at hurting people. There's words like "fractures" "infection" "dehydration" and, always a favorite, "internal bleeding". It's the kind of thing that happens when someone wants to hurt somebody else but doesn't know the best way to do it. Prolong the pain. Take advantage of one injury so you can piggyback it on another and make even more screaming. Or whimpering, if that's your preference.
In practical terms it means Wes is pretty fucked up, physically speaking, but luckily they've got every form of medicine at their command.
"Fix him," Angel tells the doctors, not needing to say out loud that either they succeed at this or Angel will take time out of his day in order to remove their fingers one by one. He hands over the ubiquitous paperwork, his signature in all the right places. "And take that fucking scar off his arm."
A doctor hesitates. "What about - " gestures to his neck.
Angel thinks about the mark Justine left behind. "Leave that to Wes to decide."
***
Angel moves into the hospital. It's his hospital so he kicks somebody out of their office and makes it his own. Underlings fuss and cry over this, Angel tells them to go fuck themselves, they still object, and Angel makes his new rule clear by snapping a couple of necks.
After that there's little complaining, and he never has to remind anyone how he likes his coffee in the morning.
Outside the world moves on. Another phase of Angel's deal takes effect as reality and memories change. Turn the past year into a vague memory of earthquakes, fire, mass hysteria. Everything shifts just a little bit to the right, history rewriting itself to keep the main events, but remove the pain of Jasmine and her loss.
The only ones who remember the truth are the core groups from LA and Sunnydale.
The former AI gang, now W&H executives, hang around. Fret. Worry. Puzzle over the details of the deal Angel has thoughtfully made on their behalf. Angel doesn't involve himself with it much. He tells them they're free to go and they're free to stay. He's not going to live their lives for them.
There's discussion, and they all decide to stay. Lorne's comfortable with it, Gunn's interested, and Fred sticks around as a kind of wary conscience which would grate on Angel's nerves if not for the fact that he's an expert at tuning out things he doesn't care to listen to.
Well, except for one person.
"This is it? This is what you do?" Buffy's standing in front of his desk, looking thoroughly aware of the fact that the position suggests inequality of some sort. Or distance. Or maybe it's just bringing up annoying memories of having to go to the principal's office.
"It is now," Angel tells her.
"What about the helpless? Saving the world? Protecting *your* city?"
"Still doing it," Angel says. "Though there's less sweating now. Plus my clothes stay cleaner."
Tiny arms fold. Green eyes glare. "You sold your *soul*."
"My soul is my business," Angel tells her. Destined love aside, he feels no need to tell her the truth, to explain whose soul *was* sold to make it all possible. All anyone knows is that Connor is gone, and Angel won't talk about it. It was Fred who suggested maybe Connor got a second chance at a new life, and it's a neat enough ending to the story that people talk themselves into it and Angel sees no need to contradict them.
Quick look of hurt. "Angel, how could you - "
"What would you have done if it was Dawn?"
Buffy's got no argument there.
There's affection enough between them that Angel feels a need to make it easier on her. "I know what I'm doing."
Sardonic smile that few people are allowed to give him. "Yeah, because you are the *master* at making the best decisions."
It's an old joke. "I told you never to call me that."
Hint of a smile.
He keeps going. "I'm better looking than he ever was."
"Not like it's much competition," Buffy points out.
There's quiet.
"I can't stay here," Buffy finally says.
"I know."
"This isn't my life."
"I know."
"I've got...." vague gesture, a sense of displacement now that the Sunnydale Hellmouth is closed. "things."
"I know."
More quiet.
Buffy finally offers: "Spike's coming with me."
Angel takes this information in every way it's intended. Offers his own back in turn: "I'm staying here."
New relationships understood and given wary permission, if not full ringing endorsements, he and Buffy hug, share a kiss that probably goes on too long for people who are supposed to be moving on in life, and then Buffy and Spike head out of town.
The rest of the Sunnydale gang filters out in their own time. Most go back to Sunnydale, wanting to at least see their old home. Some things are different (closed Hellmouth) others the same (demons and vampires). A few stay, put down roots. Others leave, decide to explore other places for themselves.
Surprisingly Giles lingers in LA. Talks with Angel a bit about the law firm, the resources inside. Hints vaguely about possibilities that the future now holds. Notes how much young Slayers in Training could benefit from the kinds of things that a powerful organization could give them.
Angel lets this go on for a bit, knowing that he at least owes Giles that courtesy for a multitude of reasons, then, because he doesn't have to ask to know what *Wes* would think about all this, just as politely and casually tells Giles thanks for visiting, but fuck off.
Angel later hears through the grapevine that Giles moved to New York, and then France. Beyond that he doesn't care.
Faith stays. Shows up at Angel's office one day and tells him: "I'm in."
Angel, taken aback, "But I - "
Faith-like shrug. "Don't care. Know what you're doing here, sounds good to me. I'm in."
Angel studies her. "You know what that means, right? This place is evil. It's going to try to - "
She waves it off. "Been there, killed that. Now when do I get my hot secretary?"
So Faith stays.
All the while Angel keeps busy. Focuses on the new tasks in front of him.
Tries not to obsess too much about the fact that it's been a week now and Wes hasn't even left his room.
***
When Wesley wakes up there are doctors hovering over him.
He jerks away, ready to fight but sadly not possessing a body which grants him the ability to do so. Still, his displeasure is clear and the doctors step back, try not to push their luck.
From amongst the white-clad group, Lorne appears.
"Why don't you guys give us a moment?" the demon suggests. He makes a shoving motion towards the door. The doctors nod, leave. Wesley is amazed at the deference. Lorne notices it, grins. "Amazing the kind of treatment you can get when you zig past HMO and PPO and go right for the BFBC."
Wesley frowns. "BFBC?"
Lorne sits beside him. "Big Fat Blank Check."
Wesley wants to find this funny, but reality is too tenuous at the moment. "What's going on?"
Lorne pats his arm. "Get comfy, it's a story."
He explains what he knows. Goes in reverse. Starts off with the Wolfram & Hart deal that saved the world but came at a price Angel's not telling anyone about, hits on the part where there's all kinds of big budget side benefits, fills in the details about the rest of the gang and then eventually winds his way towards what started it all.
Lorne pauses, looks apologetic. "I had to tell him."
Wesley, who finds he can't take his eyes away from the gauze which covers his magically healing brand, doesn't need clarification. "Angel knows."
"Yeah."
Glances up at Lorne. "Everything?"
Small nod. "Yeah." Then, quickly, "But *just* him. Everybody else got told to mind their own business. Promise."
Wesley takes this in. Notes that it's only Lorne visiting him at the moment. Ponders it all. "And we… I can dictate whatever course of treatment that I like?"
"Dictate *anything* that you like," Lorne assures him. "If you want nothing but hot fudge sundaes for breakfast you got it."
Wesley accepts that. "Good. Send the doctors in. I'll tell them what to do."
Lorne stands, ready to help. "Anything else?"
"Yes," Wesley says. Meets the demon's eyes. "No visitors."
Lorne's mouth opens to protest.
"No visitors," Wesley repeats. "Only you."
Lorne shuts his mouth again. Decides not to fight this one out just yet.
***
Wesley, no stranger to supernatural medicine, looks over the course of treatments that he's been prescribed. He vetoes some, suggests others. In the end finds what for him is a comfortable medium between efficient healing and metaphysical safety. It will be a few weeks yet before he can leave, but it's a great improvement over the few months that it might have been. It's good enough.
He stays in his room - a thing so decadent that it's more like a hotel suite. There's a kitchenette, a jacuzzi bath, and a balcony with beautiful view of the sunset.
It's terrifyingly lonely.
The agoraphobia is back, comfortable and familiar. It's joined by nightmares, sleepless nights, phantom fears and the ever present hand trembling. Doctors suggest various treatments, but Wesley rejects all of them. It's psychological. He'll deal with it. Drugs, in his mind, would only prolong the inevitable.
So he loses a great deal of sleep and tries not to think about it.
Lorne keeps him company. He's a new job now, with Wolfram & Hart, and he entertains Wesley with news from it. The time spent is enjoyable, a distraction from it all.
One day a jarring chord is introduced.
"Wonder what your job is going to be?" Lorne asks as they amuse themselves reading about the private supernatural life of one of their favorite movie stars.
Wesley swallows. He reminds himself to be touched that Lorne thinks he would be a part of this. "I'll manage something, I'm sure."
Lorne scowls. "Wes, you're *going* to be a part of - "
"Let's not," Wesley asks him, making it more of a command than a request. He puts a file down, picks up another. "I believe I met this one once. Years ago, at a party."
Lorne notices the subject change, but doesn't press.
***
"Get in there."
Angel doesn't look up from his desk. "I can't."
Lorne folds his arms, glares down at him. "You're a champion. *Cope*."
Angel looks up. He doesn't have his amused face on. "He said no visitors."
Lorne thinks about arguing, then decides lying is faster. "He changed his mind. He's asking for you."
The look of childlike hope is unmistakable. "Really?"
"Really," Lorne says. Doesn't need a song to know there's a lot of awkward shuffling and not knowing what to do with one's hands coming up, so adds: "And bring him a coffee."
Angel gets up and doesn't even look back.
***
The door is more intimidating than he thought it would be. Angel stands outside of it for a long moment, then finally pushes it open.
Wes is sitting at a table, a thick book in front of him. He looks up, then blinks in surprise. "Angel?"
Angel realizes he's standing in the doorway as if he hasn't gotten an invitation. As though to perhaps buy himself one he holds up the cardboard cup in his hand. "Lorne said you wanted coffee?"
"I - " hesitation, then Wesley nods, stands. "Er - yes. Please. I just - "
But then coffee's forgotten, because Wes, for whom it's currently a miracle that he can *walk*, isn't supposed to be standing and moving much and he's starting to tip over and Angel *can't* let him fall so the coffee's dropped, spilled all over the floor, and the door's left to swing shut on its own as Angel grabs Wes, catches him, holds him tight.
Then there's a pause. Angel and Wes both realizing at the same moment what's happening. Angel yelling at himself. Chastising himself for moving too fast, not giving Wes what he *needs* not giving him *space* to *heal* because he's been hurt, seriously hurt and you don't *fuck* with healing on things like that.
And then it doesn't matter because he needs to kiss Wesley and not even a goddess could make him stop.
Wesley freezes. Angel can feel the fear licking through him. Then, like an explosion of joy, Wes clings to him and kisses him back.
"I thought I lost you," Wesley whispers, his forehead resting against Angel's own.
"You never could," Angel promises him. He picks Wes up and puts him into bed.
***
They lie together, side by side, Angel's chest against Wes's back. Hands thread together, tangle, warm against cool. It's hours later, after Wes has actually managed to get something that comes close to peaceful sleep. Wes is still shaking, though, and Angel knows it's going to be a long while before Wes totally resembles a man who is healthy.
Wanting to help that process, Angel offers a piece of information that he thinks will make for a good start.
"I sent him to Hell," Angel whispers. It's the first time he's said it.
Wes is quiet, but quick on the uptake. "That was the price."
Angel nods. Then, because he feels Wes should know this, says "It's okay if that makes you happy."
A look in Wes's eyes suggests this was the right thing to say. Wes has words of his own though: "It's okay if it makes you sad."
Angel hugs Wes tighter to himself. Ironically, Wes is the only person he can think of ever talking about this with. Especially since -
"Cordelia?"
"Couldn't save her," Angel tells him. "Coma. They say they'll keep trying."
Wes nods, accepts it. Then: "I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"I never wanted you to lose your son."
Angel feels the words like a fist in his gut, but it's the right kind of pain. "I don't think I ever had him."
"Even still."
Philosophical shrug. "Some things aren't meant to be."
"I'm afraid I don't know what those things are anymore," Wesley admits. He studies Angel's hand, runs a shaking fingertip over the back of it. "My plans - "
"Are good."
There's a bark of harsh laughter. "Unnecessary, is the word I think you're looking for."
"I know my own words," Angel tells him. "Now if you want me to say I would have ever agreed to this you're wrong. If I'd had *any* idea - " he bites this off, stops himself from yelling, from cursing Wes for the anger he feels at *himself* for that night down in the sewers. Controls himself, then settles on "Never again. You don't do that ever again."
"And when the next Apocalypse comes? Am I to stand on the sidelines? Value myself more than the world?"
"Yes."
"Angel - "
He cups Wes's chin, turns him around to face him. "Screw the world, Wes. Screw everything. You think I would've done all this for just anyone? When I found out what my own *son* was doing - " he stops, aborts the sentence because he knows it will only bring pain to the both of them. "I did it for you, Wes. But the catch is I've got nothing after this. So yeah. I kind of need you to keep yourself safe, 'cause if you won't do it then I'll have to. Even if it means I go down with you."
Wes stiffens. Starts to pull away. "Lorne didn't tell you everything."
Angel won't let him go. "He didn't have to. You did."
"You have no idea - "
"I know after a while you started to like it."
There's a long, tangible silence.
"It happens," Angel tells him. "Believe me, I know. Apple didn't fall far from the tree, Wes. It's nothing for you to be ashamed of."
Wes is sitting up now. Hands propped on either side of him to help him maintain the position. His back is to Angel, but even so Angel can hear him when he finally speaks.
"I wanted it to be you." Wes turns around, meets Angel's eyes, his own dark to the point of near blackness. "I always... I tried, but I couldn't - "
"I know," Angel says. He reaches for Wes, pulls him close again. Wes settles down, puts his head on Angel's chest. Angel thinks back to all the Wesleys *he's* tortured in his life. "It's okay. You got me now. Dead body and all."
"I lied," Wes says, unnecessarily. "I never liked him because he was human. I hated him because he was warm."
Angel, who hates admitting how much he needed to hear that, instead replies with a joke: "Could put my hands in ice if it makes you feel any better."
This coaxes a smile out of Wes. "Not if you ever..." falters, then can't help but be serious "Angel, don't leave? Don't.... It became so hard to remember you. Please, I -"
Angel kisses the top of his head. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."
Wes's shaking gets harder then, but Angel knows it's all right. Sometimes the toxins of the mind just have to work themselves out of the body just like anything else.
He holds Wes close and lets him tremble.
***
Days pass. Angel hardly ever leaves the room. He has clothes and blood sent in. Only goes outside into the hall to take care of business. Usually leaves Lorne in the room with Wes when he does.
It helps Wes, not being alone. But Angel has to admit the reason is selfish too. *He* feels better, keeping an eye on Wes. It makes him stable. Less cranky.
Doesn't stop him from wanting to work his frustrations out by killing people, but you take those things one day at a time.
Wes deals with the physical things. He starts walking again, though he needs a cane. He can eat foods and keep them down. The other things - the phobias, the sleeping - still bother him, but it's understood that will take some time.
Wes still refuses visitors, though, and one day Angel figures Wes is well enough to address this issue.
"There's other parts to the deal," Angel says.
Wes tries to puzzle this over. "There are?"
"If we want," Angel says, immediately clarifies. "You want."
Eyebrows come together in a frown. "And what do I want?"
"People to forget," Angel tells him. "About you and Connor."
"I thought that they - "
"Not the whole thing," Angel reassures him. "But... Connor's guys talked. Everybody knows you slept with him."
Wesley sits back. One hand curls into a fist. "I see."
"We can erase that."
"We can?"
"Already did it for the world," Angel reminds him. "All that's left is the people you know. We can make it so that it never happened. Make everyone forget. Even you."
Wes stands up. Walks out to the balcony. Angel follows. Stays in the safety of the shadows of the room.
"No more nightmares," Angel points out. "No more shaking, no more flashbacks, no more - "
"No more *me*," Wesley snaps. Looks back at him. "Do you demand this of me? To forget everything that I am? Everything I've *done*? I've *earned* this for God's - "
Angel holds up his hands. "No. Not demanding. Just saying. You can make it be whatever you want."
Wes searches his face, looks for the truth. "Would you forget Hell if someone asked you?"
Angel answers honestly. "I tend not to forget anything if someone asks me."
Wes leans back against the railing. It's tall enough that there's no chance of him tipping over. "All I can imagine is some fool version of myself doing this all over again, simply because he doesn't know better."
"Wouldn't want that to happen."
Wes thinks about it. "But we can make the others forget? About - about Connor and me?"
Angel nods. "Just like the world. No more memories of Connor and anything. All anybody would know is that you got captured, then helped us win."
Wes smiles bitterly at that. "Such a proud victory too."
"Doesn't make it less true," Angel reminds him.
Wesley doesn't respond to that. "Is there another price?"
"No. Connor's soul bought us a *lot* of stuff. You don't even know about half of it yet."
"Fine," Wesley says. He pushes away from the railing. "Do it. I want everyone to forget. Everyone except me."
Angel, assuming he's included in this, accepts this as fair. "Okay. You got it."
Wes reads Angel's mind better than most. He comes closer, touches Angel's cheek. "And you. And... Lorne, I think. He's earned it. Besides, decisions like this always have backlashes. We'll need his skills to navigate them."
Angel frowns. "You sure?"
Now it's Wes's turn to hold him. "I told you, Angel. I would never take away your son."
Angel hugs him and they go back inside.
***
