Strategy Part Fifteen
Jul. 30th, 2003 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenYep, I lied again. There's at least one more part after this. I am seriously bad on judging these things, lemme tell ya. Anyway...
PART FIFTEEN
Reality gets shifted again. Angel watches it, marveling at how easily the people who are, for all intents and purposes, his friends adapt. He's encountered more alternate dimensions and changed timelines than he can count at this point and it never fails to disorient him, even from the outside.
Wes is wary about the whole thing. He becomes tighter, sharper. Then one day he curtly says he'll take visitors and Angel knows Wes is doing it to get it *over* with, and not because he really wants to.
Gunn and Fred come in. Make with the awkward talk. Gunn does that thing where he's not sure if he's supposed to be on the macho kidding behavior of friends or the aloof coolness of two guys who refuse to deal with their emotions. He wavers back and forth and at no time does Wes help out and give him a clue.
Fred's more vocal. She smiles, plops herself down on the edge of Wes's bed without invitation. Goes on and on about life in general without ever noticing that Wes doesn't say much in return. Then, visiting hours over, she wraps her dancer-thin arms around Wes and hugs him tight. Wes hugs her back. Stiffly, but he does it. For half a second Angel's tempted to ask him something stupid like "Are you still in love with her?" but he cuts the urge off at the pass. A second later and he's musing *You know, there's more shifts in reality that could be done…* and then he abandons that one too. He and Wes have enough to deal with. His petty jealousies can wait.
They don't have to wait long. Once Fred and Gunn are gone Wes's outward bravado fails him, and he drops the masks so quickly it's as though Angel can hear them crash onto floor. Blue eyes look over towards Angel, then, and the vampire knows he's needed. He curls up beside Wes, hugs him in arms much bigger and safer than Fred's could ever be, and lets Wes try to relax.
Faith visits. Which surprises the shit out of Angel but mostly because when he left the room it was Lorne in there and Faith in no way resembles the green demon. But Angel comes back in after a meeting to find the other Slayer sitting sideways on Wes's bed, easy as anything, as she and Wes are in the middle of talking about something that's good enough to make Wes laugh.
Angel's not his son. He smiles. Feels glad Wes has somebody else that makes him feel happy. Decides to take a few extra minutes to leave the two of them to themselves.
***
The time comes for Wes to leave the hospital.
It's potentially complicated. There's lots of details that could be involved. Angel knows the milestone has been looming over Wes's head like a sword. Wes doesn't like convalescing, but he's not too fond of leaping out into the real world either.
Angel makes it easy on him. He takes care of all the decisions.
"Come on," he tells Wes one night. It doesn't take much to get Wes's bags packed. Wes never really spread himself out into the room much.
Wes blinks. "Come…?"
Angel touches his cheek. "Home."
Which is how Wes finds out that Angel's decided they're moving in together.
Angel takes care of the bags. Wes takes care of himself. The cane is there, still, will be for a month or more at least. If Angel had his way he'd put Wes back in a wheelchair, but he knows Wes has to decide this on his own.
They get down to the hospital garage. Angel clicks the remote for his car. He dumps Wes's bags into it then notices Wes standing there, staring at the vehicle.
"What?"
"This is a Ferrari."
"Um… yeah."
"Specifically, it is a Ferrari 575M Maranello."
Angel sees where this is going. "Company car," he mutters.
Wes actually looks amused. "Oh yes. Very practical."
"Hey - you should see it handle potholes."
"Of course," Wesley says, and the humor in his eyes actually makes him look like a ghost of his old self. "Still, I must ask - "
"What?"
Skeptical look now. "Honestly - in *silver*?"
"Shaddup."
***
They go back to Angel's new digs. Take the private elevator up. Wes marvels at the glass, reaching out to touch it. Then they hit the suite and Wes has *that* to take in. He tries to explore all of it but finally Angel won't let him. Wes is looking pale, and the shaking has moved up to include his arms. Angel orders food in. Makes Wes curl up with him on the eight foot long couch. Lights a fire in the fireplace and holds him close while he eats. Wes manages a few bites and then has to put it aside. Angel isn't surprised when he ends up throwing it up later.
There's two bedrooms. Angel made sure of it. But when bedtime comes Wes is right there beside him and it's not even a question that they'll be together.
There's pills to help Wes sleep but he refuses them. Takes only the ones that are actually medicinal - like the ones that are finishing up the healing on all those formerly broken bones, for example. Instead they stay up and talk for a while. The topics are nothing in particular. Then, just before sleep comes, Angel reaches out and twitches the curtains open.
"In the morning it'll be some view," Angel explains.
Wes looks uncertain, but goes along.
Come morning the sun filters in. Angel feels it on his skin, nice and warm. He opens his eyes to find Wes staring at him. It actually makes him feel self-conscious.
"I meant - " he gestures to the city spread out before them. "That. It's a nice view."
Wes runs a hand down Angel's sunlit chest, never once looking away. "I'm sure it is."
Angel smiles at that and lets Wes stare.
***
There's complications.
They were expected, but it doesn't mean Angel likes them.
The first few days are all about adaptation. Wes learning where everything is. For that matter, *Angel* learning it since he's hardly spent any time in the place himself. There's weirdness. Scheduling. Angel figuring out how to do his job without leaving Wes alone. Lorne comes, visits, picks up the slack. A few times Faith joins in.
But then it goes downhill.
Wes becomes restless. Prowls around the apartment. Doesn't sleep. Finally gives up on trying. Goes to bed with Angel each night but then sneaks out sometime after Angel drops off. Angel wakes up to find Wes out in the living room, curled up with a book that he's not reading.
Then Wes gets so tired that he *has* to sleep, and when he does he can't keep still. He jerks. Moans. Wakes himself up with the violence of his own motions. Then he's upset, irritable, has to go off and be alone.
The trembling becomes even worse. Navigating a knife and fork becomes too difficult, so Wes claims to develop a preference for finger foods - muffins, tacos, pizza and the like. Four cups are shattered - three tea, one wine glass - before Wes gets into the habit of lying and saying he's not thirsty. Angel catches him one day trying to steal sips of water from out of the kitchen faucet when he realizes this isn't going to work.
"We need to talk," Angel tells him, sitting across from him at their breakfast table.
Wes looks like he knows what's coming. "Yes?"
"You have a job here. With the firm. It's up to you but I think you should take it."
"What does it entail?" Wesley asks.
"Helping me," Angel says. Clarifies. "Running it, with me."
Wes is taken aback. "I'd assumed - you're talking vice presidential, are you not?"
"I am not," Angel tells him. "I'm talking running it. With me. Co-CEO or whatever you wanna call it. Put it on your business cards and everything."
"The *entire* firm?"
"We've only got the LA branch."
"Even still…"
Angel sweetens the deal. Pushes a piece of paper across the table. There's a number written on it. "That's your annual salary. *After* taxes."
Wesley's lips part in shock. He squints, as though uncertain of his vision. Then a tiny smile appears.
Thinking that he can read Wes's thoughts, Angel says "Bet you could make your old man proud of you for pulling in even *half* that much."
"Are you joking?" Wesley says, picking the paper up with both hands. "For a third of this I could have him *killed*."
"Actually we have a department that takes care of that kind of thing now."
"No, I - " Wes starts, stops, shakes his head. "Remind me around Christmas."
Angel grins.
"You mean this?" Wesley asks. Puts the paper down again.
"I do."
"You *honestly* mean this?" Wesley asks. "Because I'm not going to take a job as your equal only to have you treat me as second fiddle. It was bad enough when you barely accepted me as your leader."
"I know," Angel says. "And I mean it."
"Because if you cannot abide my partnership, say so now," Wes tells him. "I'd rather this be honest. Give me a lesser job if that's the only thing you can handle. Don't *pity* me into - "
"It's not pity," Angel tells him, his voice brooking no argument. "Believe me, I've got pity for a lot of people right now but you're not one of them. I *need* you, Wes. You *get* this. You know this job isn't going to be fun, or fluffy, and it's going to involve a lot of hard decisions that won't make either one of us any new friends. Name me somebody *besides* you who knows how to do that."
Angel knows the words have impact. Proves that he's been paying attention to all that Wes did in the time with Connor.
"If you *mean* this - "
"I do."
"Then yes," Wesley says. "I accept."
"Good," Angel shoves a stack of paperwork across the table. "There's stuff for you to fill out, make it official. Use ink, even if they tell you to use blood. And this is all your benefits. Bonuses, freebies, car allowance… *House* allowance."
Wes stops. Clearly the other shoe has dropped. "House allowance."
"Yeah," Angel says. "Plus moving expenses."
Wes sits up straighter. More formal. "I see."
"You can't live here."
"Fine."
"I want you to go out. Find a place."
"Yes, fine. I'll pack. Do it - "
Angel ignores him. "Someplace for you. That you own. Put your name on it."
"Angel, I've already *agreed*, I don't see the reason why you have to belabor - "
Angel reaches across the table, catches one of Wes's hands. Shuts him up. "I'm an idiot. This is a suite, just like what you had with Connor. May be bigger, fancier, but it's the same thing. No fucking wonder you're miserable here. You need a new place. One that's *yours*. One that's not gonna feel like a cage to you. I'm thinking house, but you'll know what makes you happy. I want you to take that big, fat, evil allowance, go out, and buy a piece of real estate that you feel comfortable with."
Wes shakes his head, tries to pull away. "I told you. I understand. I - "
"For *us*," Angel tells him. Then tries a teasing smile. "Moron."
"Oh," Wes says. He looks down, then actually blushes a bit. "I thought - oh."
"I love you even if you're stupid sometimes."
There's a tiny smile at that. "Lucky me."
***
The house search gives Wes new purpose. He's British and, well, he's *Wesley* so Angel knows he's happier having something outside of himself to focus on and do. So starting the new job is put on hold while Wes takes care of meeting with real estate agents, going out on appointments, seeing what's on the market.
Wes isn't stable enough to drive yet, so he takes the stretch limo. Sometimes Lorne comes with.
Angel comes home to find Wes pouring over brochures and documents. Glossy photos of various places litter the desks and even the floor. Angel tries to pick them up but Wes makes a hissing sound of displeasure.
"I didn't say you could do that," Wes tells him. "Now shoo."
Angel smiles to himself and lets Wes do his thing. They meet regularly during the day for lunch and the like. Angel notes that the trembling is less during those times. Wes even manages silverware again. It wears off by nighttime though. Once they go to bed Wes is shaking so hard that Angel feels like he might as well have put a quarter into a machine right by the bed, but it's part of the process so Angel deals. He also deals with it once Wes apparently finds something and his free hours, including lunch, are taken up with making all of the necessary arrangements.
Finally Angel discovers his secretary has put an appointment down on his calendar for a "Mr. Wyndam-Pryce" and Wes himself shows up to take him out. They use the limo, with its safely tinted windows, and drive for a while. Eventually they reach a spot not far from Malibu. An automatic gate opens for them. A white house gleams in the distance.
"This the place?" Angel asks.
"You'll see," Wes tells him.
Private garage the size of which could hold several *families*, let alone a good chunk of Angel's new cars. It leads directly into the kitchen and from there Wes gives him the tour.
The place is huge. Tall ceilings. Big rooms. Air flows freely about as the walls are designed to encourage this, rather than cut off both the circulation and the view. Hardwood floors. White walls. Multiple bed and bath rooms, the latter of which have their own saunas or jacuzzis. Plenty of rooms leftover for offices, family rooms - Wes even suggests a pool table and a dart board for a room which also has a wet bar. State of the art kitchen. State of the art *everything*.
But it's the *rest* of it which makes it impressive.
There are windows. Floor to ceiling. Various shapes and sizes. And they cover practically every single outside wall. French doors, sliding doors, sliding windows, double-hung, casement, rotating, skylights - if it's made of glass it's there, giving a near-total view of the outside from the indoors.
Not even the offices have this much sunlight.
"It's a private beach," Wes tells him, as Angel stands by one of the doors to the sand and ocean that is their back yard. "And there's a pool - it's outdoors right now but I can have it sealed in if you like. Put it behind - "
"You did this," Angel says. Taps the glass that's protecting him. "Had this put in special?"
"Er - yes," Wes admits. "The home didn't come like that originally."
"Been a while since I've lived on a beach," Angel says. He reaches out, puts an arm around Wes's waist. "I remember I liked it."
Wes relaxes a hair. "You could live here?"
"Could *you*?"
Wes nods. "Very comfortably."
"Then it's my new home," Angel tells him. Pulls him closer still. Takes it all in, and realizes that yeah, this *could* be a home for him. "When can we move?"
"Immediately, if you'd like."
"I'd like," Angel tells him. Mulls over the specs. "Think we could get a helicopter pad put in?"
Small double take. "That wasn't a joke?"
"In the job description?" Angel asks. "No."
"You own a helicopter now."
"No," Angel reminds him, "*we* own a helicopter now." Small smirk. "You'll like it. It's shiny."
"Like your car?"
"Let it go."
Wes moves closer. Settles into his usual spot of his back to Angel's chest. "I might be able to get used to this."
Angel kisses the top of Wes's head. Hopes Wes is speaking about the rest of their lives in general. "Good."
PART FIFTEEN
Reality gets shifted again. Angel watches it, marveling at how easily the people who are, for all intents and purposes, his friends adapt. He's encountered more alternate dimensions and changed timelines than he can count at this point and it never fails to disorient him, even from the outside.
Wes is wary about the whole thing. He becomes tighter, sharper. Then one day he curtly says he'll take visitors and Angel knows Wes is doing it to get it *over* with, and not because he really wants to.
Gunn and Fred come in. Make with the awkward talk. Gunn does that thing where he's not sure if he's supposed to be on the macho kidding behavior of friends or the aloof coolness of two guys who refuse to deal with their emotions. He wavers back and forth and at no time does Wes help out and give him a clue.
Fred's more vocal. She smiles, plops herself down on the edge of Wes's bed without invitation. Goes on and on about life in general without ever noticing that Wes doesn't say much in return. Then, visiting hours over, she wraps her dancer-thin arms around Wes and hugs him tight. Wes hugs her back. Stiffly, but he does it. For half a second Angel's tempted to ask him something stupid like "Are you still in love with her?" but he cuts the urge off at the pass. A second later and he's musing *You know, there's more shifts in reality that could be done…* and then he abandons that one too. He and Wes have enough to deal with. His petty jealousies can wait.
They don't have to wait long. Once Fred and Gunn are gone Wes's outward bravado fails him, and he drops the masks so quickly it's as though Angel can hear them crash onto floor. Blue eyes look over towards Angel, then, and the vampire knows he's needed. He curls up beside Wes, hugs him in arms much bigger and safer than Fred's could ever be, and lets Wes try to relax.
Faith visits. Which surprises the shit out of Angel but mostly because when he left the room it was Lorne in there and Faith in no way resembles the green demon. But Angel comes back in after a meeting to find the other Slayer sitting sideways on Wes's bed, easy as anything, as she and Wes are in the middle of talking about something that's good enough to make Wes laugh.
Angel's not his son. He smiles. Feels glad Wes has somebody else that makes him feel happy. Decides to take a few extra minutes to leave the two of them to themselves.
***
The time comes for Wes to leave the hospital.
It's potentially complicated. There's lots of details that could be involved. Angel knows the milestone has been looming over Wes's head like a sword. Wes doesn't like convalescing, but he's not too fond of leaping out into the real world either.
Angel makes it easy on him. He takes care of all the decisions.
"Come on," he tells Wes one night. It doesn't take much to get Wes's bags packed. Wes never really spread himself out into the room much.
Wes blinks. "Come…?"
Angel touches his cheek. "Home."
Which is how Wes finds out that Angel's decided they're moving in together.
Angel takes care of the bags. Wes takes care of himself. The cane is there, still, will be for a month or more at least. If Angel had his way he'd put Wes back in a wheelchair, but he knows Wes has to decide this on his own.
They get down to the hospital garage. Angel clicks the remote for his car. He dumps Wes's bags into it then notices Wes standing there, staring at the vehicle.
"What?"
"This is a Ferrari."
"Um… yeah."
"Specifically, it is a Ferrari 575M Maranello."
Angel sees where this is going. "Company car," he mutters.
Wes actually looks amused. "Oh yes. Very practical."
"Hey - you should see it handle potholes."
"Of course," Wesley says, and the humor in his eyes actually makes him look like a ghost of his old self. "Still, I must ask - "
"What?"
Skeptical look now. "Honestly - in *silver*?"
"Shaddup."
***
They go back to Angel's new digs. Take the private elevator up. Wes marvels at the glass, reaching out to touch it. Then they hit the suite and Wes has *that* to take in. He tries to explore all of it but finally Angel won't let him. Wes is looking pale, and the shaking has moved up to include his arms. Angel orders food in. Makes Wes curl up with him on the eight foot long couch. Lights a fire in the fireplace and holds him close while he eats. Wes manages a few bites and then has to put it aside. Angel isn't surprised when he ends up throwing it up later.
There's two bedrooms. Angel made sure of it. But when bedtime comes Wes is right there beside him and it's not even a question that they'll be together.
There's pills to help Wes sleep but he refuses them. Takes only the ones that are actually medicinal - like the ones that are finishing up the healing on all those formerly broken bones, for example. Instead they stay up and talk for a while. The topics are nothing in particular. Then, just before sleep comes, Angel reaches out and twitches the curtains open.
"In the morning it'll be some view," Angel explains.
Wes looks uncertain, but goes along.
Come morning the sun filters in. Angel feels it on his skin, nice and warm. He opens his eyes to find Wes staring at him. It actually makes him feel self-conscious.
"I meant - " he gestures to the city spread out before them. "That. It's a nice view."
Wes runs a hand down Angel's sunlit chest, never once looking away. "I'm sure it is."
Angel smiles at that and lets Wes stare.
***
There's complications.
They were expected, but it doesn't mean Angel likes them.
The first few days are all about adaptation. Wes learning where everything is. For that matter, *Angel* learning it since he's hardly spent any time in the place himself. There's weirdness. Scheduling. Angel figuring out how to do his job without leaving Wes alone. Lorne comes, visits, picks up the slack. A few times Faith joins in.
But then it goes downhill.
Wes becomes restless. Prowls around the apartment. Doesn't sleep. Finally gives up on trying. Goes to bed with Angel each night but then sneaks out sometime after Angel drops off. Angel wakes up to find Wes out in the living room, curled up with a book that he's not reading.
Then Wes gets so tired that he *has* to sleep, and when he does he can't keep still. He jerks. Moans. Wakes himself up with the violence of his own motions. Then he's upset, irritable, has to go off and be alone.
The trembling becomes even worse. Navigating a knife and fork becomes too difficult, so Wes claims to develop a preference for finger foods - muffins, tacos, pizza and the like. Four cups are shattered - three tea, one wine glass - before Wes gets into the habit of lying and saying he's not thirsty. Angel catches him one day trying to steal sips of water from out of the kitchen faucet when he realizes this isn't going to work.
"We need to talk," Angel tells him, sitting across from him at their breakfast table.
Wes looks like he knows what's coming. "Yes?"
"You have a job here. With the firm. It's up to you but I think you should take it."
"What does it entail?" Wesley asks.
"Helping me," Angel says. Clarifies. "Running it, with me."
Wes is taken aback. "I'd assumed - you're talking vice presidential, are you not?"
"I am not," Angel tells him. "I'm talking running it. With me. Co-CEO or whatever you wanna call it. Put it on your business cards and everything."
"The *entire* firm?"
"We've only got the LA branch."
"Even still…"
Angel sweetens the deal. Pushes a piece of paper across the table. There's a number written on it. "That's your annual salary. *After* taxes."
Wesley's lips part in shock. He squints, as though uncertain of his vision. Then a tiny smile appears.
Thinking that he can read Wes's thoughts, Angel says "Bet you could make your old man proud of you for pulling in even *half* that much."
"Are you joking?" Wesley says, picking the paper up with both hands. "For a third of this I could have him *killed*."
"Actually we have a department that takes care of that kind of thing now."
"No, I - " Wes starts, stops, shakes his head. "Remind me around Christmas."
Angel grins.
"You mean this?" Wesley asks. Puts the paper down again.
"I do."
"You *honestly* mean this?" Wesley asks. "Because I'm not going to take a job as your equal only to have you treat me as second fiddle. It was bad enough when you barely accepted me as your leader."
"I know," Angel says. "And I mean it."
"Because if you cannot abide my partnership, say so now," Wes tells him. "I'd rather this be honest. Give me a lesser job if that's the only thing you can handle. Don't *pity* me into - "
"It's not pity," Angel tells him, his voice brooking no argument. "Believe me, I've got pity for a lot of people right now but you're not one of them. I *need* you, Wes. You *get* this. You know this job isn't going to be fun, or fluffy, and it's going to involve a lot of hard decisions that won't make either one of us any new friends. Name me somebody *besides* you who knows how to do that."
Angel knows the words have impact. Proves that he's been paying attention to all that Wes did in the time with Connor.
"If you *mean* this - "
"I do."
"Then yes," Wesley says. "I accept."
"Good," Angel shoves a stack of paperwork across the table. "There's stuff for you to fill out, make it official. Use ink, even if they tell you to use blood. And this is all your benefits. Bonuses, freebies, car allowance… *House* allowance."
Wes stops. Clearly the other shoe has dropped. "House allowance."
"Yeah," Angel says. "Plus moving expenses."
Wes sits up straighter. More formal. "I see."
"You can't live here."
"Fine."
"I want you to go out. Find a place."
"Yes, fine. I'll pack. Do it - "
Angel ignores him. "Someplace for you. That you own. Put your name on it."
"Angel, I've already *agreed*, I don't see the reason why you have to belabor - "
Angel reaches across the table, catches one of Wes's hands. Shuts him up. "I'm an idiot. This is a suite, just like what you had with Connor. May be bigger, fancier, but it's the same thing. No fucking wonder you're miserable here. You need a new place. One that's *yours*. One that's not gonna feel like a cage to you. I'm thinking house, but you'll know what makes you happy. I want you to take that big, fat, evil allowance, go out, and buy a piece of real estate that you feel comfortable with."
Wes shakes his head, tries to pull away. "I told you. I understand. I - "
"For *us*," Angel tells him. Then tries a teasing smile. "Moron."
"Oh," Wes says. He looks down, then actually blushes a bit. "I thought - oh."
"I love you even if you're stupid sometimes."
There's a tiny smile at that. "Lucky me."
***
The house search gives Wes new purpose. He's British and, well, he's *Wesley* so Angel knows he's happier having something outside of himself to focus on and do. So starting the new job is put on hold while Wes takes care of meeting with real estate agents, going out on appointments, seeing what's on the market.
Wes isn't stable enough to drive yet, so he takes the stretch limo. Sometimes Lorne comes with.
Angel comes home to find Wes pouring over brochures and documents. Glossy photos of various places litter the desks and even the floor. Angel tries to pick them up but Wes makes a hissing sound of displeasure.
"I didn't say you could do that," Wes tells him. "Now shoo."
Angel smiles to himself and lets Wes do his thing. They meet regularly during the day for lunch and the like. Angel notes that the trembling is less during those times. Wes even manages silverware again. It wears off by nighttime though. Once they go to bed Wes is shaking so hard that Angel feels like he might as well have put a quarter into a machine right by the bed, but it's part of the process so Angel deals. He also deals with it once Wes apparently finds something and his free hours, including lunch, are taken up with making all of the necessary arrangements.
Finally Angel discovers his secretary has put an appointment down on his calendar for a "Mr. Wyndam-Pryce" and Wes himself shows up to take him out. They use the limo, with its safely tinted windows, and drive for a while. Eventually they reach a spot not far from Malibu. An automatic gate opens for them. A white house gleams in the distance.
"This the place?" Angel asks.
"You'll see," Wes tells him.
Private garage the size of which could hold several *families*, let alone a good chunk of Angel's new cars. It leads directly into the kitchen and from there Wes gives him the tour.
The place is huge. Tall ceilings. Big rooms. Air flows freely about as the walls are designed to encourage this, rather than cut off both the circulation and the view. Hardwood floors. White walls. Multiple bed and bath rooms, the latter of which have their own saunas or jacuzzis. Plenty of rooms leftover for offices, family rooms - Wes even suggests a pool table and a dart board for a room which also has a wet bar. State of the art kitchen. State of the art *everything*.
But it's the *rest* of it which makes it impressive.
There are windows. Floor to ceiling. Various shapes and sizes. And they cover practically every single outside wall. French doors, sliding doors, sliding windows, double-hung, casement, rotating, skylights - if it's made of glass it's there, giving a near-total view of the outside from the indoors.
Not even the offices have this much sunlight.
"It's a private beach," Wes tells him, as Angel stands by one of the doors to the sand and ocean that is their back yard. "And there's a pool - it's outdoors right now but I can have it sealed in if you like. Put it behind - "
"You did this," Angel says. Taps the glass that's protecting him. "Had this put in special?"
"Er - yes," Wes admits. "The home didn't come like that originally."
"Been a while since I've lived on a beach," Angel says. He reaches out, puts an arm around Wes's waist. "I remember I liked it."
Wes relaxes a hair. "You could live here?"
"Could *you*?"
Wes nods. "Very comfortably."
"Then it's my new home," Angel tells him. Pulls him closer still. Takes it all in, and realizes that yeah, this *could* be a home for him. "When can we move?"
"Immediately, if you'd like."
"I'd like," Angel tells him. Mulls over the specs. "Think we could get a helicopter pad put in?"
Small double take. "That wasn't a joke?"
"In the job description?" Angel asks. "No."
"You own a helicopter now."
"No," Angel reminds him, "*we* own a helicopter now." Small smirk. "You'll like it. It's shiny."
"Like your car?"
"Let it go."
Wes moves closer. Settles into his usual spot of his back to Angel's chest. "I might be able to get used to this."
Angel kisses the top of Wes's head. Hopes Wes is speaking about the rest of their lives in general. "Good."
