Vegas Odds
Feb. 16th, 2004 11:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thebratqueenI did this story for a zine back in Feb 2002. Never did get my trib copy but enough time's passed that I figure no harm in posting the story anyway.
So, little Angel/Wes blast from the past for ya. Picture it. Season Two. Sometime after Disharmony. And we fade in on...
Vegas Odds
By: The Brat Queen
Thanks to Maximum Woman and Meredith for their betaing.
***
Angel walked through the lobby of the hotel. The lights were dim, which he liked. It made the empty space feel more cozy and homelike.
Which, he realized, probably made a Hell of a lot of sense for a vampire.
He double-checked the front door to make sure it was locked, then headed over to his - Wes's - office. Wesley was there, bent over a huge volume of some language Angel couldn't even identify. He was frowning, as though thinking about something. His left hand hovered in mid-air, holding on to a plastic fork with a french fry on the end of it. Angel winced as a drop of ketchup fell.
"Um - your desk," he said.
"What?" Wesley looked up, blinking in polite confusion.
"Your desk," Angel said again. He stepped inside and grabbed a napkin that had been left by the coffeepot, handing it to Wesley and pointing. "That's gonna leave a stain."
"Oh," Wesley said, realizing. He pushed his book to safety and wiped up the spill, checking his rolled up shirtsleeve for any damage. "Well - that's why they call them blotters, I suppose. I'll have to buy a new one. Thank you."
"No problem," Angel said. He watched as Wes cleaned up the mess and threw the napkin into the trash. "So - good book?"
"This?" Wesley asked, gesturing to it. "It's a history of the evolution of Thrall demons vis-à-vis habitation in oceanic versus landlocked dwellings."
"Huh," Angel said, taking that in. "So - good book?"
"Not really," Wesley admitted. "But it gives me something to do."
And there was the heart of it. It was Friday night. Cordy was out with some guy she'd met on a case, Gunn was out doing whatever the fuck it was Gunn did when he wasn't there, and Angel and Wes -
"Did you have plans for the evening?" Wesley asked, cutting into his train of thought.
Angel snagged a chair and sprawled into it. He figured that looked casual. "You know me. Red Hot Bingo night at St. Cecilia's. Except Father Riley's got that cold that's going around so I was thinking I might stay in. You?"
"Just the Thrall demons and what is now a very cold ham sandwich," Wes stood up to put his dinner in the microwave. "I'm open to suggestions if you have them."
Angel felt a lick of hope. "You don't mind staying in?"
Wesley gave a half-shrug, sitting down again. "It was my plan to start with, assuming you didn't mind the company."
"I didn't," Angel said. "I mean I don't. I mean - wanna play cards?"
Wes considered it. "I suppose so. What did you have in mind? There aren't many games one can play with two people."
"How about blackjack?" Angel asked. He got up to fish a deck of cards out of the "Miscellaneous" box Cordy kept by her desk then came back and sat down again. "You know it?"
"Try to get 21 without going over?" Wesley gave him a look as he cleared a space on his desk. "Yes, I believe I might have heard of this quaint diversion during the course of my sheltered existence as a man who kills vampires and demons for a living. What are we playing for?"
Angel paused as he shuffled the deck. He was still getting used to what he thought of as the New Wesley. The "You fired me and left me and the others for dead as far as you know so I'm not really going to take your bullshit anymore" Wesley. He actually kind of liked it. "For?"
"Yes," Wesley said. "It's blackjack. One doesn't normally play for the sheer psychological pleasure of exercising one's math skills and hand/eye co-ordination. Are we playing for money?"
"Guess we could," Angel said. He dug around in his pockets and pulled out some twenties. "That work?"
"I think so," Wes said. He pulled out a few twenties of his own, then exchanged all of them for singles out of petty cash. He divided them up, then put two dollars into the pot. "Hit me."
Angel shuffled the deck one last time, had Wes cut the cards, then dealt out the first four to start with. He had a king and a five. He decided to hold. Wes was showing an eight.
"Hit me. Hit me. Hit me. Damn." Wes turned his card over and revealed an ace. Which added to his eight, three and ten made twenty-two. He pushed his cards and the pot towards Angel.
Angel tossed back a dollar for the next game. "You know you can *stop* saying that. You don't have to keep getting cards and hope they magically equal twenty one."
"Oh, can I?" Wes smirked, putting in another dollar. "I'll bear that in mind for next time."
Angel shuffled. "Yeah. And aces could be one or eleven. You had an ace and an eight - that's nineteen. So you should have stayed. Would've beat my fifteen."
"Is this the sort of information you pick up at Father Riley's Friday night bingo?" Wes asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.
"Had to do something when I wasn't being the Scourge of Europe," Angel said. He dealt again.
Wes wiped his mouth. "Was that really something on a schedule? Did you wake up in the evening and decide that you'd spend perhaps six to seven hours scourging things and then leave a little extra time for cards, sport and spending time with your family?"
"Nah, it came naturally," Angel said. He dealt Wes two more cards and gave himself three. Wes had sixteen, he had twenty. He left a dollar in the pot and reshuffled.
"And these days?" Wesley asked, looking at him strangely. "Does it come naturally these days?"
Angel tapped the cards together, buying himself a little time. "It - you know I'm sorry about that, Wes. I - I'm not gonna - "
"No," Wesley said. He reached across the desk to cut the cards. "You might. The possibility always exists that you might. I suppose we can't entirely fault you for the fact that sometimes we forget that - or at least wish it wasn't so."
"I'm sorry," Angel said, wishing he could think of something better to tell him.
"It's all right," Wes replied. He finished his sandwich and cleaned his hands with a napkin. "Go on, deal. I hope to win at least one of these before I've gambled away the money to pay my rent."
"You're the one who wanted to do this with money," Angel said. "I was fine with the hand/eye co-ordination thing."
"Yes, but that's dull. Here - let's liven things up a bit," Wesley put five dollars into the pot. Angel matched it. "Go on then."
Angel dealt. Wes got eighteen. Angel busted.
Wes smirked, taking his winnings. "It seems that Dame Fortune smiles upon me."
Angel shuffled. "Yeah, or luck."
"That would *be* Dame Fortune, Angel."
"Oh. Right." Angel dealt, waiting for Wes to pick his move. "So how would you know about gambling being more interesting anyway? When's a Watcher got time for that?"
Wesley took four more cards. "I was known to play an occasional game of cards back in my university days. As you say, it was something to do when I wasn't - "
"What? You were the Scourge of Europe and never told me?"
"Yes, I didn't want to hurt your fragile ego," Wes said. "I thought it might disturb you to realize you'd been replaced like the Dread Pirate Roberts."
"Who?"
"Never mind," Wes busted again and responded by putting ten dollars into the pot. Angel matched it, hoping he wasn't going to end up bankrupting Wes before the night was out. "It was a distraction from the stress of studying for the Council. And it provided a necessary explanation for why I spent so many of my evenings in the company of men."
Angel took one card too many and hit twenty-five. He anted another ten into the pot. "Why would you need an explanation?"
In response, Wes just looked at him. His blue eyes were serious enough that finally it clicked.
"Oh," Angel said. "I - um - oh."
"Indeed," Wesley said. He waited for his cards. "Which is another reason why the gambling came in handy. It wasn't as though my parents or the Council were going to support such things with a raise in my monthly stipend."
Angel tried to comprehend the mental image of a college-aged Wesley sitting around a table with a bunch of guys he first played cards with and then fucked. He decided he couldn't handle it. "Yeah, I - I'm sorry to hear that. About your parents I mean."
"Thank you," Wesley said. He studied his cards and added another five dollars to the pot.
Angel matched the bid, not even knowing what his own cards were. "I mean I know your dad - " a small, almost imperceptible shake of Wesley's head told him not to go there "Right. Um. You know *I* don't care, right? That you're gay?"
"Bisexual," Wesley said.
"Whatever," Angel said. "I mean - whatever. Whatever you want. Men - women - sheep. Whatever you want, Wes. Whatever makes you happy."
"Sheep?"
"Whatever."
"Yes, but *sheep*?"
"I'm just saying - "
"I wouldn't even know *how*," Wesley said. "Putting aside for the moment the fact that you're only saying that because I'm British - "
"It's just a random example."
"- I must say I'm given to wonder how one would even *start* a relationship of that nature -"
"Why would it be because you're *British*?"
"- I mean is there some sort of judgment? A type of wool or sound of a 'baa' which is deemed sexier than another? Does one get distracted at the butcher's -"
"Everybody knows it's the *Scots* who -"
"- and think to oneself 'Ah yes, if only this flesh were still alive I would find it quite stimulating and would want to be inside of it' - "
"And my *point* is that you can do whatever you want. You can fuck *watermelons* if you want to. I'm still there for you."
Wes wound down, looking at him. "Watermelons."
Angel shrugged, taking a few cards. "Yeah, sure."
Wes turned his card over, revealing seventeen. "Are you drunk?"
Angel double-checked and realized he had stopped at fourteen like an idiot. He gave the pot up to Wesley and shuffled. "Why do you ask?"
"You're suggesting I have sexual relations with fruit - with your blessing - and you wonder why I conclude you might be intoxicated," Wesley said. "I can't say that's successfully arguing for your sobriety."
"I'm sober, I'm not saying you *have* to fuck a watermelon, I'm just saying whatever you are I'm behind ya. You're - you know - I'm behind you." Angel anted up. "Would you take your cards already?"
"Yes, well, thank you for your support. Should I ever find myself overcome at the sight of tropical fruit, I'll be sure to call," Wes motioned for two more cards. "Is it a vampire thing?"
Angel watched Wes look over his cards. "What?"
"The obsession with fruit and animals," off of Angel's look, Wes held his hands up innocently. "It's a reasonable assumption. Bestiality is considered a taboo by most mortal standards. Vampires have - *soulless* vampires have no moral standards. It stands to wonder."
"Thanks for the clarification," Angel smirked. "And yeah. That was me. Scourge of Europe, bananas and calico cats. Just try asking Spike about how hard it was to control me near fruit stands and pet stores."
"Oh be quiet," Wes said, but he was smiling.
"Even today it's not easy," Angel said, taking a few cards himself. "I see somebody wearing a mink coat and eating an apple and I'm telling ya - damn near perfect happiness."
"Yes, well, that's a visual memory which shall certainly keep me unpleasantly awake on the long winter nights," Wesley said. "Thank you."
"You asked."
"Are you done or aren't you?" Wes replied.
Angel checked his cards, saw he had nineteen, and flipped his card over to show Wes. Wes had twenty so he took the cash. "So how's that working out for ya?"
"What?" Wesley asked. He loosened his tie as Angel set up the next hand.
"Being - you know - bi," Angel said. "How's that going?"
"Well," Wesley said, looking puzzled, "I broke up with my girlfriend over three weeks ago, I haven't met anyone since, and given the nature of our profession I often wonder if I'm destined to die alone, but beyond that I'd say it's working out smashingly."
"Oh," Angel said. Suddenly dealing Wes some cards seemed really insignificant. A few details of what he said stood out in his mind. "So you're not - um - seeing anybody? New I mean?"
"No," Wes said.
"Are you sure?"
"I think I would have noticed."
Angel smiled to show he got the joke. "Yeah, I know. I just meant - you know. You go out to bars sometimes. Meet people. Doesn't have to be serious. And sometimes that kind of thing can *get* serious. So - I'm just wondering."
Wes took his cards. "You're just wondering if I'm currently seeing anyone?"
Angel realized how that sounded. He mentally kicked himself and grabbed on to an excuse. "Yeah. You know. I'm trying to whaddyacallit - engage my co-workers from time to time. Show that I appreciate them. Some guy told me to do that."
"I see," Wes said. He moved one of his eights aside. "I'm splitting."
Angel blinked. "You're what?"
Wes anted up again. "Splitting. I have two eights so I'm splitting them."
Angel looked from Wes to the cards and back again. "What does that mean?"
"It's a standard blackjack term," Wes said. "If one has two cards of equal value you can split them into two hands and wager on each after getting a second card for each one. Each hand is then played normally."
"I've never heard of it," Angel said.
"You've been gambling for over 247 years and you've never heard of the term?" Wesley looked at him in disbelief.
"I've been gambling for over 247 years and I never *once* had to split a hand at blackjack," Angel said.
"Yes, well I'd daresay that in all your life you've never been *pregnant* either," Wes said, "but that does not mean babies are never born."
"Ha, ha. But what I’m *saying* is - " Angel stopped. He looked at the desk in front of him. Somehow he'd lost track of how many hands he'd won, and the nice big pile of cash was *not* sitting on his side of the desk. Wes looked at him with those blue I'm-just-a-polite-bumbling-British-guy eyes and Angel realized he'd been had. "You little shit."
Wes raised his eyebrows as though offended. "What?"
"You've been *hustling* me," Angel said. "I can't believe it."
"I'm a bit surprised it took you this long to figure out," Wes admitted.
"'Hit me, hit me, hit me'," Angel repeated, shaking his head. "Like you've never played before."
Wes grinned. "I *told* you I had."
"Yeah, back in college," Angel said. He gathered the cards up, letting Wes have what was in the pot. "I'm supposed to be threatened by a guy who hasn't played in ten years?"
"You're the one who assumed I hadn't been playing since then," Wes pointed out. "Honestly, how on earth did you run a detective agency? You know I spend my evenings in the pubs, you know I managed to find the finances to keep this company afloat - "
"Yeah, but I didn't know you were some kind of *card shark*," Angel said. He leaned back in his chair, propping his foot against the back of the desk. "Is that really where you're getting the extra money from?"
"To a certain extent," Wesley said. He picked the deck up and started shuffling it himself. His manipulated the cards easily, cutting the deck with one hand. "In the course of my life I've found that it never hurts to have all sorts of methods for getting what I've wanted. It just so happens that one such thing is enough cash to make sure we remain in business."
"Nice to know my money's going to a good cause," Angel said. He pushed the rest of his spare money across the desk. "Here, take the rest."
Wes pushed it back. "Now, now. There's no need to be a sore loser. Here - I'll give you a chance to win it back. Let's play a round of poker."
"You can't play poker with two people," Angel said. "It's stupid. And I don't care about the money."
"So why are you playing with me?" Wesley asked.
Again Angel fished for a plausible reason. "I just - okay maybe I care a little about the money."
Wesley shook his head, putting the deck down in front of him. "Angel, why can't you admit that you want me to stay?"
There it was again. New Wesley - cutting to the chase and taking none of Angel's bullshit. "Um - "
"Come," Wesley said, handing him the deck. "Play a game with me. A simple game of poker. Even you can handle it."
Angel turned the deck over in his hands. He looked up at Wesley. "What are we playing for?"
"Money's not good enough for you?" Wesley asked.
"I'm kinda out of it at the moment."
"Then we'll play for what I've won," Wes said. "Winner take all. The game is Face-Up Poker. It starts with each player picking his own cards out of the deck and leaving them in view of the other player. We both take a turn, then have the option to discard as many cards as we like and pick again. Whoever has the highest hand wins. In the event of a tie the pot stays, we ante up once more and play again, with the second player drawing his cards first."
Wes slid his earnings into the middle of the desk. Angel mulled the rules over. "I don't get it."
"What's to get?" Wesley asked.
"How can you lose when you're picking your own cards?" Angel replied. "Why would you even want to play?"
Wesley shrugged. "You'll just have to find out."
Not really sure why he was agreeing to it, Angel flipped through the deck and chose his cards. He selected the ace, king, queen, jack and ten of spades, putting them on the desk. "There. Royal flush."
"Impressive," Wesley said. He took the deck and picked his own cards, putting down a royal flush in diamonds. "Would you like to discard?"
"No."
"Neither would I," Wes said. "Therefore it's a tie."
"Spades beat diamonds," Angel said.
"Not according to Hoyle," Wesley argued, and Angel had no doubt that Wes probably had the rules book memorized. "We'll have to play again."
"Yeah, but for what?" Angel asked. "All the money's in the pot."
"True," Wesley said. He looked up. His eyes were an intense blue. "So let's play for something else you'd want."
Angel swallowed. "I - um - I don't think you know - "
"That's your assumption," Wesley said. He spread the cards out in front of him in a perfect semicircle. "Are you certain it's a correct one, given your record so far?"
The room seemed very, very quiet. "So what are we playing for?"
Wes lifted a card and made all the others flip over like dominos. "If you win - I'll let you have what you want. If I win, I'll do what I want."
"And what's that?"
"Ah," Wesley said, putting the deck back together again, "I believe that's why they call it gambling. Do we have a deal?"
Angel wondered what it meant if they tied. "Okay. Sure."
Wes nodded his approval and chose his hand. He laid down four tens and a two.
Angel frowned. "Are twos wild?"
Wesley gave him the deck. "No."
"Okay," Angel said. He took the cards. Wes had chosen four of a kind. He'd chosen *tens* in four of a kind. In regular poker it wasn't bad, but in this kind it was a beatable hand. What the fuck did it mean? He could lose. Did he *want* to lose? Did he want Angel to *make* him lose?
"Take the hand that you want, Angel," Wes said. He didn't look nervous.
Angel figured that was his answer. Not so much of a metaphor here. Cards on the table, what did he *want*? He took a chance and pulled out four aces and a king. It beat Wes's hand on every level. "There," he said, putting his cards down. "That's what I want."
"I see," Wes said, "I must say I appreciate your candor."
"I'm trying to be honest here."
"As am I," Wesley said. He took the deck back. "Now I'm going to discard."
Angel blinked. He'd forgotten about that.
If Wes noticed Angel's worry, he gave no indication. Instead he calmly got rid of every card except the ten of clubs, then selected the king, queen, jack and nine that went with it. Straight flush, king high. It was a still beatable hand.
Confident with his choice, Angel took the deck back. He got ready to pull out another royal flush -
- and then realized that Wes had screwed him over. All of the tens were in the discard pile. The best he could do was a straight flush, nine high. Wes had won.
"I *told* you," Wesley said. "I play these games to get what I want."
"Okay," Angel said, defeated. "I - I got it. I'll - um - I'll stop bugging you."
Wesley sighed. "Aren't you going to ask?"
Angel looked at him. "What?"
"What I want."
Angel shrugged, indicating the distance between them. "I figured - "
"Which has gone so well for you this evening," Wesley retorted. He stood up. He leaned over the desk and grabbed Angel by the shirtfront. Angel was so surprised by the gesture he didn't even fight as Wesley hauled him up.
And then kissed him.
There was a shock. Then an almost audible stripping of every one of his mental gears. Then his senses came back in a rush and he could taste Wesley's lips, feel Wesley's body, smell Wesley's cologne, hear Wesley give a soft sound of need….
And he decided that he *loved* the New Wes.
So, little Angel/Wes blast from the past for ya. Picture it. Season Two. Sometime after Disharmony. And we fade in on...
Vegas Odds
By: The Brat Queen
Thanks to Maximum Woman and Meredith for their betaing.
***
Angel walked through the lobby of the hotel. The lights were dim, which he liked. It made the empty space feel more cozy and homelike.
Which, he realized, probably made a Hell of a lot of sense for a vampire.
He double-checked the front door to make sure it was locked, then headed over to his - Wes's - office. Wesley was there, bent over a huge volume of some language Angel couldn't even identify. He was frowning, as though thinking about something. His left hand hovered in mid-air, holding on to a plastic fork with a french fry on the end of it. Angel winced as a drop of ketchup fell.
"Um - your desk," he said.
"What?" Wesley looked up, blinking in polite confusion.
"Your desk," Angel said again. He stepped inside and grabbed a napkin that had been left by the coffeepot, handing it to Wesley and pointing. "That's gonna leave a stain."
"Oh," Wesley said, realizing. He pushed his book to safety and wiped up the spill, checking his rolled up shirtsleeve for any damage. "Well - that's why they call them blotters, I suppose. I'll have to buy a new one. Thank you."
"No problem," Angel said. He watched as Wes cleaned up the mess and threw the napkin into the trash. "So - good book?"
"This?" Wesley asked, gesturing to it. "It's a history of the evolution of Thrall demons vis-à-vis habitation in oceanic versus landlocked dwellings."
"Huh," Angel said, taking that in. "So - good book?"
"Not really," Wesley admitted. "But it gives me something to do."
And there was the heart of it. It was Friday night. Cordy was out with some guy she'd met on a case, Gunn was out doing whatever the fuck it was Gunn did when he wasn't there, and Angel and Wes -
"Did you have plans for the evening?" Wesley asked, cutting into his train of thought.
Angel snagged a chair and sprawled into it. He figured that looked casual. "You know me. Red Hot Bingo night at St. Cecilia's. Except Father Riley's got that cold that's going around so I was thinking I might stay in. You?"
"Just the Thrall demons and what is now a very cold ham sandwich," Wes stood up to put his dinner in the microwave. "I'm open to suggestions if you have them."
Angel felt a lick of hope. "You don't mind staying in?"
Wesley gave a half-shrug, sitting down again. "It was my plan to start with, assuming you didn't mind the company."
"I didn't," Angel said. "I mean I don't. I mean - wanna play cards?"
Wes considered it. "I suppose so. What did you have in mind? There aren't many games one can play with two people."
"How about blackjack?" Angel asked. He got up to fish a deck of cards out of the "Miscellaneous" box Cordy kept by her desk then came back and sat down again. "You know it?"
"Try to get 21 without going over?" Wesley gave him a look as he cleared a space on his desk. "Yes, I believe I might have heard of this quaint diversion during the course of my sheltered existence as a man who kills vampires and demons for a living. What are we playing for?"
Angel paused as he shuffled the deck. He was still getting used to what he thought of as the New Wesley. The "You fired me and left me and the others for dead as far as you know so I'm not really going to take your bullshit anymore" Wesley. He actually kind of liked it. "For?"
"Yes," Wesley said. "It's blackjack. One doesn't normally play for the sheer psychological pleasure of exercising one's math skills and hand/eye co-ordination. Are we playing for money?"
"Guess we could," Angel said. He dug around in his pockets and pulled out some twenties. "That work?"
"I think so," Wes said. He pulled out a few twenties of his own, then exchanged all of them for singles out of petty cash. He divided them up, then put two dollars into the pot. "Hit me."
Angel shuffled the deck one last time, had Wes cut the cards, then dealt out the first four to start with. He had a king and a five. He decided to hold. Wes was showing an eight.
"Hit me. Hit me. Hit me. Damn." Wes turned his card over and revealed an ace. Which added to his eight, three and ten made twenty-two. He pushed his cards and the pot towards Angel.
Angel tossed back a dollar for the next game. "You know you can *stop* saying that. You don't have to keep getting cards and hope they magically equal twenty one."
"Oh, can I?" Wes smirked, putting in another dollar. "I'll bear that in mind for next time."
Angel shuffled. "Yeah. And aces could be one or eleven. You had an ace and an eight - that's nineteen. So you should have stayed. Would've beat my fifteen."
"Is this the sort of information you pick up at Father Riley's Friday night bingo?" Wes asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.
"Had to do something when I wasn't being the Scourge of Europe," Angel said. He dealt again.
Wes wiped his mouth. "Was that really something on a schedule? Did you wake up in the evening and decide that you'd spend perhaps six to seven hours scourging things and then leave a little extra time for cards, sport and spending time with your family?"
"Nah, it came naturally," Angel said. He dealt Wes two more cards and gave himself three. Wes had sixteen, he had twenty. He left a dollar in the pot and reshuffled.
"And these days?" Wesley asked, looking at him strangely. "Does it come naturally these days?"
Angel tapped the cards together, buying himself a little time. "It - you know I'm sorry about that, Wes. I - I'm not gonna - "
"No," Wesley said. He reached across the desk to cut the cards. "You might. The possibility always exists that you might. I suppose we can't entirely fault you for the fact that sometimes we forget that - or at least wish it wasn't so."
"I'm sorry," Angel said, wishing he could think of something better to tell him.
"It's all right," Wes replied. He finished his sandwich and cleaned his hands with a napkin. "Go on, deal. I hope to win at least one of these before I've gambled away the money to pay my rent."
"You're the one who wanted to do this with money," Angel said. "I was fine with the hand/eye co-ordination thing."
"Yes, but that's dull. Here - let's liven things up a bit," Wesley put five dollars into the pot. Angel matched it. "Go on then."
Angel dealt. Wes got eighteen. Angel busted.
Wes smirked, taking his winnings. "It seems that Dame Fortune smiles upon me."
Angel shuffled. "Yeah, or luck."
"That would *be* Dame Fortune, Angel."
"Oh. Right." Angel dealt, waiting for Wes to pick his move. "So how would you know about gambling being more interesting anyway? When's a Watcher got time for that?"
Wesley took four more cards. "I was known to play an occasional game of cards back in my university days. As you say, it was something to do when I wasn't - "
"What? You were the Scourge of Europe and never told me?"
"Yes, I didn't want to hurt your fragile ego," Wes said. "I thought it might disturb you to realize you'd been replaced like the Dread Pirate Roberts."
"Who?"
"Never mind," Wes busted again and responded by putting ten dollars into the pot. Angel matched it, hoping he wasn't going to end up bankrupting Wes before the night was out. "It was a distraction from the stress of studying for the Council. And it provided a necessary explanation for why I spent so many of my evenings in the company of men."
Angel took one card too many and hit twenty-five. He anted another ten into the pot. "Why would you need an explanation?"
In response, Wes just looked at him. His blue eyes were serious enough that finally it clicked.
"Oh," Angel said. "I - um - oh."
"Indeed," Wesley said. He waited for his cards. "Which is another reason why the gambling came in handy. It wasn't as though my parents or the Council were going to support such things with a raise in my monthly stipend."
Angel tried to comprehend the mental image of a college-aged Wesley sitting around a table with a bunch of guys he first played cards with and then fucked. He decided he couldn't handle it. "Yeah, I - I'm sorry to hear that. About your parents I mean."
"Thank you," Wesley said. He studied his cards and added another five dollars to the pot.
Angel matched the bid, not even knowing what his own cards were. "I mean I know your dad - " a small, almost imperceptible shake of Wesley's head told him not to go there "Right. Um. You know *I* don't care, right? That you're gay?"
"Bisexual," Wesley said.
"Whatever," Angel said. "I mean - whatever. Whatever you want. Men - women - sheep. Whatever you want, Wes. Whatever makes you happy."
"Sheep?"
"Whatever."
"Yes, but *sheep*?"
"I'm just saying - "
"I wouldn't even know *how*," Wesley said. "Putting aside for the moment the fact that you're only saying that because I'm British - "
"It's just a random example."
"- I must say I'm given to wonder how one would even *start* a relationship of that nature -"
"Why would it be because you're *British*?"
"- I mean is there some sort of judgment? A type of wool or sound of a 'baa' which is deemed sexier than another? Does one get distracted at the butcher's -"
"Everybody knows it's the *Scots* who -"
"- and think to oneself 'Ah yes, if only this flesh were still alive I would find it quite stimulating and would want to be inside of it' - "
"And my *point* is that you can do whatever you want. You can fuck *watermelons* if you want to. I'm still there for you."
Wes wound down, looking at him. "Watermelons."
Angel shrugged, taking a few cards. "Yeah, sure."
Wes turned his card over, revealing seventeen. "Are you drunk?"
Angel double-checked and realized he had stopped at fourteen like an idiot. He gave the pot up to Wesley and shuffled. "Why do you ask?"
"You're suggesting I have sexual relations with fruit - with your blessing - and you wonder why I conclude you might be intoxicated," Wesley said. "I can't say that's successfully arguing for your sobriety."
"I'm sober, I'm not saying you *have* to fuck a watermelon, I'm just saying whatever you are I'm behind ya. You're - you know - I'm behind you." Angel anted up. "Would you take your cards already?"
"Yes, well, thank you for your support. Should I ever find myself overcome at the sight of tropical fruit, I'll be sure to call," Wes motioned for two more cards. "Is it a vampire thing?"
Angel watched Wes look over his cards. "What?"
"The obsession with fruit and animals," off of Angel's look, Wes held his hands up innocently. "It's a reasonable assumption. Bestiality is considered a taboo by most mortal standards. Vampires have - *soulless* vampires have no moral standards. It stands to wonder."
"Thanks for the clarification," Angel smirked. "And yeah. That was me. Scourge of Europe, bananas and calico cats. Just try asking Spike about how hard it was to control me near fruit stands and pet stores."
"Oh be quiet," Wes said, but he was smiling.
"Even today it's not easy," Angel said, taking a few cards himself. "I see somebody wearing a mink coat and eating an apple and I'm telling ya - damn near perfect happiness."
"Yes, well, that's a visual memory which shall certainly keep me unpleasantly awake on the long winter nights," Wesley said. "Thank you."
"You asked."
"Are you done or aren't you?" Wes replied.
Angel checked his cards, saw he had nineteen, and flipped his card over to show Wes. Wes had twenty so he took the cash. "So how's that working out for ya?"
"What?" Wesley asked. He loosened his tie as Angel set up the next hand.
"Being - you know - bi," Angel said. "How's that going?"
"Well," Wesley said, looking puzzled, "I broke up with my girlfriend over three weeks ago, I haven't met anyone since, and given the nature of our profession I often wonder if I'm destined to die alone, but beyond that I'd say it's working out smashingly."
"Oh," Angel said. Suddenly dealing Wes some cards seemed really insignificant. A few details of what he said stood out in his mind. "So you're not - um - seeing anybody? New I mean?"
"No," Wes said.
"Are you sure?"
"I think I would have noticed."
Angel smiled to show he got the joke. "Yeah, I know. I just meant - you know. You go out to bars sometimes. Meet people. Doesn't have to be serious. And sometimes that kind of thing can *get* serious. So - I'm just wondering."
Wes took his cards. "You're just wondering if I'm currently seeing anyone?"
Angel realized how that sounded. He mentally kicked himself and grabbed on to an excuse. "Yeah. You know. I'm trying to whaddyacallit - engage my co-workers from time to time. Show that I appreciate them. Some guy told me to do that."
"I see," Wes said. He moved one of his eights aside. "I'm splitting."
Angel blinked. "You're what?"
Wes anted up again. "Splitting. I have two eights so I'm splitting them."
Angel looked from Wes to the cards and back again. "What does that mean?"
"It's a standard blackjack term," Wes said. "If one has two cards of equal value you can split them into two hands and wager on each after getting a second card for each one. Each hand is then played normally."
"I've never heard of it," Angel said.
"You've been gambling for over 247 years and you've never heard of the term?" Wesley looked at him in disbelief.
"I've been gambling for over 247 years and I never *once* had to split a hand at blackjack," Angel said.
"Yes, well I'd daresay that in all your life you've never been *pregnant* either," Wes said, "but that does not mean babies are never born."
"Ha, ha. But what I’m *saying* is - " Angel stopped. He looked at the desk in front of him. Somehow he'd lost track of how many hands he'd won, and the nice big pile of cash was *not* sitting on his side of the desk. Wes looked at him with those blue I'm-just-a-polite-bumbling-British-guy eyes and Angel realized he'd been had. "You little shit."
Wes raised his eyebrows as though offended. "What?"
"You've been *hustling* me," Angel said. "I can't believe it."
"I'm a bit surprised it took you this long to figure out," Wes admitted.
"'Hit me, hit me, hit me'," Angel repeated, shaking his head. "Like you've never played before."
Wes grinned. "I *told* you I had."
"Yeah, back in college," Angel said. He gathered the cards up, letting Wes have what was in the pot. "I'm supposed to be threatened by a guy who hasn't played in ten years?"
"You're the one who assumed I hadn't been playing since then," Wes pointed out. "Honestly, how on earth did you run a detective agency? You know I spend my evenings in the pubs, you know I managed to find the finances to keep this company afloat - "
"Yeah, but I didn't know you were some kind of *card shark*," Angel said. He leaned back in his chair, propping his foot against the back of the desk. "Is that really where you're getting the extra money from?"
"To a certain extent," Wesley said. He picked the deck up and started shuffling it himself. His manipulated the cards easily, cutting the deck with one hand. "In the course of my life I've found that it never hurts to have all sorts of methods for getting what I've wanted. It just so happens that one such thing is enough cash to make sure we remain in business."
"Nice to know my money's going to a good cause," Angel said. He pushed the rest of his spare money across the desk. "Here, take the rest."
Wes pushed it back. "Now, now. There's no need to be a sore loser. Here - I'll give you a chance to win it back. Let's play a round of poker."
"You can't play poker with two people," Angel said. "It's stupid. And I don't care about the money."
"So why are you playing with me?" Wesley asked.
Again Angel fished for a plausible reason. "I just - okay maybe I care a little about the money."
Wesley shook his head, putting the deck down in front of him. "Angel, why can't you admit that you want me to stay?"
There it was again. New Wesley - cutting to the chase and taking none of Angel's bullshit. "Um - "
"Come," Wesley said, handing him the deck. "Play a game with me. A simple game of poker. Even you can handle it."
Angel turned the deck over in his hands. He looked up at Wesley. "What are we playing for?"
"Money's not good enough for you?" Wesley asked.
"I'm kinda out of it at the moment."
"Then we'll play for what I've won," Wes said. "Winner take all. The game is Face-Up Poker. It starts with each player picking his own cards out of the deck and leaving them in view of the other player. We both take a turn, then have the option to discard as many cards as we like and pick again. Whoever has the highest hand wins. In the event of a tie the pot stays, we ante up once more and play again, with the second player drawing his cards first."
Wes slid his earnings into the middle of the desk. Angel mulled the rules over. "I don't get it."
"What's to get?" Wesley asked.
"How can you lose when you're picking your own cards?" Angel replied. "Why would you even want to play?"
Wesley shrugged. "You'll just have to find out."
Not really sure why he was agreeing to it, Angel flipped through the deck and chose his cards. He selected the ace, king, queen, jack and ten of spades, putting them on the desk. "There. Royal flush."
"Impressive," Wesley said. He took the deck and picked his own cards, putting down a royal flush in diamonds. "Would you like to discard?"
"No."
"Neither would I," Wes said. "Therefore it's a tie."
"Spades beat diamonds," Angel said.
"Not according to Hoyle," Wesley argued, and Angel had no doubt that Wes probably had the rules book memorized. "We'll have to play again."
"Yeah, but for what?" Angel asked. "All the money's in the pot."
"True," Wesley said. He looked up. His eyes were an intense blue. "So let's play for something else you'd want."
Angel swallowed. "I - um - I don't think you know - "
"That's your assumption," Wesley said. He spread the cards out in front of him in a perfect semicircle. "Are you certain it's a correct one, given your record so far?"
The room seemed very, very quiet. "So what are we playing for?"
Wes lifted a card and made all the others flip over like dominos. "If you win - I'll let you have what you want. If I win, I'll do what I want."
"And what's that?"
"Ah," Wesley said, putting the deck back together again, "I believe that's why they call it gambling. Do we have a deal?"
Angel wondered what it meant if they tied. "Okay. Sure."
Wes nodded his approval and chose his hand. He laid down four tens and a two.
Angel frowned. "Are twos wild?"
Wesley gave him the deck. "No."
"Okay," Angel said. He took the cards. Wes had chosen four of a kind. He'd chosen *tens* in four of a kind. In regular poker it wasn't bad, but in this kind it was a beatable hand. What the fuck did it mean? He could lose. Did he *want* to lose? Did he want Angel to *make* him lose?
"Take the hand that you want, Angel," Wes said. He didn't look nervous.
Angel figured that was his answer. Not so much of a metaphor here. Cards on the table, what did he *want*? He took a chance and pulled out four aces and a king. It beat Wes's hand on every level. "There," he said, putting his cards down. "That's what I want."
"I see," Wes said, "I must say I appreciate your candor."
"I'm trying to be honest here."
"As am I," Wesley said. He took the deck back. "Now I'm going to discard."
Angel blinked. He'd forgotten about that.
If Wes noticed Angel's worry, he gave no indication. Instead he calmly got rid of every card except the ten of clubs, then selected the king, queen, jack and nine that went with it. Straight flush, king high. It was a still beatable hand.
Confident with his choice, Angel took the deck back. He got ready to pull out another royal flush -
- and then realized that Wes had screwed him over. All of the tens were in the discard pile. The best he could do was a straight flush, nine high. Wes had won.
"I *told* you," Wesley said. "I play these games to get what I want."
"Okay," Angel said, defeated. "I - I got it. I'll - um - I'll stop bugging you."
Wesley sighed. "Aren't you going to ask?"
Angel looked at him. "What?"
"What I want."
Angel shrugged, indicating the distance between them. "I figured - "
"Which has gone so well for you this evening," Wesley retorted. He stood up. He leaned over the desk and grabbed Angel by the shirtfront. Angel was so surprised by the gesture he didn't even fight as Wesley hauled him up.
And then kissed him.
There was a shock. Then an almost audible stripping of every one of his mental gears. Then his senses came back in a rush and he could taste Wesley's lips, feel Wesley's body, smell Wesley's cologne, hear Wesley give a soft sound of need….
And he decided that he *loved* the New Wes.
