No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended.
Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains strong m/m sexual scenes, violence, coarse language and adult themes.
Title: Talking to a Stranger
Series: The Wes soap I guess, though I’ve got a few stories in between to finish – sorry about that, Chief. I’ve been sick as a dog.
Author/pseudonym: Hellblazer
E-mail address: havisham06@yahoo.com
Rating: MA
Pairing: A/W
Date: 26 July 2001
Archive: Yes
Disclaimers: Don't own these characters, Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, and the rest do. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
Warnings: sexual references (m/m), adult themes
Spoilers: Post "Epiphany", Season 2
Summary: A conversation between two estranged lovers.
Wesley stood alone at his bedroom window, watching the shadows of the trees smash together in the dim moonlight, knowing, with the same certainty as he did as a child, that there was something out there in the dark, watching and waiting. This time he could put a name to the monster hiding in the night: Angel.
He knew Angel was there, watching and waiting, in the shadows. He closed the blinds and turned away from the window, unbuttoning his shirt, knowing when he woke he'd find a letter on fine paper written in Angel's florid copperplate slipped under his door, professing both remorse and affection, emotions Wesley had yet to believe were fully sincere. He also knew when he got to the office there would be more letters, all on the same tasteful and expensive notepaper, and flowers, fresh, dried, handpicked or bought, sometimes even chocolates, a bottle of wine or some delicacy, maybe even a rare edition. Occasionally there were phone messages. There would have been faxes and e-mails, too, if Angel had fully mastered late 20th Century technology. Wesley knew that if he'd had a man on the door of his building, Angel's calling card would have been presented nightly.
Cordelia found it creepy and mentioned stalker laws and restraining orders, especially in the light of Angel's previous behaviour. Wesley had found himself equal parts amused and unnerved. What was grounds for legal action these days had been standard courting ritual in Angel's day. As creepy as it was, Wesley was curiously touched to be the object of Angel's earnest wooing. He was uncomfortable with it, yes, but the shoe was on the other foot and it gave him some small satisfaction. He wasn't sure he could forgive Angel, but he took perverse pleasure in watching Angel squirm. The problem was how far each of them was willing to take this little game. He didn't want to think of how far Angel might take it.
That was what worried Cordelia. She'd seen just how far Angel could take it.
"Are you sure he's not turned evil again?" she'd demanded, dropping the poesy of dried blood red roses into the bin.
"Yeuch - Morticia flowers. And what the hell are those?"
"Glazed trotters. Pigs feet."
Cordelia dropped them back on the desk. "Eeew. Gross. He is evil."
"No, just regressing a bit in his tastes."
"The difference being?"
"I understand, Cordelia, but what can I do?"
"Tell him you're with Gunn now."
'Tried that."
Cordelia sat on the corner of his desk, The desk. The only desk.
"And he knows it's not true. He knows you're not over him," she offered quietly.
Wesley hung his head. "I'm sorry."
She patted his shoulder. "It's all right. Buffy couldn't get over him either. I'll put you on a twelve step program."
Wesley gave her a long suffering look.
"One of the worst serial killers in the world has ever known just happens to be my ex-boyfriend, and now he wants me back. What do you think I should do?"
"Take out a restraining order?"
"Fantastic. I'll just call Lindsey MacDonald to file one for me, shall I?" Wesley's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Cordelia stuck out her tongue. God, she was only trying to be helpful.
"He probably expects me to just drop everything and return to play Robin to his Batman."
Cordelia shuddered. "Now I'll never get that image out of my head," she complained bitterly.
Ignoring her, Wesley reached for a trotter and truly grossed her out.
"Ewww. Don't. Aside from being really disgusting it could be poisoned."
Wesley just smiled at her. "Angel doesn't want me dead, at least, not yet. He wants me back."
"Do you want to go back?" she asked, quietly and seriously.
Wesley frowned, hunching his shoulders.
"I honestly don't know. I don't think that I can."
"But you still love him?"
"I don't know." He slumped in his chair. "I was in love with him, more than anything in this world, I loved him. And then..."
"Darla," Cordelia supplied.
Wesley nodded.
"Amongst other things. Now I've seen his true face, or at least, part of it."
"You're not sure you want back in?"
Wesley's shoulders hunched together again. "I ache for Angel, day and night. It burns beneath my skin, but I've got enough on my plate trying to run this business without getting myself killed. I don't think I'm strong enough to deal with the entire ocean liner load of luggage Angel drags around behind him like Morely's shackles."
"Morley?"
"Dickens reference."
"Oh."
Cordelia rested a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it slightly.
"Is he worth it?"
"The price? Probably not. Definitely not."
"Things never are." Cordelia agreed sadly.
"You still want him," she pressed.
"I can't," Wesley resolved.
Wesley was roused from the book he had spread open but was failing to read due to fatigue and wildly wandering thoughts by a sudden loud knocking on his door.
He shut the book with a determined air, knowing to whom that knock belonged to.
"Angel," he acknowledged, holding open the door, noting the black clad figure standing bowed before him.
"May I come in?" Angel asked, unsure or not if his hasty invitation had since been revoked again. Wesley was blocking the entrance with his body, a telling sign. He was not welcome here.
"Come in," Wesley agreed coolly, stepping aside to let Angel pass. Angel stood in the centre of the lounge room, uncomfortable in the silence, knowing that Wesley was probably enjoying his discomfort.
"Wesley, I..." he began.
"Sssh," Wesley was suddenly very close.
Angel raised his head and met those blue eyes.
"Wes, I'm sorry," he began.
"Angel..."
Wesley cupped Angel's face in his hands and kissed him, bittersweet. His mouth closed over Angel's, feeling Angel's open, his tongue slid in, stroking him. Wesley held him close, arms sliding around him. Wesley's hand slipped into his trousers and eased into a slow stroking. Angel groaned and the stroking grew faster, then Wesley pushed him away gently, leaving Angel with that partly confused look.
"You're completely insane if you think I'm going to forget the curse or give you the impression that you're forgiven in anyway," He drew away further.
"Tease."
"Look who's calling the kettle black. I learnt at the feet of the master. I learnt on my knees."
"You're so cold."
"You gave me frostbite. You left me out in the cold to die. I didn't die, but I'm also stronger now."
"I know. I can see that."
"I'm not your whipping boy any more."
'You never were."
"You almost destroyed me, Angel."
"You're only I couldn't."
"No. There was Buffy."
Angel bowed his head.
"Now I know how she feels. Baptism of fire. Why she's so fucked up now."
'She isn't -"
Wesley raised an eyebrow and Angel stopped. He bowed his head again.
"In the classic literature, at some point, usually towards the end of the story, the libertine suddenly realises the wrong he has done in pursuing his obsessions and desires and regrets his actions. However, it is usually too late and he can only make amends with his own death." He met Angel's eyes. "Perhaps you have finally reached this stage, again, and wish to repent. If so, I don't require your death, although I'm not sure about Cordy or Gunn. I am, however, not entirely sure of how bonafide your regret is. I'm not sure how much you realise the extent of the damage you've done. We knew you were a vampire and yet we trusted you, respected you and loved you. You were a part of our family, our friend and you betrayed us. We won't ever forget what you are again."
'That's good."
"And you'll always be alone. You'll never be one of the family any more, one of us. Even if you work with us, you'll always be alone."
"I understand."
"Do you? Our love for you is no longer unconditional. Our trust in you is broken. Our faith in you is destroyed. Did you ever stop to think our belief in your was a part of your redemption?"
Angel couldn't answer.
"I wonder if you'll ever know all you threw away in your desire to relive the past. You turned your back on the future, on us. We were your family. We thought we mattered. I thought I mattered."
"Wes, I -"
"I should have known from your history, family doesn't matter to you."
Angel glowered, but he knew he couldn't argue against Wesley's case for the prosecution.
"I loved you. Didn't that matter to you? Not in the slightest?" Wesley asked, pained.
"Can you ever forgive me?"
"I don't know."
"What will it take?"
"An act of contrition, perhaps." Wesley smiled a small smile at Angel's reaction. "Still a Catholic boy. Three Hail Marys will not make it all better. God may forgive you but I'm not sure if I'll ever trust you. You're a wild animal, a predator. I won't forget what you are: Angel, destroyer of worlds. You destroy lives, Angel. It's what you do. Even when you don't mean to, that's the funny part."
Angel's eyes grew wet, and Wesley's voice softened.
"You're a god, a Greek god. Beautiful, desirable, destructive. The price of loving you is so high, too high."
"I..."
Wesley shook his head. Nothing Angel could say could make it right.
Angel bowed his head.
"I'm sorry."
"I know, and I know you're sincere. But your sincerity has the shelf life of a dairy product, Angel. Your loyalties turn on a dime. You're up and you're down and you change your obsessions more often than you change your underwear."
"Hey - oh," Angel realised.
"I'm sorry, Angel, I can't. Not now. Maybe not ever."
Wesley's face was pinched and worn.
"I knew what you were, intellectually, before I loved you. Now I know what you're like up close and personal. I won't be blinded by love again. I just want you to know that Angel. We all have our faults. Perhaps I can learn to live with yours, perhaps not. We'll see."
Angel's eyes were moist and dark, begging the forgiveness he craved and knowing it wouldn't come, not yet.
"Wes," he started, but Wesley placed a finger gently on his lips.
"Probation. Good behaviour bond. I can't promise more. Not now."
Angel nodded, sadly. He knew he didn't ever deserve this much.
"I don't trust you." Wesley tried to explain. "You hurt me, very badly."
Angel pouted further.
Wesley stroked Angel's cheek softly.
"Quiet now."
"Friends?" Angel had to ask.
"We'll see," Wesley remained firm.
Angel nodded again.
Wesley turned to walk away.
"I never meant to hurt you," Angel called after him.
"Nevertheless, you did," Wesley answered softly, not turning around, not wanting Angel to see how very deeply hurt he had been, but Angel could tell from his voice, his scent, the tenseness of his body that he'd been Wesley's first true, deep, burning love and he'd left Wesley with scars that would last a lifetime.
"Wesley, please," Angel pleaded suddenly to his back.
"Give it time, Angel," Wesley advised, sitting down and opening his book again, indicating that the interview was at an end.
So Angel said nothing and let Wesley be, for now. Forgiveness would come. Wesley was a decent soul. And tomorrow was another day, and he tried to remember the name of that old movie. There was always time to make it up to him.
The door closed and Wesley slumped, holding his head in his hands. Damn Angel for still making him weak at the knees, gun shot or no gun shot. Damn Angel for still being able to arouse and terrify him with a glance. Damn Angel for not being able to let go.
In the corridor Angel ran a fingertip over his lips, remembering Wesley's taste and feel.