Angel / RPGFH / Spike in LA Aftermath

Warning! The following is completely PWP and BWB - as in "Beta? What Beta?" It's being posted just for fun and is not to be taken as a serious fic.

Written by: TBQ

Angel sat back in one of the hotel's many overstuffed armchairs, looking out at nothing in particular. A half-finished cigarette dangled from his hand, almost ready to join the others he'd crushed into the ashtray that had been left behind in this particular room.

"Ah, there you are," Wesley said, poking his head around the doorway, then stepping in at once.

Angel took a note of his appearance. "That my shirt?"

Wesley glanced down at the dark T-shirt he was wearing over his slacks. "Yes."

Angel couldn't help the slight smile as he stabbed the cigarette out. "Looks cute. Should wear my stuff more often."

"It hardly fits me," Wesley said. He crossed the room and perched himself against the table beside him. "Most of your things don't."

"See, I could've told you that when you stole my coat," Angel said. He flicked an appraising look over the shirt. "Still looks cute though."

Wesley blushed. "Be that as it may, Angel - what are you doing?"

"Thinking," Angel held a hand up to cut off Wesley's protest. "Really. No brooding."

Wesley held up a cigarette butt. "Really?"

"Wouldn't lie to ya," Angel said. He reached out to pull Wesley closer. "C'mere."

Wesley allowed himself to be moved, shifting his weight to sit against the arm of the chair, one leg dangled over Angel's. "I - I worried."

"I know," Angel rubbed Wes's leg apologetically. "Didn't want to wake you."

Wesley looked like he was seriously thinking about hitting Angel over the head. "Spike's right. You've gone completely mental."

"How is he?" Angel asked.

Wesley shrugged. "Asleep. Angel - is he going to be all right?"

Angel nodded. "Yeah."

"What - why did he act that way? Last night I mean? Was it because of what you said?"

Angel nodded again. "Yeah. Not used to hearing that from Angelus."

Wesley frowned. "But you're not - "

Angel stopped him, gesturing to his face to remind Wesley that while the name changed, the appearance was pretty much the same.

"Ah," Wesley said.

"Yeah," Angel said again. "But he'll be fine. I think."

Wesley touched his arm gently. "And you?"

Angel found it hard to meet Wes's eyes. "Um. I'm thinking."

"I noticed," Wes said patiently. "Care to tell me what about?"

"I - um," Angel looked up at him. "Wes? Can you do without me for the morning? Maybe little more? I - I wanna go to Caritas."

Wesley took this in, worry flickering in his eyes. "Of course. But - can you tell me why?"

"Wanna make sure I'm not doing something stupid," Angel answered honestly. He covered Wes's hand with his own. "I'll tell you about it when I get back. Promise."

"All right," Wesley said. "Should I do anything in particular for Spike?"

Angel shook his head. "He's a late riser. He'll be ok. You go to work." Then, realizing why Wes was focusing on mundane stuff, Angel stood up and kissed him. Hard.

"Love you," Angel said. "That hasn't changed. Isn't gonna stop either."

Angel hated the look of relief in Wes's eyes. "Good. I hope it doesn't."

"Won't. Promise."

"You know, Angel," the Host said as he let Angel into the closed bar, "we've got to stop meeting like this. Don't get me wrong - love the whole We Are Friends And Family thing we've got going here, but on the other hand there's folks in this town besides you who'd like to have a sex life."

Angel processed all of that then decided to skip it. "Did I come at a bad time?"

"Sadly no," the Host lamented. "My attempts to convince Tony - you've met him, right? New waiter? Biceps you could run a ski jump off of? - to stay the night were thwarted when a customer dumped an entire pitcher of Long Island Ice Tea over the head of a plorren demon with no sense of humor. By the time we got the whole thing settled Tony had scurried off home. Which," the Host added, putting a hand on his hip, "you'd think I'd have seen coming. So what are you drinking?"

"Coffee's fine," Angel said, sitting down at one of the tables.

"And yet beer is what we have on tap," the Host replied. "Unless you're up for juice. I could make us some mimosas but I'm guessing that goes against your whole dark and mysterious warrier of the night theme."

"Juice is fine," Angel muttered.

"It's OJ," the Host said, pouring a couple of glasses. "You'll like it. Very vampire. Unless you'd prefer blood? But I'm thinking after snacking on the youngest member of the Angelus clan you're not feeling too hungry in the blood department anyway."

Angel accepted the juice and decided to just be grateful he didn't have to sing.

"You and me both," the Host said, sitting down. "Don't get me wrong. Love your version of I Write The Songs. But it's early and I'm hung in all the wrong ways. So spill. Finding that recreating a hundred and twenty hours of Sodom wasn't all you thought it'd be cracked up to be?"

"Nah, actually that was pretty -" Angel started, caught the Host's look, and stopped, clearing his throat. "Um -"

"Yeah," the Host said, holding up a hand. "Spare me. I'm getting enough already. Not that I'd normally complain - especially since your kid's apparently got better dress sense than you do - but you're not gonna give the details I wanna hear and it's just not fair if you don't take pictures."

Angel took a sip of his drink, looking away.

"What I meant," the Host continued, "was what came after. You know if you're worried about the soul you can always just check what you're wearing."

"Is this going to be all about my clothes?" Angel asked. "'cause I *could* go to work."

"Oh don't pout," the Host motioned for him to stay where he was. "You know what I meant. It's not like you need me to tell you the soul's in place."

"Yeah," Angel said, leaning forward, "but you could tell me if it's going anywhere."

The Host studied him for a moment. "Hard to say, Angelica. You're hitting all sorts of crossroads this week, ain't ya? Couldn't take up macrame?"

"Don't need any planters," Angel said. "Look…." he sighed. "Something happened. Dunno what. But when - " the Host indicated that Angel could move on, he knew what he was referring to. "I just don't wanna screw up. 'til now it's been ok. Wes doesn't make me lose it. But - but…. now I dunno."

"You lost control," the Host said. He finished his glass and poured himself some more juice. "Kinda the point of those little bondage scenes, isn't it sugar? 'course you being you just *had* to go for the triple score. Grandkid on one side, Wesley on the other -"

"It wasn't about control," Angel said.

"Oh please," the Host said. "With your love of hair gel putting most oil companies to shame you're going to tell me that you don't have a problem letting things get out of hand?" The Host blinked suddenly, staring at him. "Well - *that's* a huge no-go area for you isn't it, Angelcakes? You know your grandkid's right - you should really listen to those pronoun changes."

"I got *one* thing I need to control," Angel said, intensely. "'s what everybody says. I have *got* it under control."

"Angel," the Host said reasonably, "I'm prescient and even *I* don't have things under control. Like the whole Tony incident. This, my not-so-young buck, is what we in the biz like to call 'life'. It happens."

"Don't wanna hurt anybody," Angel muttered. Then, stronger, added. "I *don't*."

"And I believe you," the Host said. "But good intentions and thirty bucks gets you Liza's greatest hits on a two CD set. All you can do is go forward."

Angel sighed. "Great."

The Host shrugged. "Hey - at least you're having some fun while it lasts. And you're not as cranky as you used to be. Which reminds me - I've got to put another credit on Wesley's bar tab."