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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.

Pressure
by The Brat Queen

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

Rated: R

Summary: Wesley takes care of things while Angel is in trouble. (Part of the Epiphany series, takes place after "One of Those Things")

Thanks to: Wolfling for the beta read.

This is what Wesley did, while Angel was in a coma....

He shoved through the men standing in the doorway. His stomach was cold. Solid. Good, British upbringing yet again taking every troublesome emotion and ramming it down into his gut into what he was fairly certain would one day turn into an ulcer and Lord knew the argument that would cause once Angel found out.

Wesley thought this, rabbit-quick, in the moment that it took for him to move from the hallway, past the guards, and into his hotel room.

Then, once there, when he saw Angel writhing in agony upon the floor, he thought: Shit.

"He's epileptic," he said at once. He ran to Angel side, dropping down to the ground and calling the vampire's name. Angel clawed his way into Wesley's lap, clinging to him with such fierceness that Wesley could feel the bruises forming on his wrists and thighs. His mouth opened and closed as though trying to form words, but only random sounds came out.

"He's ill," Wesley said, turning his attention back to the guards again. There were three in total. Two men, one woman. The latter of whom held far too much amusement in her eyes for Angel's naked state. All of the guards stared back at him uselessly.

"Call an ambulance," Wesley finally snapped at them. In his mind was still a goody-two-shoes self, a Wesley who knew that it was Very Naughty to play pranks like that upon emergency services, because then they dispatched men and trucks to the wrong location and kept them away from anyone who truly needed help.

Wesley told this part of himself to go to Hell. Angel needed the subterfuge more.

"Go!" Wesley told them, pointing at the door on the odd yet apparently likely chance that they'd forgotten what its purpose was. "Get help!"

Then, finally, finally, they moved. The power of suggestion took hold of their feet and pulled them into the hallway, the female guard and male guard mumbling things about getting help, ambulances, first aid kits, and even the manager.

Which left Wesley alone with one of the men. Quite possibly the one who remembered that the room had a working phone. Also that his belt contained a walkie-talkie.

"Can I?" the man asked, his hands making abortive attempts to move in Angel's direction. "He - he broke a chair - "

"He's very ill," Wesley told him.

The man nodded. "I need to - "

"By all means," Wesley said, gesturing for him to come forward. Angel had stilled, which Wesley in no way liked, but for the moment it suited his purposes. "Here, if you'll come around this side I can lend a hand."

"Sure," the guard said. Restraints dangled from his fingers. Plastic ones. Completely useless against Angel's strength. "I have to. You understand?"

"Of course," Wesley replied. He motioned for the man to do whatever was needed.

It was a convenient gesture, as it rapidly turned into a punch.

He wasn't Angel. It took two strikes. But now the man was unconscious.

"Shit," Wesley said aloud, simply because for a moment he needed to. "Angel? Angel?"

There was no response. Wesley wasted no further effort on trying.

The order of events unfolded in his head as most of his plans did - each step falling into place one right after the other as though they'd only needed the first event to get them started. It was the same instinct which allowed him to analyze crime scenes - to take it all in and then work backwards to figure out how it all began.

Dressing Angel came first.

It wasn't easy, but it was necessary. Angel was too large to hide and there was no way he could move the vampire around while he was completely stripped. Jeans were tugged on, a skin-tight black shirt came next, then shoes and Angel's familiar coat last.

Then came collecting what was needed. It fortunately wasn't much. Clothes could be abandoned. Weapons could not. Personal items could not. Items which suggested where they'd been could not. Nothing which left a trail that could be followed.

Then came tying up the guard, and stealing his walkie-talkie.

All told, it took Wesley ten minutes.

He took hold of their bags in one hand, pulled Angel to his feet with another. He attempted to hold the vampire as though he were merely drunk and in need of Wesley's strength to help him stand. It didn't work quite that way, yet Angel's feet did move. Which was fortunate, as Wesley didn't think he could drag the vampire unaided.

More fortunately still he knew - or rather hoped - he wouldn't have to for long.

He made it to the elevator. He allowed himself a quick breath that no one had spotted them. They traveled a short distance, then walked down the hall to a room number which was familiar to him for all that he hadn't visited it yet.

He knocked, then waited.

"Wiz?"

"Andrew," he said crisply, inviting himself and Angel in before his friend could deny them. "I need your help."

"Oh my God, Wiz," Andrew said, dancing back from the door and kicking things out of the way to clear a path towards the bed. "He's sick, he's - "

"Dead," Wesley said, flatly. He put Angel down onto the bed, glanced to be sure the hall door was closed, then met Andrew's eyes head-on. "What I am about to tell you is rather fantastical, but you need to believe me or get out of my way. I haven't time to coddle anyone."

Andrew rushed forward, reacting on a time delay. He checked Angel for a pulse. "Holy - we'll call a doctor. I think there's a button on the phone. I can do CPR if -"

"It won't help," Wesley said, taking Andrew by the hand and jerking him away from Angel. "Listen to me. Angel is dead. He has been for two centuries. He is a vampire."

Andrew froze, looking at him as though he'd gone mental. Wesley honestly couldn't blame him.

"You recall those people I never allowed you to meet?" Wesley prompted him. "My father's business? It's an organization called the Watchers Council. Its purpose, amongst other things, is to deal with matters like this. Demons, vampires - they're all real. Angel is one of them."

Andrew looked down at Angel, then back up at Wesley. "I know."

Now it was Wesley's turn to stare.

"Not about Angel," Andrew quickly replied. "But the other stuff. The demons. I - Christ, I saw a lotta weird stuff down in Miami, Wiz. If it wasn't demons I don't want to know what it was. Well," Andrew amended, "demons and Gator fans. Never met a vampire though."

"Many can pass for human," Wesley told him.

"No kidding," Andrew replied, looking at Angel. "So what's going on?"

"Angel is ill," Wesley said. "When I told you that, it wasn't a lie. But we don't know what's causing it. Something made him worse while I was away, and now I can't even wake him. I need to find out what's going on but I can't stay in my room anymore. I don't believe I can even stay in this hotel anymore, but our car is in the shop and I can't take Angel anywhere during the day."

"You can stay here," Andrew said. "Then we can sneak him out at night. You could go get your car - or I could."

Wesley hadn't even considered the second possibility. "Actually, that might be wisest. It should be repaired by now. If you don't mind?"

Andrew rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Wiz, what are friends for? Gimme the keys, I'll go now."

Wesley handed them over, then added his credit card and the directions to the shop to the mix. "Call on my mobile if you need anything. Leave a voice mail if you can't reach me. I'm going to be making a few calls while you're gone."

"Calling your folks?" Andrew asked, shrugging into his jacket. "Or that - what'd you call it? Council?"

Wesley shook his head. "Hardly. The Council believes that Angel should be dead. They would only help him to hurt him."

Andrew thought about that, then asked, "And you?"

"He has a soul," Wesley replied. He smoothed Angel's shirt down over his chest. "He does good. He has single-handedly fought more evil than the Council would dare dream of. He is not to be harmed."

Andrew nodded. "Good enough for me. Call me on my cell if you need me."

"Thank you," Wesley told him. He followed Andrew to the door, then locked every lock behind him. He turned the walkie-talkie up enough so that he could monitor the movements of the hotel staff and kept it running in the background while he made his calls.

"Oooh," the Host's voice shuddered in sympathy, a sound which could be heard with crystal-clear clarity even from two times zones away. "Sorry, Skipper, but you're not the captain of this little voyage."

Two thoughts chased themselves absently through Wesley's mind. One: how even after all these years, the Host had yet to give them his name (not that he'd ever asked. After all, infringing on privacy like that Wasn't Proper.). And two: why on earth had the conversation taken on a nautical theme?

"Is that the point?" Wesley asked. "Is this a voyage?" He sat on the bed beside Angel, one hand tangled through his lover's unresponsive one.

"It's a journey," the Host replied. "And I mean more than the buddy-buddy 'after that summer nothing was ever the same again' movie you guys have got going."

"It's not summer," Wesley pointed out.

"Always with an eye for detail," the Host observed. Wesley heard him order a refill on his drink. "Look, pumpkin, I'd love to give you a guide map for this one but the truth is, there is no map. That's kind of the point."

"What's going on?" Wesley asked. "If you know there is no direction, then you know something of what's happening."

There was a long pause, as though the Host were weighing his answer. "Wesley - he may not - Angel may not come out of this. That's all I can tell you."

Wesley sat up. He found himself missing the Host's usual off-the-cuff responses. Somehow the use of his proper name chilled him more than the rest of the words. "Angel may not. Do you mean to say - "

"I'm getting a real big you and a weapon vibe," the Host agreed. "Vegas odds call it at fifty-fifty that Angelcakes may need to reorder his business cards."

"But - but I don't break the curse," Wesley protested. He stood up, innately worried that his touch would somehow make Angel's situation worse. "Angel and I have been together for over a year. I - I'm not good enough!"

"It's not about you, puddin'," the Host assured him. "It's about him. He slipped."

Wesley looked at Angel. The vampire had never seemed so innocent, or helpless. "No."

"Wesley - "

"No!" Wesley snapped. "It wasn't his fault! I let him drink from me! I insisted! I thought that it would - "

"He did it himself," the Host talked over him. "It didn't matter that it was your blood. This was before your blood. His dark side woke up and Angelica didn't give it a sleeping pill. That's the problem, Wesley. Him doing the undead version of the Zone was just a symptom."

"I encouraged him," Wesley said. He felt his way over to a chair. "I told him not to be afraid of that darkness. That he had to conquer it. Control it."

"Oh," the Host said. "Um - "

"I made it worse, didn't I?"

"Not if it was up to me!" the Host insisted. "Look, Wes, you know I love the big lug and hey who in this phone conversation wouldn't want to see him in leather pants? But it doesn't work like that with the PTB. They put their marks on him. They want him as a major player. And major players can't just dust off their evil sides now and then and bring them out to play. The Powers tend to be a one man one uniform kind of organization. They don't do trades or - okay I'm not really good with the sports metaphors but you get where I'm going with this?"

"He couldn't survive," Wesley protested. "It was killing him. Angelus was killing him."

"Well, yeah," the Host replied.

"That's what's happening now, isn't it?" Wesley asked. "He's having to choose."

"To fight," the Host said. His voice was softer again, tinged with sympathy. "They're making him prove himself. Prove he can keep the soul."

"And if he looses - "

"You've got a flamethrower handy, right?"

"Stakes," Wesley replied. He was surprised at how unemotional he felt. "I'll do what I must."

"Wesley, if there's anything that - "

"Thank you, good bye."

He hung up.

He stared at Angel.

"Damn it," he whispered, thinking back to their anniversary, to the moment when he'd offered to fix Angel's soul and attach it to him permanently - or at least to try. "Why didn't you let me help you?"

Angel gave no answer.

"Wes, come home."

"Cordelia, it's not that simple."

"Yes, yes it is!" Cordy told him. "You get on your big, oh-so-manly motorcycle or get into Angel's 'No, really, I never noticed this was a trendy car' convertible and you both come home. End of discussion."

"Cordy - "

"End of discussion," she repeated. "Do you hear this? This is my determined voice. It's very effective against stupid guys. But if I have to I'll - Gunn tell them to keep it down or so help me I'm not telling any of you the combination to the weapons cabinet!"

Wesley frowned. "Er - what?"

"Nothing," Cordy replied. "Gunn's just doing a thing. Which you can see, when you come home."

"I can't," Wesley said. He felt every ounce of the failure in his words. "I'm sorry. I - we can't just yet."

"Why not?" she asked. Suspicion edged its way into her words. "Wes, what's wrong?"

"How are your visions?" Wesley asked.

If she noted the apparent change in subject, she didn't say anything. "Had one monster headache earlier today but it didn't have any specifics and then - poof! - all gone! Come home and see how happy I am about that."

Wesley smiled. At times like this it was easy to remember why he'd once thought he was in love with her. "No, Cordy."

"Oh - is today Opposite Day? Because if you said 'no' that must mean - "

"No, Cordy."

"Yes, Wesley."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, be home," she retorted. "Come on, Wes. What is it? Is Angel being a dork again? Put him on. I'll set him straight."

"He's indisposed," Wesley replied, quietly.

"He's in-duh-something," Cordelia said. "Wesley, I'll be fine. Come home, we'll fix the visiony thing together and then you guys can take me out to a fabulous dinner and buy me new jewelry for all the hard work I've been doing while you're away." There was a muffled conversation, then she added, "And Gunn wants a watch."

Wesley chortled. "He'll have nothing and like it."

Cordy must have put him on speaker phone, because he heard Charles respond "Yeah, come here and say that."

Wesley closed his eyes. He'd hoped - he didn't know what. To hint at the trouble that was coming? To give them advance warning? Now he found it impossible to do anything but leave them in ignorance. Better for them to still have hope for Angel's return.

"I'll see what I can do," he managed.

"There we go," Cordy said, as though he were a small child who'd just trained himself to use the loo. "Was that hard? We'll see you tomorrow."

"Cordy - "

"Bye, Wes!"

He flipped his phone closed. He decided the best he could do was strive to keep it from all becoming a lie.

Not that he was certain of how that would happen.

"Okay, I don't know Chicago nearly as well as I thought I did," Andrew said, when he entered the room some time later. "On the other hand I think I managed to pass by all the location shots they've ever used on ER."

"Everything go all right with the car?" Wesley asked.

"Yep," Andrew tossed the keys and credit card back at him. "My bad for not paying better attention on the cab ride out. But it's running smooth as anything now. I parked it on the second level garage, near your bike."

"Thank you," Wesley said. He picked his coat up. "The sun's down so I'll take him out now. Go somewhere safe."

Andrew came forward, eyebrows furrowing in worry. "Wiz - they've still got cops walking this place. I passed by your room - they're wondering where you went."

"I know," Wesley said, indicating the walkie-talkie that had kept him appraised of that information. "They only have a general description, though. If I cover Angel up we should manage - "

"You really want to chance him like that?" Andrew asked.

"There's no choice," Wesley snapped. He gritted his teeth, took a breath, then tried again. "I spoke with my friends. Angel is a danger to himself and others. I have to take him somewhere safe. Where he can't hurt anyone."

"I don't think that car can handle a ride to the Arctic Circle," Andrew replied. "And sounds to me even if you can find some place like that there's still one guy he can hurt."

"That doesn't matter," Wesley said. "I can handle him. I'll stake him if I have to."

"Wiz," Andrew said, perplexed. "This is the guy you love. Now you're talking murder?"

"He is a vampire!" Wesley said. "Not just any. Angelus. The cruelest vampire that ever lived. If he wakes without a soul he must be stopped. I cannot allow him to - "

"Can you really do it?"

Wesley hesitated. He didn't mean to. He hadn't thought he ever would. And yet -

"I'll do what I must," he finally said.

Andrew's face fell in disappointment. "I'm sorry, Wiz."

Wesley's hand shot out. He wondered when he'd gotten the vampire instincts. Perhaps it had been years of working with and desperately loving one. Whatever it was, he yet again saved Angel's life.

He stared at Andrew, never once removing his grip from the hand that held a stake in it. "What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

"He's going to turn, Wesley!" Andrew replied, as though to him this had been obvious. "I was willing to give you a chance but - "

"Willing to do what?" Wesley asked, then decided that actions needed to speak louder than words. He worked the structure of Andrew's body, letting physics make it easy for him to yank Andrew's hand away, then connected his left hand with the underside of Andrew's jaw.

Andrew fell back a few steps, rubbing the spot where he'd been hit. "God, Wiz - I was there for it. I really was. The soul, the two of you - maybe I'm stupid but you actually seemed happy."

"I was," Wesley said, advancing, "I am. And get that wood out of your hand or this conversation goes no further."

"You were such a miserable bastard back in college," Andrew said, not dropping the stake but at least holding it more loosely. "One girl after another - and hey, I'm there for you. I know not all demons are bad guys."

Wesley's eyes narrowed. He continued to advance, herding Andrew into the small alcove between the hall door and the bathroom. "Since when?"

"And I know about your case rate out in LA," Andrew said. "I know you've been doing good. I believe it."

"You've been stalking me," Wesley said. "Spying on me. Why, to what - "

And then he figured it out.

Andrew's hands jerked up into the air, weaponless, as Wesley pulled his gun from his back holster. "How long have you been working for the Council, Andrew?"

"Few years," Andrew said. "Found a demon down in Miami. They showed up like the Men in Black and offered me a job."

"Following me."

Andrew shook his head. "Not just that."

"You lied," Wesley said. In light of their lunchtime conversation - his proud confession of his feelings for Angel - the revelation made him particularly ill. "Angel spotted you in Washington. You came here for us. Why? What do they want?"

"You know that one, Wes," Andrew said. His hands sagged a little, but stayed in a gesture of peace. "They want him dead."

"With you as the assassin."

"If I had to," Andrew replied. "They picked up on the vibes with him, the stuff that made your girl get a vision? They told me to stick close, find out how it all came out."

"Find out if he kept his soul," Wesley said.

Andrew nodded. "But if he's going to lose it - no go."

Wesley's eyebrows quirked. "The Council was that generous? They would allow him to walk free, as long as he remained Angel?"

"Not really 'free'," Andrew admitted. "That - that was my part."

Wesley frowned at him.

"You're my friend," Andrew said. He gestured to Angel, then quickly snapped his hand back when Wesley's gun rose higher in response. "You love him. Hell, I had beers with him. I can't - I couldn't stake a guy who as far as I could tell spends his time making puppy dog eyes at you. Didn't seem right."

"And now it does," Wesley said.

"You said it yourself, Wiz," Andrew replied. "He's a danger to himself and others. I've read the Angelus file. Hell, you wrote parts of the Angelus file. Angel may be an okay guy but Angelus is a brutal - "

"Savage, sadistic, raping, murdering, torturing, soulless monster in every sense of the word," Wesley finished. "Yes, I know."

"You're gonna chance that?" Andrew asked. "He's helpless now, Wes. We could stop him. I dunno what your friends told you but I heard he's got a fifty/fifty shot of coming out of this one way or another. You wanna play those odds? That's only half a chance he's gonna wake up the guy you love."

"No," Wesley said, realizing this as he spoke, and hating the words for their truth. For the fact that he could now add failing Angel to the list of all he'd ever done wrong. "No matter what happens, those odds are one hundred percent."

Confusion flickered through his friend's face. "Wesley - "

"I'm sorry," Wesley said.

He fired.

It was a kill shot. Even from a distance of five times as far away, he could have aimed it just as accurately. He had aimed it just as accurately every week when he went to the firing range and sent bullet after bullet sailing through the darkness until it burst through just the right spot in the paper target.

Andrew looked surprised, then fell.

Belatedly, his mind explained the plan to him. This would send a message to the Council. It would make it clear that he wasn't going to tolerate the attacks on him and his loved ones anymore. It would draw a line in the sand that they should dare not cross.

But, honestly, Wesley knew this was secondary.

Andrew would have killed Angel. That was all that had mattered.

He stood there, his gun aimed downward as though Andrew might rise up, as though the bullet might not have scrambled his brain enough to kill him. He tasted the remnants of gunsmoke in his mouth.

And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw his lover stumble forward, clutching at the wall as though it were the only thing keeping him standing.

Brown eyes took in the scene. The dead body. The murder weapon in Wesley's hand.

The vampire smiled at him.

Which was how Wesley knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that whoever was behind those brown eyes, it was not the man he'd dedicated his heart to.

TBC