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Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe of the rights of Joss Whedon, the WB, Mutant Enemy or any other copyright holders of Angel.

Care
by The Brat Queen

Spoilers: Up to Epiphany, after which Joss and I go separate ways.

Rated: PG

Summary: Angel reacts to his relationship with Wesley.

It was well after midnight by the time Angel and Wesley made their way back to Wes's apartment. As quietly as they could they juggled axes and crossbows while Wes dug out his keys, unlocked the door, and let them both in.

Wes flicked on the lights with practiced ease then turned to take some of the weapons from Angel and return them to their storage space. "I don't think I could sleep right now if I tried," Wes admitted.

Angel nodded. Of course for him being up at night was a regular thing, but he knew what Wes was talking about - that leftover energy from battle, the way your mind could still feel like it was the middle of the day even if your body felt like it was six weeks dead.

"I'm going to take a shower," Wes paused, looking at him. "Do you…?"

The end of the sentence was "want to." Maybe even with the words "join me" if Wes was in just the right mood. But Angel hesitated. He didn't feel dirty, and he felt warm enough. There were other things he wanted to do. "Nah. Thanks. I'm gonna make dinner."

"Oh. Good. Thank you," Wesley said. He paused, standing awkwardly - like he wasn't sure if there was more he should say, or do. Whatever it was obviously escaped him, because he finished putting the weapons away and disappeared back down the hall to the bathroom, saying, "Won't be a moment."

Angel dumped his own gear by Wes's door, and hung his coat up in the closet. Then he went to the kitchen and suddenly realized that this was one of those moments. One of those firsts. He'd never made Wes dinner - at least not in Wes's kitchen. He decided to take a second to get himself oriented.

"There's some take away left in the refrigerator," Wes called out to him over the sound of running water. "Why don't you heat that up?"

Angel examined it and decided not to call back that the reason why he didn't want to heat it up was because he honestly couldn't tell if it was Chinese, Italian, or parts of that Septish demon they'd killed earlier. He tossed the cartons out and kept looking.

He didn't want to be surprised that Wes's fridge had less food in it than his own. Ever since he'd known Wes he'd never fed himself well. Angel could still remember when Wes first came to town - bolting food down at Cordy's party like it was the last meal in the desert before a forty year walk home. Angel could also remember the look of gratitude on Wes's face when he found out that Angel had saved him a plate - put a few shrimp puffs and reubens aside just for him.

Fuck, Angel should've known then that he was falling for Wes. Why else do it if not to hold the food out and see if he couldn't tempt the ex-Watcher over like some kind of exotic bird? And yeah - Wes's smile had been worth it. Even then.

Angel dug through the fridge and uncovered lettuce and some carrots in the bottom drawer. He put those aside for salad, along with a bottle of something orange that he was hoping was dressing. Then he stood up and tried the freezer. There was ground meat, and half of a loaf of bread. He pulled those out too. He checked the date on the meat, then unwrapped it, put it in a bowl and tossed it in the microwave. It could defrost while he figured out what to do with it.

The lettuce was dubious, but Angel was able to tear through a few leaves and find some that crunched. He ran them under cold water then started ripping them up, putting them in one bowl only because he didn't really care for food of any kind and vegetables were bad on top of worse. He found himself staring at the lettuce - iceberg, of course, nothing with any kind of value or nutrition - as though it weren't real, as though the veins of the leaves were each small highways, leading to he didn't even know where, and he didn't even know why he was noticing it.

The carrots already came chopped up. He rinsed them anyway and threw them on top of the bowl. It'd give Wes good night vision at least.

The microwave dinged and he pulled the meat out. It was slightly brown on the edges but he could work with that. Looking around he could find nothing but spices, so he threw some of those into the bowl, mashed it all together, and decided if nothing else he could make Wes a few hamburgers. He'd never made them before, but he didn't think it would be hard. He seemed to remember some cooking show saying to put them on a hot pan and let them sit for - well he didn't know how long, but it couldn't be hard to guess.

His mind was an intermittent repository of cooking information, gleaned from his days wandering around America with nothing to keep him company but hotel televisions - which in some ways had been better than the days when all he'd had for company was his memories, but in other ways hadn't. You could be lonely, when you could recognize it. Hallucinations at least talked to you like you were a person.

He'd always figured that's why Dru was constantly happy.

He pulled hunks of meat out of the bowl and formed patties. A quarter of a pound each - he knew that much from the times Cordy had wheedled him into taking her through drive-throughs on the way home from auditions. Once done, he stared down at the red liquid that lined the bowl and quickly knocked it back like a shot of whisky. The spices made his eyes water all the same - anything extra in blood caused a strange reaction - but at least it was something.

Something other than Wes's blood, at least.

Angel gritted his teeth and forced the thought out of his head. He washed his hands, knowing enough about cleanliness these days to know not to get the touch of raw meat all over Wes's kitchen. He then set out to look for a pan. He searched high and low, cursing the fact that Wes didn't have anything. Cups, plates, silverware - sure. Even boxes of cold cereal and some sugar. But nothing real, nothing permanent, nothing a mortal should have.

And Angel knew damn well it wasn't the money. He'd made sure to pay Wes enough when he hired him. Wes and Cordy both. They weren't gonna starve on his account, even if it meant lying to them about where the money came from.

'course now Wes was in charge, but that was recent. Plenty of time beforehand for Wes to stock up on things. To take care of himself.

Angel slammed one of the cabinet doors shut and moved on to the next one.

A box caught his eye. He pulled it out and recognized the picture on it. An "as seen on TV" special - a tabletop grill. Angel shook his head, wondering if Wes got this the same time he ordered the Thigh Masters. Even still, Angel couldn't find any pots and the hamburgers weren't getting cooked sitting on the plate. Angel unpacked the grill, plugged it in, put the burgers on it, then flipped through the booklet and set the timer for as long as the instructions said to cook burgers of that size. A sizzle filled the room and Angel could smell searing meat. If he'd been down the hall and maybe even outside he still could have correctly identified it as cow, maybe even narrowing it down to the fat content if the wind was right.

Wes didn't have buns, so Angel toasted the bread instead.

Somewhere, in the back of his head, he could remember hearing or reading about people ordering things they saw on television. Mostly old people, just looking for something to arrive in the mail, some package with their name on it as though somebody hadn't been paid to send it to them. Made them feel like they had friends.

Thinking back on the times he'd had nothing but TV, Angel supposed he could understand that. Except then he'd never wanted friends. He hadn't known what he wanted.

But Wes -

With a sick clarity Angel could sure as Hell see Wes doing that. Alone, in America, no job, no friends, running out to a post office box or whatever the fuck Wes'd used while he was Rogue Demon Hunting and pulling out a package just to show the manager or whoever was standing beside him that hey, look - somebody thought of him. Probably even covering up the label that showed where it was from and stuttering his way through some lie about his aunt/girlfriend/brother back home who always sent him care packages.

Wes kept beer in the fridge. Angel helped himself to one, draining it down in a few swallows.

What the fuck was it with Wes? Okay, yeah, sure - maybe not the best Watcher the Council had ever sent to Sunnydale but - shit. Wes was smart. Smarter than Angel on a lot of things. Wes could translate a book of spells from whereverthefuck inside of two seconds while Angel still stumbled his way through English most days. He couldn't dance worth shit but he could have somebody's back faster than you could say boo and he had a better eye with a gun than - well anybody Angel'd ever known.

And yeah - cute, and sexy, and real good in bed - Wes was definitely a quick learner on that scale too. It was like giving Wes something new to translate - just show him the basics and he'd become more fluent than a native speaker.

So why the fuck did Wes treat himself like this? Why not spend money on himself when he'd had it? Why keep up with the stuttering, and the lying, and the not-eating like he wasn't even worth food, for God's sake, like any calorie he took was some kind of insult to somebody and not what Wes needed because he was a God-damned human being who still wore sweaters in Los Angeles in the summertime because he didn't have enough fucking body weight to keep himself warm?

The timer ringed, and Angel snapped out of it. He smelled burning meat and jerked the grill open, taking the burgers off and putting them onto a plate. The toast was done too so he took the bread, broke it in half to be the right size, and put the burgers in between the pieces. Wes didn't have any ketchup or cheese, so Angel hoped Wes would like them dry. There was nothing left to do at that point, so Angel leaned against the counter and waited.

He wasn't stupid. A 247 year old vampire like him wasn't too likely to not know the reason. Especially with the things Wes didn't talk about. Like England. Like home. Like family. Like his dad. No, Angel'd noticed. He'd noticed every time Wes clammed up, or quickly changed the subject to something about demons. Angel wasn't an idiot. He knew.

He just couldn't do anything about it. Not without Wes's permission anyway.

And - part of him wondered. Wondered… if that'd been the only chance he'd had with Wes. An imperfect love - a vampire boyfriend who could turn and hurt him at any second because maybe Wes didn't think he deserved a lover who wouldn't put him in danger like that, who wouldn't turn face in the middle of sex, who wouldn't sit there in his kitchen thinking about the sound of Wes's heartbeat thudding against his chest and making everything so hard….

Damn it.

Angel didn't want to hurt Wesley. He loved Wes. Curse or no curse he loved Wes. He'd die for Wes if he had to.

He just hoped it wouldn't have to be Wes on the other end of the stake.

Fin.