Angel / Pet / Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The morning sunlight filtered through the windows of the limousine, bathing Wesley's eyelids yellow.

"Rise and shine," Angel's voice murmured.

Reluctantly, Wesley sat up, feeling cool as he left the reflected heat of Angel's chest. He rubbed his face. "Home already?"

"Home already," Angel confirmed. "Sleep okay?"

"Passably," Wesley said. He gave up trying to press consciousness into his brain and sat back once more, falling comfortably into the crook of Angel's arm. "I imagine I'll do better with a proper bed. Not to slight you, of course."

"Of course," Angel agreed. His large hand moved back and forth from Wesley's shoulder to his elbow, the movement casual and without thought.

"Shall we?" Wesley prompted, his rather Angel-centric sixth sense working its usual overtime when it came to translating the vampire's few words. "Enjoy a proper bed?"

Angel's head tilted. "Let's see… headboard, mattress, sheets, nice thick blankets. Yeah, I say we enjoy a proper bed. Assuming you like it as much as I do. Never did ask you what you felt about non-patterned pillowcases."

"You're positively adorable when you think you're funny," Wesley told him.

"I like to think I'm adorable the rest of the time too," Angel said. The driver opened the car door and Angel stepped out, reaching to thread his hand through Wesley's to encourage him to follow.

Wesley fell into step beside him. "But shall we *sleep*?" he asked, refusing to be distracted from his cause. "We hardly got any - "

Angel's warm look interrupted him. "I know. I was there."

It was impossible for Wesley not to smile back. "Then you agree that rest is in order."

"I do," Angel said. The elevator doors slid open, admitting them as soon as they walked up to them as though they'd been waiting to do just that. Which, considering that it was Angel's private elevator, they probably had. "First order of the day, if you ask me."

Wesley squeezed Angel's hand. "Excellent. I'm glad that's settled."

Angel hit the button for the penthouse, then went a few lower to hit the one for his office floor. He then hit 'Door Close' to drive the point home. "Yep. You're taking the day off."

"Angel!"

"First order of the day," Angel mused. "What *could* I have meant by that?"

"You're just as tired as I am!" Wesley told him. "You had just as little rest, you exerted just as much effort, you - "

"Have an immortal body and the stamina to match and I *did* just use the word 'order', didn't I?" Angel asked. "Because I know I heard the word coming out of *somebody's* mouth and it sure as heck sounded like me."

"Go in late," Wesley pleaded. "Take just a few hours. Surely you can take just a few hours?"

Angel pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "No, Wes, I can't."

Wesley fisted his hand in Angel's shirt, hating the unfairness of all that the role of CEO demanded. "May I see you later? Make sure you're not too stressed?"

"Count on it," Angel promised him. He held him close, the embrace reassuring. "Now be the one thing that makes me happy. I just ordered you to take the day off and take care of yourself and you say - "

"Yes, Angel," Wesley replied.

The kiss on his lips was soft and lingering. "Good boy."

"I'll miss you," Wesley said, stepping away as the doors opened.

Angel gave him one last smile before vanishing back into corporate life. "Me too."

Wesley rode the rest of the elevator ride alone.

When he arrived at the penthouse it was dark, and quiet. He navigated his way into the bedroom mostly by memory, shedding his coat and beginning to work at the fly of his trousers.

His hands made it to the zipper before he paused, and thought of something.

He redid his clothes and went back to the elevator again.

"All right, all right," Spike snapped, pushing the button for 'Mute' when raising the volume on the telly didn't seem to drown out that annoying knocking sound at his front door. He got up out of his chair, heaving a put-upon sigh for whatever Power, ghost, or hidden camera might be bothering to keep an eye on his every move. "I'm coming already, keep your shirt on."

He flung open the door, then blinked. "Oh. Second thought, ignore that last bit."

Wesley smiled at him, his hand poised mid-knock. "Hello, Spike. I hope I'm not interrupting? I heard your TV, I thought you might not be asleep."

"Vampire, pet," Spike reminded him, leaning against the doorway. "Don't tend to go to bed until that big burning thing up yonder shows its face, 'least if I get any say in the matter."

Wes's brows furrowed with confusion. "Er - yes. That was my point. I hoped I could still see you, even though it's morning."

"Is it?" Spike asked. He glanced at the clock on his cable box. "Huh. So it is. You know it keeps doing that."

A hint of a smile touched Wesley's lips. "Yes. Almost daily, in fact."

"Right annoying if you ask me," Spike said.

"It can be far too bright at times," Wesley agreed. He nodded in the direction of the apartment. "May I come in?"

"My crypt is your crypt," Spike said, making as grand a gesture of invitation as he could manage at that hour. "'course it's a little light in the actual graveyard theme at the moment."

"Still, it's…." Wesley's eyes traveled over the space, which Spike knew was first and foremost a shoebox compared to the football stadium that Angel called - well Hell, that Angel called his *loo*, let alone the size of the entire penthouse that took over the top floor. Then it hit all the bits Spike had done to personalize it, which at the moment meant half-empty pizza boxes scattered about, magazines of various sorts left forgotten on the furniture, two rubbish bins overflowing with completely empty blood containers, an unmade bed, and one mute television which at that second in time actually *was* showing Klixer porn. "… nice."

Spike immediately went to turn the TV off. "Been a while since the maid's been in," he said. He tried to gather up the pizza boxes, then realized he had no place to put them. He tried to compromise by stacking them in a tidy pile. "Was going to complain about that one of these days."

If Wesley was bothered by any of this, he gave no sign. "It seems like a place you would be comfortable in."

Spike thought to himself that there weren't many people who could make something like that sound like a compliment. Actually he wasn't entirely certain if Wes was one of them, but damned if he didn't have that look on his face that was all sincerity and showed no signs of taking the piss. Not knowing what to make of that, Spike went for his default. "Want a drink?"

Wes smiled, as though that'd been the right thing to say. "Yes, thank you."

"Have a seat," Spike told him. He started to walk into the kitchen, stopped, went back to his dinette set, cleared off a group of magazines which were decidedly *not* intended for nice British schoolchildren, shoved them inside the pizza boxes when he couldn't think of where else to put them, then motioned for Wesley to help himself. "There you go."

"Thank you," Wesley said, sitting down. This time his eye held a sparkle. "You know there's recycling for that."

"How do you think I got them in the first place?" Spike asked. He opened up his fridge, then immediately knew it held the wrong contents. "Er - there's beer and blood, pet. Maybe we should order in."

"Beer will be fine," Wes said. "I find I'm past my blood-drinking days."

Spike swiveled his head around and looked at him.

Wes looked back, the picture of innocence. "Hum? I didn't say anything."

In spite of the world-class snit he'd been jealously hoarding for the past 24 hours, Spike found himself smirking. "Beer it is, then."

"Thank you," Wesley said. He accepted his beer, then glanced around. Spike realized that of all things the boy was looking for a coaster. When he couldn't find one, he held his bottle with one hand and cradled the bottom of it in the palm of another, making sure not a single drop of condensation marred the surface of Spike's otherwise scratch-free table. Spike stared at this like the bizzare alien ritual that it was, deciding he had no hope of comprehending it. "Did you have a good night?"

Oh yeah, there was the snit again. "Fine, thanks," Spike tossed off, having practiced this one in his head already. Though it didn't hold the same satisfaction as when he'd said it to his mental image of Angel who, for the record, was at least three inches shorter in the imaginary paridise of Spikedonia. At least from his toes to his stupid hair, anyway. No sense messing with the useful bits. "Went out. To a party. Very posh. All sorts of fun and important people were there. Shame you had to miss it."

Any hope Spike had of getting keen satisfaction with the lie was punctured by Wes's cheerful smile on his behalf. "Did you? That's wonderful. So you've been making friends, then?"

"Er - yeah, some," Spike said, trying to catch his pace again. He tried to cover the verbal stumbling with a slug of his beer.

"I worried that might prove difficult for you," Wesley explained, trying to catch his eyes. "Considering the state of your soul. There's far too many demons and vampires in Los Angeles who can sense that sort of thing and immediately brand you a traitor to their cause. I'm surprised - pleasantly, of course - that more haven't tried to kill you on sight for the sheer principle of the thing."

*Angel just _had_ to fall for the brainy one, didn't he?* Spike thought to himself as Wes's words brought back the bitter memories of the few forays that he'd made into the LA undead social scene. But, again, aloud he brushed it off. "Yeah, well, some of us have more charm than others."

"Angel always found it a bit problematic," Wesley said.

"Like I said - "

Wesley grinned. "Even so, I'm happy for you."

"I've always been happy to have more charm than Angel does," Spike said, deftly twisting away from the real topic. Then a flicker in Wes's eyes made him feel bad - a sensation which he blamed on the soul, since it was a handly scapegoat for any of his more annoying feelings. Besides, it wasn't Wesley's fault that Da still held vestiges of being a right bastard. "Sorry. Don't mean to poke fun at your one true - well, actually I *do* but not 'cause of anything you did."

"We don't have to talk about him if you don't want to," Wesley said.

Spike quirked an eyebrow at that. "You two have a fight or something?"

"Oh no," Wes assured him. "It's just - it's not necessary, Spike. If you don't wish it. Your company is enough for me, I promise."

"Don't think the two of us could survive long *without* talking about him, but ta anyway," Spike said. He gave Wes a grin. "Besides, what would we talk about if *not* him?"

"Your love of Latin?" Wesley offered, back on his billards face again.

"Definitely rather talk about Angel," Spike replied, swallowing more of his beer.

Wes grew thoughtful. "Spike, why are you so concerned about my position with him?"

Spike tried to wave it off. "I don't care what position he - "

"You know what I meant," Wes said, his voice gently correcting.

Spike marveled at the sort of patience Wesley could exude. Small wonder Da craved him for a stable pony. It was easy to picture even the most squirrely of demons calming down under that easy blue gaze that somehow lacked even a hint of judgement. It almost made Spike not want to answer, since the truth held a jarring note to all this. "'cause I don't know him, pet. Or, I do but I don't know which him he is. I've met Angelus, I've met Angel, and there's good parts to both, don't get me wrong, but…." Spike started to fish for a cigarette, then stopped himself when he remembered the presense of mortal lungs. "I've seen him do nasty things. Not the vampire kind, the right prick kind. And I'm not sure if he's left that part of himself behind yet."

Wesley studied him. "So you are concerned that he'll hurt… me?"

Spike didn't miss the odd inflection on the last word, but he pretended that he did. "Yeah. I mean, you keep asking me and all - "

"That's very kind of you, Spike."

This was definitely the kind of saccharine-filled moment that could make his entire body itch. He tried to recapture his bluster. "Oi! You take that back! I'm still nasty as anything you're likely to find."

"I notice you don't mind bragging about that now that you no longer need our help regaining your body," Wesley observed.

"Doesn't make it any less true," Spike told him.

"Yes, Spike, you are a nasty, horrible murderer," Wes said, the words practically a coo.

Spike flipped him off, then made a face as Wes continued to fiddle with his beer. "Or for Pete's sake, here." He tore some paper towels off a roll in the kitchen and handed them to him, trying to cover the courtesy with a half-entendre. "Free a hand up for something useful."

Unphased by the vulgarity, Wesley separated the towels at their perforations, folded them as though they were fine linen, and doled them out - coaster for him, coaster for Spike, then two napkins for each of them, with Wes placing his properly in his lap.

Spike watched all of this, finding himself nostalgic at these little courtesies. "You remind me of Dru."

Now it was Wes's turn to draw the eyebrows up. "Do I? Thank you."

Spike slid back into his chair. "Not many'd take that as a compliment, pet."

"You were once in love with her, I assumed you intended it as one?" Wesley said, a curious look turning the reply into a question.

"I did, actually," Spike said. He studied Wes, though of course there wasn't a single hint of anything like Dru in the boy's appearance. "She's like you, in some ways. Always proper with her knives and forks and tea. Suppose you know what all that silverware's used for."

"The knives are generally the things you use to cut with," Wesley replied, doing an indulgent pantomime.

"*Yes*, pet."

"And the forks are those stabby things which aren't as sharp."

"You know I *could* order you to be quiet," Spike pointed out.

Wes met his eyes, invitation clear. "Why don't you?"

Spike swallowed on a suddenly dry throat. "Dunno."

"I thought about you," Wesley said.

Spike blinked. "What?"

"While I was gone," Wes said. "With Angel. I thought about you, even though I had Angel entirely to myself."

Spike wondered what to make of this. "O… kay."

"He thinks of you too, you know," Wesley continued. "I asked him. He said you were family."

"I already knew that, pet," Spike told him, not wanting to be mollified from his tantrum.

"I know," Wes stood up, crossing over to stand by him. "But I've thought about it, and I decided to make one thing clear."

Spike looked up at him. "What?"

Wes bent down, pressing a kiss to his lips. "I think you're my family too."

Spike reached up, wanting to grab the boy close.

Wes stepped back, squeezing his hand to remove any trace of rejection. "No. It's more than sex, and I think it's time you understood that."

"Can't I understand it *with* the sex?" Spike asked.

Wes looked rueful at that. "I'm not sure that I could. I'm going on very little sleep at the moment."

"You could - " Spike started to offer, then caught sight of his rumpled bed in the distance, a far cry from the crisp clean lines of Angel's sheets. "Right. You probably wouldn't want to - "

"Actually I would," Wesley said, his eyes meeting Spike's, "if the company was right."

There was an uncomfortable familiarity to this, but Spike found he didn't mind it. He let Wes lead the way into the bedroom, then held him close as they both fell asleep.

When he woke up later that day and saw Wes was still there, he thought that maybe sometimes Angel knew what he was talking about.

"For you."

Wesley looked up from his desk. It was mid-afternoon, and he was almost done with a project that he would have finished Monday, if Angel hadn't made him take time off. Still, he'd ben working for hours and didn't mind the interruption. "Hello, Spike."

The vampire stood with a strange sort of body posture, as though he wasn't quite sure what to do with all his limbs. After a moment's hesitation, he thrust a package in Wesley's direction, nearly hitting Wesley on the chest with his earnestness. "Here. For you."

Wesley took the box into his hands before Spike's tight grip could break it. He ran his fingers over the plain brown wrapping, feeling the bumps at the spots where the tape hadn't be laid down properly in order to create a smooth seam.

"It's from Angel," Spike added, before Wesley could ask. "He - it's from him."

"I see," Wesley said. His thumb moved back and forth over a ripple in the paper, created by an excess amount of material that in no way counterbalanced a lack of material on the other side. A bit of the white box underneath peeked out from amongst the brown.

"He wrapped it himself," Spike told him, his own eyes flicking back and forth from the makeshift covering and Wesley's observation of it. When Wesley offered no comment to this, he seemed to warm to the topic. "I told him to get somebody proper to do it but oh no, bloody moron gets some *stupider* moron to - "

"The wrapping is fine, Spike," Wesley told him, looking up at the vampire once more.

Spike looked back, shifting in place once more. "Right. It - right. Okay."

"Thank you," Wesley said, "for delivering this to me."

A hint of a smile appeared on Spike's face. It quickly vanished. "Okay. Good. I'll just… tell him I did that then."

And with that the vampire was gone.

Wesley shook his head at the entire situation, then unwrapped his gift.

"Thank you for the Cadbury chocolate," Wesley said later that night as he and Angel rode together in the lift.

"You're welcome," Angel replied, barely looking up from the report that he was reading. "Wait - what?"

Wesley smiled to himself. "Yes, I rather thought so. Never mind."