Angel / Pet / Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The night was so late that it was well into morning when Wesley and Spike finally got home.

Angel put the TV on pause and went to greet the both of them at the elevator. The doors slid open, revealing Spike looking more or less the same as usual, while Wes had half of his shirt undone and was leaning on Spike as though the world had tilted about forty-five degrees.

"You got him *drunk*," Angel accused.

"No such thing, Da," Spike said. He pushed past, guiding Wes towards the living room.

"I send you out," Angel said, following along, "I tell you to make sure he has a good time and you get him *drunk*."

"I am not *drunk*," Wesley insisted, the passion of his words only undercut slightly by the fact that he was unable to correctly make eye contact with Angel until he'd given it three tries. "I only had a few drinks. I'm *fine*."

"He *can't* handle his alcohol," Angel told Spike.

"Seemed to be handling it fine to me," Spike replied.

"He *doesn't*," Angel said. "He has a couple of drinks and - "

Spike looked at him. "And what?"

Angel realized that there'd been a year and a half in which he had *no* idea how well Wes managed to handle his drinking. And of course now he could hardly ask him. "Nothing."

Spike resumed walking back to the living room. "Okay, Da. If you say so."

"You shouldn't have gotten him drunk," Angel said.

"Wasn't me so much as the wine and the beer," Spike pointed out.

"And the martinis," Wesley added, helpfully. He waved a hand to try to get Angel's attention. "They had the most wonderful kind. Called Red… something."

"Delicious," Spike prompted.

"*Yes*," Wesley said, pointing at him. "Absolutely wonderful. Tasted just like apple pie. If apple pie were liquid. And put into green glasses with sparkles on them."

"You got him drunk on *girl drinks?*" Angel demanded.

Spike held up his free hand innocently. "He ordered 'em. I tried to put a stop to it."

Wesley drew himself up. "Martinis are *not* girl drinks. James Bond drinks them."

"Don't think he drinks the ones that taste like apples, pet," Spike said. He eased Wesley down onto the couch.

"Well he *should*," Wesley said. "They're yummy."

Angel took this in, wondering if he wanted to laugh or hit Spike over the head. Then he wondered why he couldn't do both. "How blitzed is he?"

"Pretty sure you could set him on fire and he wouldn't remember it in the morning," Spike said, shrugging out of his coat. "Actually, pretty sure you could set him on fire and he wouldn't notice it right now either."

"Yeah, well let's avoid that litmus test," Angel sat down on the coffee table in front of Wes. "You feeling okay there, Wesley?"

"I am," Wes assured him, a smile spreading across his face. "It's quite kind of you to ask. How are you?"

Angel gave Spike a look. "He didn't *drive* like this, did he?"

Spike shot him a look right back. "Oh *please*."

"I worry."

"So do I so tone it down," Spike said. "He's a grown man, Da. He wants to have a few it's his right."

"This wasn't - he wasn't trying to drown his sorrows or anything?" Angel asked.

"It's not a sign of greater problems to come," Spike promised. "Though you and me are gonna have a talk about his office hours."

Angel felt a twinge of guilt. "He's feeling stressed?"

"At the moment I wager he's feeling nothing," Spike said. "But wouldn't say he couldn't use a little relief prior to the dubious drink choices."

"I *had* relief," Wesley said. He tapped Angel's hand to get his attention, then leaned in close as though whispering. "In the lift. Spike and I shagged. It was wonderful. You should try it."

"Been telling him that for years, pet," Spike said.

"Dream on," Angel told him.

Wes tapped for his attention again. "In *your* lift," he added, as though Angel hadn't guessed. "When we left. Did you see? Because if you didn't I'm sure Spike and I could do it again."

"Eager little pup, innit he?" Spike observed.

"How's about you get him some aspirin and some water?" Angel asked, finding it hard to stay annoyed in light of Wes's almost giddy pleasure.

Wes looked disappointed. "You didn't see."

"I did," Angel assured him. "It was very nice."

Wes's face lit up. "Was it really?"

"Very sexy," Angel promised.

"Don't suppose you've got it on tape?" Spike asked, his voice echoing from inside the bathroom.

"The thing you *really* want to be asking is how nice you're going to have to be to me for me to let you see it," Angel said back.

"Blowjob count?"

"It'd be a start," Angel told him.

Worry suddenly crossed Wesley's face. "Oh no - you missed your hockey game."

"I didn't," Angel said.

Wes frowned. "You watched the hockey game instead of me shagging?"

"I watched both," Angel said.

"At the same time?" Spike asked, appearing with a bottle of aspirin in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. "Christ you're jaded."

"They *pause*, you know," Angel said, gesturing towards the TVs. "I can watch one and put the other on hold."

Spike frowned "Which - "

"The *hockey game*, jackass."

"Just making sure of your priorities," Spike said.

Wesley stared between the both of them towards the far wall. "We have more than one television?"

Spike smirked. "How's about we give you a couple of aspirin, pet?"

"But I'm not sick," Wesley protested.

"Do it because I told you," Angel said.

Wesley smiled, sitting up to take the pills. "Yes, Angel."

"Good lad," Angel said. He rubbed Wes's knee. "So, was it a good night *before* you emptied out the liquor cabinet?"

Spike made himself comfortable in a chair. "Wasn't bad."

Wes nodded, spilling some of the water down his chin as he drank. "It was. Though Spike wouldn't dance with me. I don't understand why he invited me to go dancing if he wasn't going to dance with me. Seems rather silly."

"Yeah, why did you do that?" Angel asked.

"I *danced* with him," Spike said. He pointed an accusing finger at Wes. "You're a liar, pet."

"I am *not*," Wesley protested. "You took me all the way to a dancing club and you wouldn't dance and I almost had to go with that nice gentlemen with the broad shoulders."

"There was a gentlemen?" Angel asked, glaring at Spike.

"You noticed his *shoulders*?" Spike asked, giving his own glare to Wes.

"Of *course* I did," Wesley said. He sat back again. "They were enormous. And I notice things. I'm a Watcher. That's my job. Or it was. Then I wasn't very good at it."

"How's about we derail *this* part of the conversation?" Angel suggested. "Tell me more about tonight, Wes."

"Spike wouldn't dance with me."

Angel's mouth twitched. "Tell me something *else* about tonight, Wes."

"Red Delicious martinis taste like caramel," Wesley said. His eyebrows furrowed together. "How do you suppose they do that? Because I've had caramels and while they are very tasty they are also very thick. Not at all the sort of thing one would expect to have while drinking."

"Maybe they melt some to put it in," Angel said.

"Wouldn't that make the glass all sticky?" Wesley asked. "And what would one do with the wrapper?"

Now it was Angel's turn to frown. "The martini wrapper?"

"The *caramel* wrapper," Wesley said, speaking slowly as though Angel were stupid. "Angel, I do appreciate your attempts to help in these matters but I think we can all agree at no time would one wish to put a caramel wrapper into a drink whether it was melted or not."

Spike was watching the entire thing with his head propped on his head. A lazy smile shaped his lips. "Maybe they unwrap the caramel first, pet?"

"That *must* be it," Wesley nodded. He reached out as though to pat Spike's hand. Being no where close to him he ended up patting the couch instead. "Yes, that must be it. Spike, you're very helpful. Angel, you do not appreciate Spike's intelligence enough."

"Been telling him *that* for years too," Spike said.

Wes gave Angel a scolding look. "Why don't you appreciate Spike's intelligence? He's thoughtful. And kind. And thoughtful. And I'm sure it isn't his fault that he went to Cambridge."

"Even *drunk* he doesn't let that go," Spike muttered.

"And he is an *excellent* dancer," Wesley added.

"I thought he wouldn't dance with you," Angel said.

"Don't be silly," Wesley said. "Why would he take me out dancing if he wasn't going to dance with me?"

Angel turned to Spike. "Does he remind you of - "

"Dru," Spike said immediately. "All the time."

"Minus the crazy and the breasts, anyway," Angel said. He turned back to Wes, realizing that Wes was tugging on his shirt sleeve. "What?"

"Does it bother you?" Wesley asked.

"Does what bother me?" Angel asked.

Wes looked solemn. "All this time. I never realized."

Angel looked to Spike for help. "Realized…?"

"It must be so difficult for you," Wesley said. He took Angel's hand and held it inside of both of his. "I never thought - Angel, you *must* forgive me."

"Sure," Angel said. Then, deciding he might as well get the full show, asked, "What am I forgiving you for?"

"Here Spike and I are bragging about our education when of course you haven't had any," Wesley said. He shook his head, squeezing Angel's hand tighter. "That must be *awful* for you. Spike and I must make an effort. We must *include* you. We mustn't make you feel left out simply because we both know more than you do."

"Did you put him up to this?" Angel asked, turning to Spike.

Spike's shoulders were shaking. He uncovered his mouth long enough to say, "Hand to God, Da, swear I didn't."

"You know Spike never *finished* his education," Angel said, deciding the easiest thing to do was deflect Wes's attention.

Sure enough Wesley frowned. "That's horrible. Spike, you should show greater commitment."

"Been committed to being *dead* for over a century," Spike pointed out. "That doesn't count for anything?"

"Of course not," Wesley said. "Angel helped."

"Yeah, he really does cheat with that," Angel said. "Plus his Latin sucks."

Wes leaned in with another too-loud whisper. "I think he only pretends. He's much smarter than he acts."

"Hard to go anywhere but up," Angel said. He blew Spike a kiss as Spike flashed him two fingers.

"Do you know they were wrong?" Wesley asked.

Angel and Spike shared a look.

"Who was wrong, pet?" Spike asked, taking one for the team.

"At the *bar*," Wesley said, as though Spike would know this. "They were *wrong*."

"Oh right," Spike said.

"You know this one?" Angel asked.

"I think you're gonna want him to tell it," Spike replied, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"Who was wrong, Wes?" Angel asked. He put the bottle of water back into Wes's hands again, wondering if he should ask Spike to get another for him.

"The bar," Wesley said. He drank a few swallows, then wiped his lips. "They had a drink and it was entirely wrong."

"Serving whiskey when people asked for beer?" Angel guessed.

"Don't be silly," Wesley said. "It was a drink. And it had your name on it."

Angel blinked. "There's a drink named after me?"

Spike slumped down enough to kick him on the calf. "Or maybe it just had your name on it, git."

"*You* behave yourself," Angel said. He held up one of the remote controls as a warning about what TV privileges he'd revoke if Spike was truly looking to be punished. Spike simply pouted at him.

Wes was oblivious to all this. "It was called Angel's Arms. Or - no. Angel's Heart. Angel's Body?"

"Angel's *Kiss*," Spike prompted him.

"Angel's *Kiss*," Wesley repeated, head bobbing in affirmation. "There was a drink called Angel's Kiss."

"*Please* tell me it wasn't a girly drink," Angel said.

"Little frou-frou," Spike warned him.

"It was a perfectly lovely drink," Wesley said. "It had *layers*."

"Which would be *my* point," Spike said.

"Don't listen to him," Wesley said. "You drink was absolutely beautiful. But they got it wrong."

"How'd they get it wrong?" Angel asked. "Use the wrong ingredients?" Curious, he added, "What's in it anyway?"

"Brandy," Spike said.

"And three kinds of cream," Wesley said, holding up four fingers to illustrate.

Angel frowned. "That doesn't sound so - "

"One was crème de cacao," Spike said. "And another was Crème Yvette."

"What was the third?"

Spike shrugged. "Just plain cream, near as I can figure."

Angel tried to picture it. "Please tell me he didn't drink a lot of those."

"Oh yes he did," Spike said. He motioned back towards Wesley. "Go on. Let him tell it."

"I *had* to," Wesley said. "Because they kept getting it *wrong*."

"Kept putting in Irish cream, or something?" Angel asked.

"Actually that might have worked," Wesley said. "Since you are Irish."

Angel smirked. "You don't say?"

"Oh yes, you are," Wesley nodded. "I know because I've read it. And you have that little lilt to your words that you think nobody can recognize but I hear it."

"I thought I lost the brogue," Angel said.

Wes smiled at him. "It's there. When you're cross or tired or deep inside me, I can hear it. I rather like it. Feels like being touched by you."

"I could try to get it back again," Angel said. He moved a hand up Wes's leg. "So what's wrong with my drink?"

"It doesn't taste a thing like you," Wesley said.

Angel took a moment. Then he asked Spike, "He doesn't mean - "

"He certainly *does* mean," Spike said. His eyes were dancing with laughter again.

"And I *told* the bartender," Wesley continued, stabbing a finger down into one of the pillows for emphasis. "I said to him, sir, I do not mean to tell you your job but I have *experienced* Angel's kiss and it tastes *absolutely* nothing like this."

"Wes," Angel said, trying to draw Wes's memory out of the alcohol, "you didn't *actually* - "

"For one thing," Wesley said, still quoting himself, "it's saltier."

" - or maybe you did," Angel finished. He tried to compose himself. He was *not* going to laugh at this. "Spike, *please* tell me that Wes didn't - "

"Oh yes he *did*, Da," Spike said, doing a piss poor job of keeping himself under control. "Got very insistent about it too."

"How much had he had at that point?"

"You remember him going on about all those yummy martinis?"

"Well at least he was drunk," Angel consoled himself.

"He was *wrong*," Wesley insisted. "Angel, the man was making drinks with your name on it which tasted *nothing* like you. That's - that's false advertising!"

"Not sure drinks that actually taste like me are going to be big sellers, Wes," Angel said.

Wes smiled. "I would drink them."

"Guess you would," Angel acknowledged.

"I think you taste wonderful," Wesley said. He ran his fingertips along Angel's arm. "I told him that. I said I've had Angel many times and he's quite delicious."

"Am I as good as the martinis?" Angel asked.

"You don't taste like caramel," Wesley admitted, "but you're wonderful all the same."

"Glad I don't disappoint," Angel said. He shifted over to the couch, drawing Wes into his arms. "So what'd the bartender say?"

"He was *quite* interested," Wes said. He rested his head on Angel's shoulder. "He made me tell him again and again what it was like and he gave me free drinks. And then he gave me his phone number."

Angel shot a look at Spike. "He did what?"

Spike looked legitimately innocent. "News to me, Da."

"He did," Wesley said. He fumbled around until he reached into his pocket. "He gave it to me folded up in a napkin and said I shouldn't worry about mentioning it to the old brute beside me - "

"Oi!" Spike protested.

" - but that if I wanted to some night he and I could discuss it all further," Wesley said. He held up the napkin triumphantly. "I believe he said he wanted me to have a drink with him. Or was that a drink *of* him? Spike, do you recall if the bartender had a drink of his very own?"

"Wager he was hoping you'd help him develop one, pet," Spike said.

"Why would I do that?" Wesley asked. "Development is Fred's department."

"So where exactly were *you*," Angel asked Spike, "while this was going on?"

"No clue," Spike admitted.

"He was at the bar," Wesley answered. "I had to use the loo and Spike watched my drink for me."

"And the bartender approached you in the bathroom," Angel said. "For development."

"Yes," Wesley nodded. "He was quite friendly. Even offered to lend me a hand with something in my car but I told him Spike drove me."

"Wes doesn't *ever* spend time alone in clubs again," Angel told Spike.

"Yeah, no kidding," Spike replied.

"Bartender, the guy with broad shoulders, was there anyone who *didn't* hit on him?" Angel asked.

"He's handsome, smart, and looks like he comes from money," Spike said. "Who do you *think* didn't hit on him?"

"From the sound of it so far," Angel said, "the women."

"Oh they did too," Spike assured him.

"Wes does *not* spend time alone in clubs again," Angel repeated.

Wesley looked up at Angel. "Do you think I should call him?"

"The bartender?" Angel asked.

"Yes," Wesley said. "He was so eager to get started. I should call. Let him know that Fred won't be up until morning. Otherwise he'll wait and wait and wait and then when will he have time to go to the toilet?"

Angel plucked the napkin from Wes's fingers. "How's about Spike calls him for you? And maybe gets you another bottle of water while he's up?"

Spike smirked, taking the napkin and heading into the kitchen. "You got it, Da."

Wes reached out to touch Spike's hand and missed by about a foot. "Thank you, Spike. That's very kind of you. You really are the most thoughtful vampire."

"Hear that, Spike?" Angel said. "Now you're a role model."

"Bite me, grandpa," Spike drawled, dumping the napkin into the trash as soon as Wes was unable to see. He then vanished into the kitchen to get more water.

Wes was lost in his own thoughts. "No, *I* need to go to the toilet. I'm not sure what he might need right now."

"Something tells me what you're going to need is a hand up," Angel said.

"Don't be rid - " Wesley paused, working his jaw again. "Rid - ridicul - what was I saying?"

"You were asking me to help you off the couch," Angel said.

"I was *not*," Wesley said. He hauled himself up, leaning against the coffee table as he stood. "Angel, I can assure you that I do *not* need any help whatsoever. I do not mind your teasing but honestly I am as sober as - "

Angel caught Wes before he tipped over. "Right. Sober as a judge. Say, how's about I hang on to you until the bathroom anyway? Just because I like having my hands on you?"

"Well all right," Wesley said. He leaned in as Angel slung his arm under Wesley's shoulders. "But only because I like your hands on me."

"Great how that works out," Angel said.

"I like having your everything on me," Wesley continued. "Even if you don't care for it."

Angel froze. In the midst of all of Wes's inebriated babbling, *that* had had a ring of truth to it. "Wes?"

Wes was still trying to walk as though nothing had changed. "It's all right. I know that it's fun and - and - and whatever it is you do with Spike. I know it's only games. I know that you don't care for me."

No, Angel thought. No. Not like this. Not *now*. Not when Wes was drunk and stupid and wouldn't even *remember* any of this in the morning.

"At least," Wes continued, his voice becoming softer now, "I know you don't care for me the way that I care for - "

*Fuck*. Angel turned Wes around, knowing that there were a lot of stupid things that could be said right now, and the least he could do was keep Wes from saying them.

Well - keep Wes from saying it, and keep him from passing out while he was utterly miserable. He might not remember it come morning, but maybe that was the point.

"I do care," Angel said. He brushed the back of his hand against Wes's cheek, feeling the scratch of five o'clock shadow. "I do, Wes. I care a lot about you."

Wes frowned, puzzled. "Angel - "

"It's not a game," Angel said. "It was never a game. Not to me. You're not just a toy, or a plaything. You're Wes and… I really do care about you. Probably a Hell of a lot more than I should."

"Angel," Wesley breathed.

"I'm actually," Angel added, deciding he might as well just give it all up now, "in lo - "

"I'm going to be sick," Wes announced, and shoved past him into the bathroom.

"Yeah, okay, should've seen that coming," Angel muttered.

Spike appeared at his side. He gave Angel a look of fellow feeling. "It's the alcohol."

"I know," Angel said.

"He didn't hear a word of that," Spike said, with a kindness he rarely showed anyone. "It's not you turning his stomach, Da. Promise."

"No, I - " Angel tried to smile it off. "I've been drunk. I know what it's like."

"Not that he doesn't *want* to hear it," Spike added. "Da - "

"Can we," Angel made a distracted motion, then rubbed his eyes. "Can we just pretend that…. Spike, I *can't*. I want to but - "

"Hey," Spike said. He frowned with curiosity, but rubbed Angel's back comfortingly all the same. "Easy, old man. It's all right. Already forgotten. Promise."

"I can't talk about it," Angel said.

"Then we won't," Spike assured him. "Least not now, anyway."

Angel noted the qualifier, but was grateful all the same. "Thanks."

"Not *always* here to make your life a living Hell," Spike said.

"No, you're not," Angel agreed. "Thank you."

The two of them winced at the sound of retching from the bathroom.

Spike held up the water bottle he'd gotten. "Want me to go in there? I'm the one that got him that way."

"No," Angel said. He took the bottle from Spike, feeling the cool plastic under his fingers. "I got it. You can hit the sack if you want. I'll stay with him 'til he's done."

"My place?" Spike asked.

"Or here if you want," Angel said, then corrected himself. "No. Here. If that's okay. I - I want you to be here."

"Sure, Da," Spike said.

Angel pressed a quick kiss to Spike's forehead before heading into the bathroom. "Thanks, boy."

"Anytime, Da."

The bathroom was lit by dim nightlights that had been installed for Wes's benefit in the first place. Wes was on the floor, kneeling on the thick black bathmat, his body spasming as his stomach emptied.

"Got you some water," Angel said. He put it down on the floor, then sat beside Wes. After a moment he stroked Wes's back, soothing him with a touch similar to the one Spike had just used on him.

"Thank you," Wesley managed, his voice hoarse and weak from all the gagging.

"Just take it easy," Angel told him. "I'm not going anywhere."

Nausea took control again. Angel abandoned conversation, simply keeping Wes company and gently guiding him to drink when the time was right.

And all the while he thought to himself, *Wes, I'm in love with you.*

For all the good that did.