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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.

Overlooked
by The Brat Queen

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

Rated: PG

Summary: Wesley's move into the hotel continues but his old life hasn't left him yet.

Author Notes: Thanks to Maximum Woman and Mer, for brainstorming help and all things "LBW", also to my lovely wife Cindy for beta reading to help make sure this made sense to people who don't live in my head.

Twenty Two Years Ago

Wesley sat at his desk. With practiced care, he turned the pages of his book. Every so often he wiped his hands on a spare napkin, ridding them of sweat. It wouldn't do to moisten the paper.

F... F...

There it was.

He read the passage, comparing the picture beside it to the item in front of him.

He sighed.

Foxglove. Any of several herbs of the genus Digitalis, especially D. purpurea of Europe. Any of several related plants.

Meaning: insincerity.

The small pile of flowers he'd gathered began to look wilted. He pushed himself away from the desk, bundled them together with both hands, and took them into the bathroom. He filled his water glass and placed the flowers inside one by one.

Outside of his room he could still hear the preparations. If he opened one of his windows he knew he would probably hear some of his cousins playing outside.

He walked back to his desk.

The project hadn't seemed this difficult when he'd started. Pick flowers from the fields outside, put them together with a nice ribbon, arrange them in some way to have meaning.

What he had wanted was a bouquet which said "Happy Birthday" and possibly "I love you, Mum". What he had was foxglove, heather, yellow iris and St. John's Wort.

Although he supposed the yellow iris might be all right. That meant passion. His mum could certainly be passionate about things.

And he liked the heather. He thought it would compliment her eyes. He just wanted to be sure it didn't mean she had a lovely dog, or a message in the post.

He wondered if the flowers could be given new meanings.

He sat back down at his desk and turned through the pages again. Drying his hands on the napkin once more, he took out blank sheets of paper from his desk and a pen. Working slowly, he began to recreate the picture that was in the book.

His hand slipped. He threw the paper out and started again.

When he was done, he copied the information from the book, pronouncing the Latin to himself as he went. He opened another book and copied the information it had about known locations for the flower, ways to cultivate it, and its ideal soil conditions. He then tried to find any myths or legends that related to the flower, but instead put those aside for a more practical list of the flower's medicinal and magical properties.

That done, he did the same for the St. John's Wort, heather, and yellow iris, again having to throw out the last page and start over when the second "i" overlapped the "r" in "iris".

He smiled when he was finished. He read over his work, noting how neatly the words were in the margins, and how closely he'd come to drawing the pictures that had been in the books. He tapped the pages together and put them into a green folder. With a black marker he wrote "For Mum" on the outside. He then took a silver ribbon he'd been saving since his parents' anniversary party and brought it over to the flowers in the bathroom. After a few false starts, he managed to tie the ribbon around the flowers in a bow.

He took the flowers out of the glass and patted them dry with a towel. He remembered his grandmother telling him that some flowers perked up when fed a little sugar water, but he didn't think he had time for that. Fortunately they did look better for the quick drink they'd had.

With the bouquet in one hand and the folder in the other, he shut off all the lights in his room and went into the hallway.

The clock by the staircase told him it was about an hour until the party began. Downstairs relatives and family friends were milling about. Wesley knew he would have join them. He also knew that his mum was in her parlor, checking on all the final details as she always did before events like this began. And even if she wasn't, he could always go inside, leave his gifts, and wait for her to find them when everything was done.

Of course then the flowers might fade. He might need another glass. He wondered if he should -

"Wesley."

He stopped. He felt the leaves of the flowers scratching at his hand. He suddenly realized he shouldn't have picked flowers that might bother someone's hand. It wasn't polite.

"Wesley."

It had sounded different the second time. It always did. He couldn't make himself turn around after the first time, though. Part of him kept hoping he wouldn't have to.

He turned around, and entered his father's study. The door was already open. Wesley wished he'd noticed that before coming down the hall. He told himself he had to become better at observation.

His father looked to be in the middle of a project of his own. He was already dressed for the evening in a fine grey suit. Light glinted off the gold fountain pen that he used to write with. Wesley kept making ink spills with the one he'd been given. He would have to improve his calligraphy before he would be trusted to learn spells.

"It's half past the hour."

Wesley swallowed. "I know, Father."

"You are expected to be ready for the party."

"I am."

"Have you completed your work?"

"Yes."

"Read all of your assignments?"

"Yes."

"Practiced your French?"

Wesley smiled. "Oui."

His father put his pen down. Wesley took a step back. "You went outside."

Wesley clutched the flowers tightly. "After I had -"

"You went outside."

"But I - " Wesley started, then immediately stopped himself. He nodded. "Yes."

His father stood up. The chair squeaked from the movement. He came around the desk and held out his hands.

Feeling cold, Wesley handed over the folder and the bouquet.

His father turned around.

"It's a report," Wesley said. "It includes their magical properties, and their Latin names, and - "

There was a hiss, then a metallic clang as his father threw the presents into an empty waste bin.

Present Day

Angel stared at the plans in front of him. He turned them over then, checking to make sure no one was looking, he turned them upside down.

It still made no sense.

He was surrounded by enough wood to kill all of the Master's old cronies, a plastic bag filled with nuts and screws, nine steel rods that folded out into an X shape, and a pile of little metal things that did something, but fuck if he knew what.

"Oh yeah," Angel muttered, "this is much better than giving me a drill."

The room that Wes and Angel had both earmarked to be Wes's own, invitation-only, personal space was filled with dust and the remains of the cardboard boxes that Wes's shelves had come in. Cordy had sworn that the shelves would look good, but right now Angel was wondering how they would look like shelves considering that he had no idea how the flat boards, the parts that looked like ladders, the metal rods, screws, and whatever-the-fucks went together.

Wesley had promised to help but said he needed to take care of something first. Gunn had laughed his ass off and said that waiting in line for the damn things had tapped out his "real friends help you move" karma for the day.

Angel didn't mind, really. He liked this. It was domestic. He hadn't done anything domestic since Dru begged him to get some extra shackles installed in Spike's room. Of course that had mostly been hiring the right contractor.

Plus he was hoping that if Wes saw him putting these together safely, he'd ease up on the "no power tools" rule. Angel still wanted to build Wesley a gun rack, and they sure as hell didn't sell those at Ikea.

As far as he could tell.

He read the instructions again, and figured step one was making sure they had all the parts. He counted up the wood and checked it off. Next was the nuts and bolts. X-shaped things were easy. Finally, the whatever-the-fucks.

Crap.

He counted again. He lost his place. He separated them into little piles.

Five, five, five, five, four.

Great.

He started feeling around on the floor. Where would it go? It wasn't as though he'd been throwing them around like confetti. Of course with all the boxes, wood, and useless instructions who knew where one of the stupid things would end up?

He really hoped he wasn't sitting on it.

He kept feeling along the floor. He made a mental note to get a steam cleaner or something like it in before Wes completely moved his stuff. There were smells here that he could far too readily identify. Plus it was dusty as all Hell.

His finger touched metal and he pulled out a screwdriver from underneath the boxes. He sighed, tossing it across the floor, and kept searching.

He supposed there was a way around this. Not that he knew what the thing did, but it didn't look like anything that couldn't be replaced with a nail, or a dowel, or maybe a little duct tape. He wondered if it had fallen out on the way home. Maybe there'd been a hole in the bag, and it had dropped out into the back of Gunn's truck. Or maybe the instructions had a typo.

Or maybe he just didn't want to admit he'd lost something.

There was a number on the receipt. He picked it up and went out into the hall. He'd call the store. See if they were still open and swing by to get a replacement.

He stopped when he heard a voice.

"Yes... yes, I know."

It was Wesley.

Angel frowned. He hadn't heard Wes come in.

"Of course I - yes, of course..."

Angel walked out towards the railing. He looked down and saw Wes sitting on the staircase, leaning against the wall and cradling the cordless phone on his free shoulder. From where he sat, he couldn't see Angel.

But he had to know Angel could hear, right?

"Mum, it's - no, that hasn't changed."

Angel held on to the railing. He wanted to hear. He needed to hear. Everything in him was screaming to turn his supernatural hearing up a notch, tune everything out and focus on the other half of Wes's conversation. Or, for that matter, to just go into the other room and pick up an extension. But he didn't. He couldn't. He knew what it would mean to Wes.

"Yes, the old hotel. Yes, I believe it is. Yes... yes...."

Letting her know about the move, Angel figured. Or if nothing else, about the relocation of the office.

"You - no, my cell phone hasn't changed, mum. It wouldn't. Yes, I - " Wesley shifted position. When he did he looked up. He saw Angel watching him. "I - I know. I know. Mum, I - I'm afraid I need to run. What? No, we - we aren't, Mum. I - yes, I - no, it was - it's all right, Mum. It was a matter of course. Yes, I need to go. All right. Good bye."

Wesley clicked the phone off.

Angel kept watching him.

"Did I disturb you?" Wesley asked. He kept staring at the phone in his hands.

"No," Angel answered. "I was coming down for that anyway. Need to call the store."

Wes nodded, getting up slowly and coming up the stairs. "That was my mother."

"I didn't hear the phone ring," Angel said.

"I made the call," Wes said. He handed him the phone. "I wanted to pass along my greetings. I hope you don't mind?"

Angel shrugged. "'course not. You're gonna be paying half the bill. I mean - not like the money's the point, just - "

"I see you've made some progress," Wesley said, gesturing towards the doorway. "Have we arrived at a moment where more than one person is needed?"

"Yeah, and I think we're missing a part."

There was a long silence. Wes looked like he wanted to stuff his hands in his pockets. A muscle by his jaw twitched.

"Wes, I - "

"She paid it."

Angel wanted to swear, but more importantly part of him wished that Wes would. He hated when Wes became the man of few words. "When?"

"Last year," Wes answered. He turned to face Angel again. "Right before the deadline. Apparently she made arrangements."

"Nice of her," Angel said. "And your folks were planning on telling you when?"

"Eventually, I'm sure," Wesley said. Off of Angel's look he added "You know I don't speak with my father very often."

There wasn't anything to hit. Angel wished he had something - or someone - to hit. He thought fondly of his punching bag downstairs. "So what happens next?"

"Nothing," Wesley said. "It's been taken care of. Naturally there's no question of when I might need to repay her, since - " Wes faltered, then glanced down at the receipt. "So we might need to make a return trip?"

"Yeah," Angel said, "but we don't have to. I mean not tonight. Or I could do it, if you wanted."

"No," Wes said, "I think it's best done now. Perhaps we can get dinner along the way."

Well, Angel reasoned, at least Wes was eating. It was something. "Yeah, lemme just - "

Wes suddenly moved into his arms, holding him. Angel automatically held him back, squeezing him tight.

"Families are assholes sometimes, Wes. Nothing you can do about it."

Wesley remained quiet. Angel tried again. "I love you, though. I know it's not the same, but - you're a great guy. Good leader. Like knowing you've got my back. Want you to be at my side. Want you to - um - I love you. I just wanna say I love you."

Angel felt Wesley smile against his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I'm being self-indulgent."

"No, you're being Wesley. I'm kinda in love with that guy so I'd say keep it up. Be anything else and I might get bored."

Wes changed position, brushing his lips against Angel's neck. "I love you, you strange vampire."

Angel pulled Wesley closer. "Lucky me."

Fin.