Hospitals were supposed to be havens for the sick; a place to be nurtured and nursed and returned to good health. They had waiting rooms so that family and friends could be near in times of crises, or news, good or bad. To wait for doctors, nurses, and surgeons to bring words of happiness or despair.  
 
"The Operation was a success." 
 
"I'm sorry… there was nothing we could do." 
 
"It's a boy… mother and son are doing fine." 
 
"We aren't sure yet… We'll need more tests." 
 
For Xander, hospitals had always been unpleasant edgy places, no matter how comfortable they were or how restful the décor. From the feelings of loss and heartbreak when Buffy's mother had died, to facing down Angelus, and his own all-too-frequent visits to the ER, they were places he'd just rather avoid. He hated the smell, the odd lighting, and the waiting. Hated staring at the door, hoping each person that came out would be the one that could tell him something… anything. He hated the questions…many of them directed at Giles as Xander got older… ones that seemed accusatory, as if Giles were responsible for his demon-inflicted injuries.  
 
And right now? More than anything? He hated that he was trapped in the waiting room with a worried and angry vampire. A worried and angry vampire that couldn't light up the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear because, of course, no smoking inside… and that big yellow blaze of sun that hadn't quite dipped below the horizon, outside.  
 
So… trapped in a waiting room… with dozens of other anxious or sick people… and a pacing, worried, angry vampire, who was probably having a nicotine fit. 
 
God, he hated hospitals. 
 
"I'm sure we'll know something soon, " Xander ventured, directing his comments towards Spike. 
 
The scowl that was sent in his direction was more than enough to cause him to stave off any further attempts at communication for the moment. "…Or not…." 
 
Xander looked up at the clock, and then back at the door. Wes had been taken inside almost immediately when they had arrived… blood and unconsciousness obviously taking precedence over the mixed bag of broken limbs, fevers and whatever else was ailing the people in the waiting room.  
 
"Must not have had any gunshot victims tonight…" He muttered under his breath… and received another "Scowl of Death" sent in his direction. 
 
"Ouch." 
 
Not that he could really blame Spike. This had all been his fault. He should have anticipated that with something as important as the "Jar of Nensei" being moved someone would attempt to snatch it. Of course, they'd had no idea that anyone else even knew that the Striped One had been released, but he should have anticipated trouble. Trouble in Spades. 
 
Actually, considering his life, he should have simply have assumed that they would be attacked… less chance to be surprised that way. 
 
Xander sighed and looked up at the clock. Oz and Illyria should have dropped the Jar off at Ms. Crenshaw's place by now and be on their way back - hopefully with no further mishaps or attacks. If something else had gone wrong, it would not just be Spike that was scowling at him… but Wes and… well, he'd be getting more back from his mirror than either of them could throw in his direction.  
 
Xander glanced once again at where Spike was pacing, his face a thundercloud of worry and anger. A woman with a fussy baby looked up and then quickly moved to another area to wait. A man with an ice pack clutched to his jaw, flinched every time Spike reached the far end of his path and turned around. Xander was pretty sure that the only reason the man hadn't joined the young mother in flight was because the guy felt too bad to walk around on his own. 
 
"Spike, " He hissed, "Sit down… you're scaring people." 
 
"I bloody hope I am, Harris. Then maybe they'll send someone out here to fucking tell me what the hell is going on with Wes."  
 
Okay, he'd been demoted from Xander back to Harris. This was so not a good sign. And, amazingly enough, it hurt. When had he started caring about what Spike called him? When had "Bleached Wonder" and "Dead Boy Junior", become simply "Spike" on all occasions? He knew he'd started trying to accept the new souled version of the vampire as a concession to Wes, but now? Now that he'd spent time with him, worked with him, he'd begun to accept him for his own sake. 
 
A cold chill suddenly went down Xander's spine at the realization that if something were seriously wrong with Wes, he'd be losing two friends and not just one, because Spike would probably never forgive him.  
 
Not that he'd ever forgive himself either. 
 
"Mr. Harris?" A voice interrupted his sad train of thought. 
 
He looked up to see one of the ER nurses standing next to him, "Yes, is--" 
 
"--Is Wes okay?! What the hell is taking so long?" Spike's voice broke through. 
 
"Ah… you must be Spike." The nurse looked a bit amused. "You certainly match the description that Mr. Wyndam-Pryce gave me. He told me to look for a bad tempered bleached blond who would be wearing a hole in the carpet." 
 
"Wes is going to be okay then?" Xander asked. 
 
"Well, he's going to need a few stitches and Doctor--" 
 
"Can I see him now?" Spike interrupted again, scowling. "Harris can take care of the details… I just want ta see Wes."  
 
"Through those doors… second room on the left." The nurse told him, "But he still may not be very coherent, he did take a good solid crack on the head." 
 
"I bloody know that. I brought him in here, didn't I?" With a final scowl at Xander, Spike whirled and went through the doors into the ER. 
 
"Ouch…again." 
 
Yes, it definitely looked like he was back where he usually wound up - Xander Harris, screw-up. Couldn't even plan a simple courier job without getting people hurt.  
 
He sighed and turned back to listen to the nurse. 

* 

Illyria was tired. Tired down to her bones, in a way she had not expected to ever feel, and not from physical activity. She was tired from worry, tired after presenting herself to Gemma Crenshaw as Fred, tired of being civil to Oz, tired because she could feel things slipping from her grasp, so very human, so very uncontrolled. 
 
Tired because she had wanted to insist that they did as Wesley had said, and had known they would not listen, would ignore her, and it hurt. It hurt to count for nothing, even when she was right. 
 
"My Wesley will be angry," she said to Oz, as they drove away from Gemma's apartment block. 
 
"He'll get over it." Oz was serene and unruffled as ever. 
 
"No…not like that. He will cease to be angry, yes, but -" she sighed, harshly, taking her own form back in the privacy of the darkened van. Oz didn't even flicker a look at her. "I know something that Xander does not. Is that bad?" 
 
"Could be." Oz pulled over. "You can tell me, if you want. Maybe I can help?" 
 
They were not good at talking, she and the wolf. He infuriated her, made her edgy. But he had tried, in the garden, she knew that now, he had tried to help her. It was not his fault - not hers - that they were so very far apart in their ways of communicating. He kept all his talk in his head, and sometimes she could read it, and sometimes it was so fast, so complicated, so overwhelming, that it drove her to her own rage, and led to her need to be away from him. But perhaps this time…perhaps his detachment was what she needed. 
 
"I heard - I saw -" she stopped and sighed. How could she explain that it was what she hadn't heard that was the thing she knew? Or how she had thought about it and understood why, now, it was a flaw at their centre? "Wesley does not believe he can lead, if he puts others first," she said, knowing it was inadequate. "I believe this is why he asked Xander for help." 
 
"So Xander can put them first?" 
 
"No." Illyria shook her head. "So that he does not have to worry about what we do. So that he knows there is someone who will always place our tasks above us." 
 
"And he chose Xander?" Oz sounded incredulous, but Illyria just nodded. 
 
"He believes that Xander is someone who will…get the job done - at any cost. He knows that I would pursue my enemies, that you would count the safety of your friends more highly than anything, and that Spike -" she stopped, uncertain of how to phrase this. 
 
"Spike's not predictable," Oz said smoothly, and she drew a quick breath of relief, because there were layers upon layers in what lay between Spike and Wesley, ones that she would not know how to begin to explain. 
 
"My Wesley puts him first. He does not wish to admit that, nor does he see that it is a great strength in him, were he to learn to use that. He believes he is weak, because of it. That it will lead him to error. He believes that love is…" she stopped again. 
 
"'Lyria, I don't think you should -" 
 
"No, I must say this. I know it is a secret. I do not think even Spike knows this. But Wesley does not know how to love, like this. He has never before felt more than friendship-love, in his heart. Affection. Care. He would die for all of us. But he is afraid that wanting to live is wrong. That he will fail us all. And so he chose Xander, believing that Xander would….make the call. Ground him. And now, he knows that Xander will not place what we do above anyone."  
 
Oz nodded, slowly. "Gonna be a bit more than angry, huh?" 

Illyria blew out a breath of relief. "Yes. Should I tell Xander?" 
 
"Ah, that'd be a big no." Oz seemed to be sizing her up, seeing if she was prepared to listen to him. She gave him her best look of attention, and he cracked a small smile. "Wes has reasons for thinking that about Xander, okay? Way-back-when reasons. You know Angel? The vampire whose ass you kicked? The one Spike told you to call half-breed? Xander…played around with some facts, a long time back. And Angel's girlfriend sent Angel to hell, because of it. And I don't think we want to be making anyone think about all that, right now." 
 
"He lied." Illyria kept her voice even. "He lied so that she could win." General. Warrior. Of course. "But he had a reason." 
 
"Yeah. If Angel didn't go to hell - the whole world was gonna." 
 
"And because he did not care for Angel." Illyria's voice was flat. "But he cares for Wesley. And Wesley should have known the difference." 
 
Oz shook his head. "We're back on that human thing again, 'Lyria. It's more complicated than that. See, Wes still cares about what happens to Angel. Got it in his head that the guy stands for the greater good, no matter what he does. So if Xander was prepared to let Angel go to hell…" 
 
"Then he would be prepared to do anything." Illyria rubbed her hands over her face, marshalling her thoughts. "It is not so erroneous a supposition. Except when applied to Xander." 
 
"Except when applied to Xander," Oz agreed wryly, and put his hand on her arm. "Do you get why we don't tell him?" 
 
"Yes." Illyria said simply. "If I do, I will hurt Xander. And I will force my Wesley into becoming what he should not. But -" If she could have blushed, she would have. "I am glad that you know. It is…worrying, to keep these things to myself." 
 
Oz's eyebrows rose slightly, but he looked pleased. "No problem," he said, and started the van again. 
 
* 

By the time Oz had parked the van at the hospital, Illyria was back on her current topic of annoyance - Gemma and the Urn. 
 
"I do not see why we could not keep it. Why give it to someone who keeps things locked up?" Back in her guise of Fred, she knew that she looked nothing like the armoured warrior who had wanted to chase things down across dimensions in the name of revenge. She wondered if she looked tired, as tired as she felt, as her own form would not, and shrugged. At least she was fairly clean, something this world seemed to set great store in. 
 
On her way up the steps, she stopped, putting her hand on Oz's arm, and saw him stiffen. "Half-breed," she said flatly to the shadows. 
 
Angel stepped out of the shadows, nodding his head to the pair on the steps, "Illyria, Oz..."  
 
Illyria kept her voice, the one that was not hers, the one that always sounded sweet and soothing, as expressionless and hard as she could. "You want something." It wasn't a question. 
 
Angel's expression did not change, even as she saw him take in exactly who she looked like, in this guise. "Yes. Where are Wes and Spike?" He glanced up at the glass doors leading to the ER. "Who got hurt?" 
 
She canted her head slightly, flickering Oz a look that she hoped read very clearly 'He really is this stupid, isn't he?' before proving beyond a doubt that Wesley really hadn't been the best person to let her develop her own sense of humour. "Spike," she said, with all the pleasantry of a desert. "Why else would we be at a hospital." 
 
A perturbed look crossed Angel's face, at that, and she felt a small, pleased, flicker at having made sarcasm work, enough to make the vampire react. "It was Xander, wasn't it?" His sigh was only just this side of exasperated, "Hasn't the boy lost enough without Wes dragging him into more danger?" 
 
His bored dismissal of both Wes and Xander in one small sentence replaced any burgeoning humour within her with something not-quite the right side of anger. "No," she said, her voice flatter than ever. She felt Oz put a hand on the centre of her back, and for once, did not take affront, letting it steady her, instead. "Wesley was hurt. And you are offensive." She made no attempt to refute or defend what Angel had said, knowing that she would only use the wrong words. But she had every intention of repeating them to Spike, later. She wanted to know what she should have said, to get under Angel's skin in the same way he had just done to her. 
 
The exasperation was replaced by concern. "Wes got hurt?" He ignored Illyria's insults and made as if to move towards the door. "Damn it. Is he going to be alright? What the hell happened?" 
 
Illyria started to move forward, and Oz dropped his hand from Illyria's back, and let her go, tacit permission to do whatever she wanted. "No, man. You're not going in there," he said calmly, as Illyria stepped in the tall vampire's way, her eyes starting to blaze with blue fury. 
 
Angel frowned at them, confused. "I need to make sure Wes is okay. Where's Spike?" And for a moment, Illyria could read his shrouded thoughts, clearer than anyone's yet, as clearly as if he had spoke to her. Maybe I can get some sense out of my wayward childe, since no one else appears to be willing to tell me anything. Interesting. She wondered if Spike knew that was how Angel thought of him. 
 
She took a deep breath, remaining calm. People used patience with her all the time. She knew they did. They would probably use it with Angel, too. "With Wesley," she said slowly, trying it out, and sounding more like a frazzled babysitter than any kind of patient instructor. "Like Xander is. Like we should be. Like you should not be. Go home, half-breed." 
 
Angel looked past her, dismissing her with that dark glance as though she were an irrelevancy, and the anger flared up in her again. "Oz... What's going on? Why didn't you call me if you knew you are taking on something dangerous?"

Oz just blinked at Angel, looking as if he were wondering how the vampire had survived for so long with such incredible stupidity as his default behaviour. "Cos we didn't need you," he said at last. 
 
Angel looked startled for a moment, then rallied. "If you didn't need me, then why the hell did Wes get hurt? And why are we standing outside the ER right now?" He scowled. 'Look, I want some answers so I'm going through those doors and I'm going to track down Spike or Xander and someone is going to tell me." 
 
Illyria blocked his path again. "You. Are. Not." Her eyes promised death in all its guises. "He was hurt because these things happen. And if you go in there - they will all be hurt, and those things do not happen. Not from you. You are no protector." 
 
"No... I'm the Champion... Or so people keep telling me. You know? The one who goes in first and stomps the bad guy BEFORE he can hurt Wes...."  
 
Illyria sighed impatiently. If he cared so much, there would be no agency, there would be no apartment-building, and they would all be trying to work for him. Since they were not… "You do not call us. We do not call you. We can all....stomp....fine. By ourselves. This is....I believe the term is none of your business." 
 
"That's not the story I got from Gunn's contact, Illyria. He told me that you were fighting with some heavy demonic hitters... "  
 
Illyria rolled her eyes. "Which we defeated." Her face darkened with a small, private anger. If she had been given her way, they would have been even more defeated. "We accomplished our task." She gave an angry sigh. "Wesley's hurt is small. Xander is in charge. Please. Go."  
 
"Xand....!! Uh... I mean.... " Angel looked completely taken aback. "Xander was in charge? No wonder you didn't call me. But this isn't the end of it... is it? You have something those guys wanted. You still have it. They'll be back -" 
 
Illyria cut across him. "And we will deal with it if they come." She shimmered into her armour, her true self showing. 
 
"Yes," Angel sounded as though he, too were trying to be patient. "You can deal with it... but what about Wes? What about Xander? You can't watch them 100% of the time. Will you let your pride keep you from accepting help? That's ridiculous." 
 
Illyria began to respond without thinking. "My -" She stopped, and her eyes went very wide, but not with shock. With amusement. "My pride? To watch them? Oh, no, half-breed, you mistake me. My pride is to be with them." Her chin jerked up, not defensive, but straight, allowing her to look directly into Angel's eyes. "Perhaps there is something you have forgotten. We have Spike. We do not need your...championship." 
 
Angel glared at her, then quite obviously decided to let it go - for now. "Fine... you don't need me." He turned to Oz and spoke tersely. "Look - just have Wes call me. Okay? I want to make sure he's alright..." 
 
Oz shrugged, but there was something of the same amusement that Illyria was still feeling, lurking in the back of his eyes. "Sure." If he wants to, remained unspoken. 
 
Angel gave them both one last, heavy look, then nodded, and swung off into the night, his dark leather coat flaring out behind him. 
 
Illyria glared after him. "Wanker." she said pithily. Oz leant against the railing and laughed until he slid down and sat on the steps. Illyria blinked at him, wondering what was so funny, and if she would ever, ever understand him. Eventually, she gave in, and asked. "What?" 
 
Oz never told her. 

* 

It was supposed to have been simple... pick up this artifact and deliver it to it's new owner. Xander had accepted the responsibility, planned the details, helped research the safest way to transport it and they had gone to work. Simple. 
 
But then there were goons. Big scaly demony goons. And fighting and too many and nothing was quite as planned. Then Wes went down and everything went to Hell. They had made it.... artifact intact... themselves less so... And here he was in the hospital waiting room, Wes back with the doctors., a scowling Spike off to join him.  
 
What had he missed? How had the demons or whoever had sent them, known exactly where they were and the best time to strike? Where they being watched? Was Ms. Crenshaw? Fuck! Was the apartment bugged again? What had happened? 
 
"This place smells. Why are we all here?" Xander looked up to see Illyria and Oz standing over him. In spite of her words, she and Oz both had rather pleased-with-themselves expressions on their face. 
 
"Because Wes is hurt, Llyria... Stitches at least..and maybe a concussion... and.…" Xander slumped in his chair, scrubbing his face with one hand. "It's all my fault." 
 
"I understand… stitches and a concussion. I also understand that Wes said no hospital. And Spike was being odd. And you are…" she gestured abruptly. "…also being strange. You blame you and Spike blames you and the only person using any sense got his head hit, and that makes no sense at all." 
 
There was a cut off snort of amusement from Oz, who in answer to Xander's scowl, excused himself, "Uh.... coffee... down the hall... " 
 
Xander watched his retreat with a resigned expression, "Yeah... I know... Wes hates hospitals... Spike too... but... We couldn't get the bleeding stopped and.... Hell, I didn't know what else to do."  
 
He stood and started pacing, unconsciously in Spike's earlier footsteps, "I told Wes this was a dumb idea... putting me in charge of something." 
Illyria looked as if she were trying to make that into a something that made linear sense in any world and failing miserably, "But how is it your fault? Wes would not think it is. He would blame the ones we caused violence to. I do, also." She tilted her head, "Perhaps you did not cause enough violence." 
 
Xander paused and looked at her incredulously. "That's just it. Don't you get it? There wasn't supposed to be ANY violence. But I forgot something... or missed something..." He shook his head and resumed his pacing. "They were waiting for us as if we were expected. Somehow they knew our plans. Knew what we had." 
 
"I fuckin' missed something. Screwed up and Wes is paying for it." He threw up his hands in frustration. 

"We all missed something." Illyria said, crossly. "I missed them waiting. Spike missed them following. Wesley did not know of them. And he did not say to you 'this is your responsibility, please ensure perfection,' did he? He said 'I would like help' and you gave it. I do not understand why you blame yourself!" 
 
"Because I was running this one." Xander growled. "Wes trusted me Illyria. Trusted me to get it right and... " he slumped into a chair, head in hands. "He could have been hurt so much worse... Spike could have been dust.... You could have been hurt.... Fuck…" 
 
"I could have been hurt? I?" Illyria's voice seethed with barely restrained fury. "What do you think I am? You think I am this pretty little girl with the sweet voice? I have destroyed worlds in my time to protect those who are mine - and now, even when I have so little power that even my guide is not safe in one paltry world, I can tell you that I am safe. This - this is self-pity. It is unworthy. Cease!" 
 
"Yeah... I forgot." Xander snarled. "Well, sorry, your majesty, I fuckin worry about the people I care about. I know you can't understand that, since, Hell... you pretty much think of us all as your toadies but, excuse me... I'm just human." 
 
A part of him knew he was being cruel, snapping out at Illyria when, really she had done nothing but state exactly what Wes would have told him… but he was beyond such logical reasoning at the moment; hurting and worried about Wes. 
 
"I had not realized that humanity meant stupidity! I understand caring. Do you listen to nothing I say? I could not protect my guide properly because he took my power from me to save me, and I am expected to accept this. You make me wear this face, and I do it. My voice is not mine. My expressions are not mine. I do all this to please you and you cannot even see!" 
 
Now Xander cocked his head to one side, answering sarcastically, "Oh... so then it's only you who are allowed to feel self-pity. Is that it? Well, welcome to the real world, your majesty. The one you're stuck living in with all it's dirty little mortal inconveniences.... and all it's imperfect people. I'm so sorry we don't live up to your elevated standards." 
 
"I do not know standards. I only know that you still tell me what I am! Still! The only person who sees me for who I am is hurt, and you - I do not want emotions, I do not want this world, and you keep making me feel and I want you to stop!" 
 
"We never stop feeling Illyria.…" Xander's voice was low and terse "If you're going to rub elbows with us lowly humans... you'll have to get used to it. You'll just have to fuckin' deal." 
 
"I deal, as you call it, every single day." Her voice was shaking as she spoke, "And now I am here, in a building that smells, and I am powerless when I should be helping, and all you can do is to curse me. Why is it better to feel, if this is how it is?" 

Xander's head jerked up as he heard the quiver in her voice. " Good going, Harris... you can make a Warrior God cry... Proud?" 
 
No.. somehow out of all the special powers that he had envied through the years, this was not one he wanted to have.  
 
He stepped forward and pulled her into a hug, hoping against hope that she'd allow it... not pull away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry... See I did it again. I screwed up. But this time, I'm the one doing the hurting. I forget how tough this all is for you. How strange... " 
 
"You are not hurting me." But she hugged him back, briefly, then straightened into iron-spine mode again. 
 
"That was sentimentality." she stepped away, looking confused. "It was...not unpleasant." 
 
"No?" Xander gave a small smile. "It's touching, Illyria. It's something I do with people I care about. It's sentimentality... but it's also comfort and affection. Everyone needs it." He opened his arms again, almost teasing, "More?" 
 
"Are you mocking me?" 
 
"Never... " and he meant that, even with the teasing note still in his voice. 
 
"Very wise..." She gave him a small smile, teasing him back. 
 
"So?" He opened his arms again, waiting for her to step into the circle. 
 
When she finally did move she was more than tentative, uncertain as to how she would go about giving back any of these things, "This is affection?" 
 
"And comfort.... and friendship…" He enfolded her in his arms, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. It felt good, he had to admit. As tough as Illyria was most of the time, as much as she threw him out of line with her comments and actions, a part of him craved this, wanted it more than he would ever admit. "See... that's not so hard, is it?" 
 
Illyria looked as though this might not be quite true, but made a small sound that might have been acquiescence, and slipped her arms around him rather awkwardly. "Do you think Oz got lost?" 
 
"Oz? No. He could smell his way back if nothing else." Xander chuckled into Illyria's hair. "Probably found someone to chat with. For a quiet guy he seems to find lots of people willing to talk." 
 
Illyria nodded, accepting this, and then started to laugh. And...it might have sounded like Fred's voice, but it was completely her - her sense of humor, her expression and her hiding her laugh in Xander's chest. 
 
Xander looked down and smiled at her, "Now that was nice.... 
 
"But...it's funny…" 
 
"Yes... it is.... and so are you... and sweet... and.... " he suddenly stopped, his eyes searching her face. Then, as if giving into some subtle temptation, he leaned closer and gently kissed her. 

* 

Illyria remained absolutely still in his arms, her lips unresponding beneath his, though her mind raced. This was not a kind of kiss that she had witnessed, not one on her list, nor one to which she had set aside meanings. It was wholly new to her, this tentativity in something she had seen as always being part of some kind of surety, an affirmation of whatever lay behind it. Even Wesley's kiss, faint brush of air to her cheek, had been more certain in its intent. 
 
But still, it was sweet, touched some part of her that she had not suspected existed, made her long to part her lips, press closer. 
 
But she could not, did not. He had made it clear that the things she longed for were not the same as his own desires, that she was not what he wanted. 
 
Special and wonderful, she reminded herself , before stepping back. The things he does not find you.  
 
She meant to sound merely questioning, searching for more knowledge to add to her store, but, already unsettled from their earlier argument, her confusion showed clearly in her voice. 
 
"I don't know…" she began, and swallowed, trying to regain the perfection of control that she wanted to display, though his hands were still warm on her waist, and he was still so close… "I don't know what that kiss means."  
 
He drew back, frowning, and she mourned the loss of proximity even as he replied, "Well...... it doesn't have to mean anything. Just.... I guess... I just wanted to kiss you... so I did." 
 
She assimilated this, more slowly than she would have imagined, adding it to her own mental list of 'what kisses mean'. It made little sense to her, though, still. He had wanted to….did that mean he wanted her, then? "Oh...I see. I think. But...if I want to kiss people...I should not?" Were there different standards here, too, different rules that would set her apart once more? 
 
He looked equally perplexed, at that. She supposed she had not explained herself well, but she knew there were ways of kissing, knew so many meanings, and she had not felt any desire to apply these to people. Should she have? Was this sentimentality, too, was this more of that thing she could not grasp? 
 
He sighed, and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, I suppose not.... not in the general course of things... and well..... I guess I shouldn't have kissed you." 
 
"Oh." Another error, then, to add to the tally between them. An unfamiliar desire to hide from this suddenly became almost overwhelming, an unsettled emotion that she could not quite place seemed to sweep through her, swirling out from a place that felt uncomfortably near her heart. "You shouldn't? But -" and now she recognised what this was, recognised and hated it, for she had not been the one who had made the gesture, and why should she feel embarrassment? "Why?" she asked him quietly, and felt the blood burn in her shell's face. 
 
He looked at her for a long moment, before venturing, softly, "Because, maybe, you didn't want me to?" 

She blinked, the blood receding back to where it belonged, the simple fact of having to answer a question restoring some of her equilibrium. "I had not considered it. Therefore whether I wanted it was not in question."  
 
He answer did not seem to have helped matters in the least, judging from his expression, which was shading from slightly confused to miserable. "Oh.…" He frowned slightly and then continued, "So... where does that leave me?" 
 
Illyria stared at him. Had he been knocked on the head, too, and they had somehow failed to notice? She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that men, and Xander in particular, were impossible to understand. Either that, or this was another instance of familiar words being used in an arrangement that meant more than their actual phrasing, and she was ill-equipped to deal with whatever the true meaning was, if so. She shrugged, slightly, and responded with the only answer she could think of.  
 
"You are here?" 
 
His laugh was insincere, strained-sounding, unlike the man she had come to know, and she frowned. Why would he be trying to hide what he thought, what he felt? "Yeah.... I guess so…." 
 
Embarrassment and any attempt to analyse this was swept away by complete irritation. Unlike their encounter in the dojo, this had neither been precipitated by her, nor requested. She might not fully comprehend what his aim had been, but it had been his, and whatever her feelings were on the subject, she took responsibility for them, at least. She folded her arms, and scowled at him. 
 
"It is not my business to tell you what you want," she said flatly, and found herself continuing, her voice beginning to rise slightly. "It is yours to decide it. It seems most unfair that you all tell me about free will and then refuse to demonstrate its practise!" 
 
The man with the icepack on his jaw hastily covered his mouth with the cold compress, making an odd snorting noise. Illyria glared at him, instead, and he sank low into his chair, finding the ceiling of apparently infinite fascination. Then she turned back to Xander, her glare unabated, and found that all his uncertainty seemed to have gone, his one eye crinkling up with amusement. 
 
She opened her mouth to ask him what was so funny, since she was about as far from laughter at that moment as she had ever been since he moment of her arrival in this dimension, and he stepped closer, pulling her back against him 
 
"What are you -" 
 
"Illyria... shut up." And this time there was no doubting what he was doing. There was nothing tentative here, nothing unfamiliar or perplexing. It was something she had seen often and again, the thing she had longed for, at times, and envied at others. It was a real kiss, warm and full and teasing. It was affection, and </i>want</i>, and she responded gladly with everything in her, all the new little shoots of feeling uncurling from the misery of the past weeks, and opening into something small and new and strangely relieved. 
 
She was, she realised, as she wound her arms around his neck, raising herself on her toes to move even closer, happy. 
 
Then she drew back. 
 
"And this means?" But her voice was light and as teasing as his had been before the second kiss, and he responded with a delighted smile. 
 
"It means I wanted to." 
 
She hummed in contentment, and allowed herself to revel in the feel of his arms, letting her body mould to his. 
 
But his next words destroyed the brief moment of peace she had allowed herself to enjoy. 
 
"So what were you and Oz looking so pleased about?" 
 
She sighed, and dropped her head onto his shoulder. 
 
"Angel," she muttered. He pulled back, and stared down at her. 
 
"You were looking pleased about Angel?" 
 
It was her turn to stare. 
 
"No…" she said slowly, "because we sent him away." 
 
And it appeared that the kiss was the last she was going to get for some time, because explanations were taking priority, and contentment was no longer even a vague thought in either of their minds. 
 
Because Xander was furious. 

* 

Wesley's bad mood had not been abated in the slightest by having lights shone repeatedly in his eyes, a scan, or the obligatory 'talk' about considering a change of profession. Learning that what had even seemed to him as excessive bleeding had been brought about by the anti-coagulants he had been taking to help prevent the scar tissue thickening over his vocal chords had been the final touch to his bad temper, and the only way he could deal with Spike's too-overt concern was to close down almost completely and hope his behvaiour was easily attributable to concussion. 
 
When he arrived in the waiting area to find Illyria looking both uncomprehending and thoroughly exasperated, Xander apparently as annoyed as he was, and Oz regarding everything as his own personal pay-per-view while drinking a can of Coke, he officially gave up on even attempting pleasantries. 
 
The trip home was conducted in complete silence. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, Wesley could see that Illyria's annoyance had been replaced by a sort of pained confusion, one hand absently touching her lips from time to time in a way that made it quite clear what had gone on before whatever conversation had transpired to tip her and Xander back into their usual state of mutual irritation. Xander, for his part, looked a nasty mixture of annoyed, guilty, and a kind of startled pleasure. Every time Wesley glanced up, the two of them were either avoiding each other's eyes, or snatching quick glances at one another when they thought they weren't being noticed by the recipent of said looks. 
 
Spike, of course, he could not see at all, but he could almost hear the mental processes that were going on. The vampire might as well have been muttering aloud, the silence coming from his corner of the van was so speaking. 
 
Wesley didn't have the energy to deal with any of it. He needed to talk to Xander, more than anything, he needed the time and the infinite patience that it was going to take to snap Spike out of whatever circle of blame and unfocused anger he had managed to lock himself into, and all he wanted to do, all he wanted to do, was sleep. 
 
Which was, of course, what he wasn't going to be allowed to do for the next three hours, at least. 
 
There was a small part of him that wanted, more than anything, to banish the lot of them to Oz's apartment, lock the door to the upstairs, lie down, and ignore every warning he had been given. Not that there was any chance of his being allowed to even contemplate that, of course, but God! It was a nice thought… 
 
Once they were inside, Illyria vanished to the dojo, oddly quiet, after giving Wesley a quick, awkward touch on his good arm. 
 
"Tomorrow?" she asked quietly, and he nodded carefully, even that slight gesture making his head throb painfully. 
 
She flickered a smile at him, and left, seeming about to say something to Xander, before obviously cutting herself off, thinking better of it. The look of guilt on Xander's face deepened slightly, but he made no attempt to stop her leaving. 
 
Oz simply went into Wesley's old apartment, turned in the doorway to say "Feel better, Wes," and shut them all out in precisely the way Wesley felt like doing. 
 
He had never envied Oz before, but apparently this was a day for firsts. 
 
Cutting off Spike's propensity to fuss before it could really start, Wesley handed him the prescription, and sent him off to get it filled, cutting across his protests with a complete lack of tact or indeed any attempt to mollify. 
 
Unreasonable though it was, he was annoyed with Spike, too, the fact that his wishes had been so completely ignored still a sore point, and one that showed no signs of easing off. 
 
"Xander is perfectly capable of making sure I stay awake for the next half-hour, Spike. I'm not letting you turn this into more than it is."  
 
Which meant that he was left with Xander, the conversation they needed to have looming over them - and Xander seemed to have decided that the best way of avoiding what was definitely coming next was to rival Spike in the department of unnecessary fussing. 
 
"Here Wes... can I get you something? Anything?" 

* 

Sometimes friends can be a real joy. Other times they can be a royal pain in the ass. 
 
At this moment, Xander wasn't quite sure which one of them was annoying the other the most. Wes for wanting to do the very thing that the doctor had told him not to, or himself for fussing over Wes. It was probably a draw. 
 
"Pease don't you start," Wes said, sounding rather more pathetic than forceful. "Honestly, a bit of sleep will be more than adequate..." 
 
"Doctor says you're not supposed to sleep for another few hours. Concussion... and...er...stuff." Shit. if Wes had a concussion that would just make Xander's day... After Spike gave him a matching one. 
 
"Yes, I know. That would be why I'm looking forward to it." Wes twitched a smile, then took a short, deep breath. "You do realize we well and truly managed to get tonight wrong, don't you?" 
 
Xander flinched, "Yeah... I know. Sorry. I fucked up." And suddenly he found something very interesting about the floor boards. Had he missed a spot with the varnish? Or was that a natural flaw in the wood? 
 
"Yes." Wesley's voice was flat and uncompromising. "Yes, you did. You did the one thing I was afraid of doing myself. You put someone ahead of the case. If not for Illyria and Oz, we would have failed completely - because you disregarded what I said and went to the hospital." 
 
Xander flashed a look at Wes, "I meant because of not considering that someone else might have wanted the urn, Wes... not because we did what needed to be done about you. I have no question about that...." 
 
"We should all have considered that someone else wanted the thing. So that one you don't get to carry on your own - we all get to sit around and curse our stupidity. But the other one?" Wes rubbed tentatively at the back of his neck, and winced as the skin protested. "You can't put me first. Ever." 
 
"God! Is that something they beat into you at "Watcher School" or something? Giles pulled the same shit when we faced Glory. 'The needs of the many, outweigh the needs of the few.' This is not fucking Star Trek, Wes. It's real life! " Xander took a deep exaggerated breath. "Sometimes the individuals have to be put first, Wes.... or else you lose your soul... one little piece at a time. Then what's the point of the whole damn thing?" 

Wes almost growled in frustration. "You're not listening. If both of us are still standing - that's one thing. I'll take over with what has to be done for what we're being paid for, and please, God, please, you be the one to worry about everything else. About everyone else. But if I'm out of things, you have got to take over. And that means you put me last. Every. Single. Time." Wesley's voice wavered slightly. "I'd have to do the same with you, you see." 
 
Xander looked at Wes, his face going hard and blank, "I guess that means I'm fired, Wes. Because I can't pretend that people don't matter. Can't pretend that you don't matter. Can't pretend that I won't fight to the end to make sure that there is a way to do both. Just like this time... just like every time before. Even if it means that I go down first." 
 
"Jesus God!" Wes felt a sudden urged to smash something, or scream, and either one was going to hurt far too much, but Christ, he was angry. "I'm not going to fire you because you care, damn it! I just don't want things to disintegrate even further because I make mistakes! Get this into your head, Xander. Yes, we all screwed up over the urn. But you shouldn't have gone to the hospital - shut up and listen! You shouldn't have gone there. I realize I can't stop you caring, I understand what you're saying, but you needed to be in charge!" 
 
Wes could feel the slight tremors of real rage begin in his hands, and flattened them carefully, trying to control this. "I made a mistake, I dropped my guard, and yes, yes, it's had repercussions. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry you had to be in that position through my carelessness. But you needed to drop that thing off. Not Illyria. Not Oz. You. There were other options than sitting around in a waiting room and acting as Spike's emotional punching bag, and damn it, even if you have to put other people first, you should still have taken those options straight afterwards and left us to it!" 
 
Xander dropped his head, once again becoming very interested in the vagaries of hardwood flooring. Maybe a second coat of varnish? "Yeah... Yeah... okay... I get that, I guess. Sorry. I'm... I'm not used to being "in charge guy", Wes. Maybe I'm not as ready for this as I thought I was." 
 
And there was so much truth in that statement that Xander was almost shaking from it. "I never had to be. I'm just the comic relief, mostly. I never really had the urge or encouragement to be more.... until now." 
 
"No, well, it wasn't supposed to happen now, either. For which I really am sorry." Wesley's mouth quirked at the corner. "I think a lot of what I've just said might have become self-evident in a few months - or weeks, even. And I am sorry. Truly. This shouldn't have happened. But what I don't want is for you to start thinking that you're to blame for cause and effect. Trust me." His mouth leveled out into a grim line. "That's not on any one person." 
 
Xander's voice was quiet but he sounded very sure of his facts, "Not even on you, Wes." 
 
"No. But just like you are, I'm going to be second-guessing tonight for a very long time." Wes dry scrubbed his face. He was feeling worn and wondered just how soon he could convince his two keepers to allow him to rest. 
 
"It's tough being the boss, huh?" Xander's grin was wry, almost teasing.... then it seemed to freeze as he related another bit of information, "'Lyria said Angel came to the hospital." 

* 

Wesley froze. One part of his mind thought that he should have expected this, that from Angel, visits to the hospital without announcing his presence were a given, while at the same time, he felt his heart race, a slight fog of panic blanking out his mind for a moment. 
 
Angel was at the hospital. 
 
You're a dead man, Pryce! 
 
He felt suddenly exposed, insufficient, appallingly fragile, as though the ground beneath him had turned to air, leaving him falling into some terrible void. 
 
Angel was at the hospital… 
 
He could breathe. He could breathe. Nothing was here that could touch him, there was no threat, and whatever had happened with Angel, he had left.  
 
It didn't stop him suddenly, and quite desperately, wishing that he had given way to what he wanted, and sent Xander to pick up his prescriptions and not Spike, needing the other man's presence so badly right then, that lacking it was causing him a physical sensation of loss. Except had he done that, he wouldn't be having to deal with this, wouldn't have to know… 
 
You can't put me first. 
 
He took a small breath that was uncomfortably close to a gasp, giving himself time by making his way over to the mattress on the far side of the room, and settling himself on it. Judging from Xander's worried hovering, he wasn't doing a particularly good job of evasion, but he managed not to look at the other man until he was sure that his expression and voice were under his control once more, carefully finding just the right note of unconcern to strike. 
 
"Oh, hell," he said at last, as though this were mere inconvenience. "Now what maggot's in his head?" He made a face, passing the news off as a mild annoyance. "I'm sorry. Was he too unbearable?" 
 
Xander shook his head, and obviously Wesley's tone had been right, because he looked a lot less worried when he sat down on the end of the makeshift bed. "I didn't see him... but Illyria said he was "being a wanker" - And I am so punching Spike out for teaching her that...."  
 
Wesley found a little surprised laugh escaping him, and hoped it only sounded as shaken as he suspected to his own ears. "No, no, don't. It's too highly descriptive - and accurate...besides, you know that he'll just punch you back, and harder." Especially in his current mood. He sighed. "Oh well, I'm sure we'll find out what he was after, whether we want to or not..." 
 
Xander snorted. "Yeah, I guess that's one thing we can lay bets on." 
 
Wesley rubbed at his temple with his fingertips, as even smiling seemed to make his headache worse. "I'll flip you a coin to take the phone call..." 
 
"You're on...." Xander snickered, immediately caught up in the concept of new ways that Angel could be tormented. "Or we could just put it on speaker phone and mute the outgoing so we could make rude comments...." 
 
"Oh, that works…" Wesley paused, and considered. "Without the mute, I think. He should be able to hear what people say, after all…" He tried not to smile, more because it actually hurt to do so, than out of any genuine consideration for Xander's feelings, when he segued into the next point. "I take it Illyria's now...less annoyed with you?" 
 
Xander's patented Angel-mocking grin, seen only for one particular purpose, shifted into something else. In fact, it had suddenly turned rather…sappy. "Yeah... less. As in - not at all. As in - I never will understand women, but this time it seems to be a good thing. " 

Wesley ducked his head down onto his chest, laughing quietly, unable to stop even at the counterbeat of throbbing that it set up in his skull. "I told you. It's like saying you don't understand a particular flower. She has...her own particular motives." He didn't realise quite how insufferably knowledgeable he was going to sound until the words were out, but fortunately, Xander seemed to be in too good a mood over whatever had transpired between them to take offence, just nodding as though Wesley had somehow spoken with all the wisdom of the ages. 
 
"Yeah... she seems to. And wow.... " Again that sappy, and rather disturbingly contented smile appeared. "And Wes.... she seems to get it, ya know? Seems to understand that, at least as far as she and I go, I need to be in-charge... if only of myself. You know what I mean? She could break me in half, outdo me on so many ways beyond just the physical... but yet... she understands that she shouldn't... and she won't. That we can both be... I don't know... the best we can be... together or separately. " He straightened up and looked at Wes. "I'm not explaining that very well... I should probably just shut up." 
 
If acid could be amused, Wesley was sure that his voice would now contain it. He was wondering, vaguely, if this was quite how Illyria saw things, and decided he was probably better off not speculating on that score. The less he was involved with this, he felt, the better for all concerned. He settled, as always, for his own particular brand of humour, retreating from the potential quagmire of unwanted definitions of emotion to safer ground. "Yes, indeed you should, unless you have a burning urge to hear me wax lyrical about Spike." He looked up, his eyes full of a sympathetic mirth that he couldn't - quite - stifle. "I think I understand quite well. Should I expand on the subject?" 
 
Xander instantly clapped his hands over his ears, "No... No... that's fine. Please spare me... " But his uncovered eye was twinkling, giving Wes the impression that if he did, ever, want to do such a thing, Xander would sit and listen... uncomplaining.  
 
Wes shifted awkwardly, and resettled himself back against the pillows, his arm beginning to set up a protest in a kind of painful harmony with his head. "Mm, that's what I thought." At odds with the pained amusement in his voice, though, he looked oddly grateful. "And...shouldn't you, in that case, ah - be somewhere else?" 
 
Xander glanced uneasily at the door. "Well... uh... I kinda promised I'd stay until Spike got back and.... Well, he's already pissed off at me enough." 
 
"Ah." Wesley smoothed out his expression into blandness, concealing a very real mixture of annoyance and worry. "Just....how pissed off would that be?" 
 
There was a short silence that somehow said more than any words Xander could have begun to try and explain with. "Well... not that I believe he'd really make my innards be outtards... but...er.... " He fidgeted. "Really, Wes... I kind of liked the fact that the two of us were getting along better. I'm hoping this didn't kill that." 

"Yes, I can see that..." Wesley frowned. Whatever Spike had said - or threatened, which was more likely, he didn't think it went any further than everyone's failure to deal with the immediate situation. "I doubt it. Spike tends towards hitting out towards the nearest target, you know. I think...it's more likely he thought you could withstand it, which would imply a level of trust is at least present on some level. I suppose the best advice I can offer is just to give it a bit of time." 
 
Xander, strangely enough, looked relieved at that, which presumably meant Wesley had confirmed something for him, rather than added a new theory to the confusion that the whole day had become. "Yeah... I'll do that." He gave a decisive nod, "Now... anything I can do for you... until Spike gets back?" 
 
Wesley restrained himself from groaning with some difficulty. "Oh God." He made a face. "Not fuss? Actually...just get one of the icepacks from the freezer." He sighed. "Do we have a freezer at the moment?" 
 
Obviously that had been exactly the right thing to ask, because Xander looked as though Wesley had not asked him for a roc's egg, but that there just happened to be a clutch on hand that he, Xander, could provide. "Yeah! Yeah, you do. It's not in place, but I hooked up the fridge, because, uh... blood... " he shrugged as if that explained everything, and went to get the ice pack. 
 
Left alone, Wesley leant his head back against the wall, and sighed, closing his eyes and trying to assimilate what he now knew to be inevitable. The conversation he had been so dreading had been both better and unimaginably more difficult than he had imagined. Better, because it had not ended up in a stand-up row...and more difficult because it had been brought quite forcibly home to him that he - and only he - would have to be the one to distance himself, to put the job first and not let himself be too influenced by emotion, at a time when he was struggling even to accept all the vagaries that his new state of being brought with it.  
 
And, God help him, he had been hoping that this would lessen the burden of his decisions... 
 
He blamed the fact that he could have wept on the pain in his head and the drugs in his system, and swallowed hard, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose and trying to drive back thoughts and the almost overwhelming sense of helpless misery with the pressure. 
 
He realised, distantly, that he was terribly close to failing on both counts. 
 
* 

When he got back to the apartment, Spike noticed two things right away - The way Xander immediately danced out of his way and out of the door barely muttering a "Goodnight, Wes" as he left, and the way that Wes was sitting on the side of the bed, head lowered to the ice pack he had clutched in his hand. The first he had expected. The second… just made him hurt all the way through. 
 
"Here, love...lean back…relax.…" He grabbed the pillows off the bed and propped them against the headboard, trying to create a little nest of comfort for Wes. "Have a nice cuppa? Take the taste of the hospital out of your mouth.…" 
 
"You're reducing me to tea?" Wes comment was on the edge, half way between a snarl and a plaintive whimper. 
 
"Yeah... You're on pain pills. Not gonna go mixing that with alcohol." Spike shook the tablets out into his hand then handed them to Wes with a glass of water. "Not to mention, I heard the doctor say something about those anticoagulants." 
 
"You did. Those would be the ones I was already taking. Which was, let me say this clearly, why apparently I ended up where I very specifically asked not to be." 
 
Spike barely restrained a flinch at Wes' harsh tone. "No... you were there because you got hurt. Got hurt because I didn't move quick enough." 
 
But aloud his only reply was, "Humans are fragile.... needed to get you helped." 
 
"I'm not glass, I'm not china, and anyone of you could have stitched me up just as neatly and far less expensively." Wes tried to restrain his temper. "Anyway, I'm hardly fragile." 
 
"Right... not fragile... Not just getting over having your throat cut. No possibility that this might have thrown you straight into shock... or worse. Sorry... 'M not a doctor." Spike ran an agitated hand through his hair "I'm a life taker, ya know.... not a life saver. I just knew you were hurt." 

Wes was feeling put-upon and cranky and headachy and really didn't want to face the enormous guilt-trip he could see approaching. "All right, all right! Look, can we just assume I'm an unappreciative bastard and you worry too much?" 
 
"Right.... We'll say that.... " Spike's jaw clenched tight, "So, tea? Or not?" 
 
"Yes, tea." Wes' voice held a tone of irritated surrender. 
 
Spike moved around what there was of their kitchen, turning on the hotplate, putting the kettle on, finding and getting cups… then he just put both of his hands on the counter top and leaned there, his head down. 
 
Watching him, all that ran through Wes' mind was variations on "I do not want to have any of the conversation looming ahead of us like an iceberg". 
 
But of course, he had to say something, "So...the package was intact, right?" 
 
"'S what Harris said," the muscles in Spikes back suddenly went tense and tight. 
 
"And delivered safely?" 
 
"Yeah. The Wolf and Blue took it." 
 
Wes frowned, "And yet again, I'm getting the feeling that there's one hell of a lot I'm missing out on…" 
 
"Yeah.... well get used to the feeling, eh? It happens…" Spike still didn't turn around, pretending business with cups and sugar and spoons. 
 
"It does? Er...right, are we talking about the same thing here?" Now Wes was confused. 
 
"Fuck.... I don't know, Wes." Spike's shoulders slumped, but he finally turned around. "I'm just trying to keep you from getting more upset. Shouldn't have to deal with my foul mood when you already have one of your own." 
 
"Your concern is astounding - look, will you for Christ's sake stop making tea that you don't want to make and I don't want to drink and come back over here, please?" 
 
"Fine…Right.…" Spike shook his head, turned off the hot plate and walked back over to the bed. "'M here.…" 
 
Wes raised his eyebrows, and then regreted it almost immediately as the top of his scalp throbbed with pain. "Yes? So I've misinterpreted the thousand-mile-away look? Oh good…" 
 
His head down and his eyes looking at almost anything but Wes, Spike muttered, "I'm here, Wes. Too much here. Want to stay... but.... Know you've got to be angry. Am myself, ya know? Just don't know if you're "Get the Hell out, Spike" angry...or "Stand there and let me yell at you, Spike" angry.…" 

Wesley's reply, when it came was almost amused. 
 
"Both? And utterly unreasonable, too. I don't want to be angry, you know, but - " Wes sighed, a short and sharp sound. "I also need to know that even if I'm going to bleed to death in a gutter somewhere, then as long as I've said that's what's going to happen, I can relax and know that yes, you'll at least listen. Which isn't particularly fair of me. Which in turn makes me annoyed with myself. I just...I'm convinced that there's a limit to how often I can wake up in a hospital and survive the fallout, for some reason." 
 
"My job to take care of you when you can't take care of yerself, love. Sorry I chose wrong.…" Spike paused, still not looked at Wes, "Sorry I let you get hurt in the first place." 
 
"And there was I, blaming one incredibly ugly-looking demon in armour, and the fact I hadn't chosen a suitable weapon. Oh, and the metal edge of the van door. I told you I'd remind you of this at some point, and consider this a warning that hobnailed boots may be employed when I get the energy. You can't protect me from my own decisions. And if you try, then you can apologise." Wes's eyes suddenly narrowed, "What do you mean, chose wrong?" 
 
"Listened to Harris, didn't I? Let him take you to the hospital. But you were bleeding and pale and greyish.…" Spike's hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. "Not half ready to lose you." Spike looked up then, his eyes sharp and focused, "And don't try to laugh that off. Please. You get hurt and it's like a stake to my heart.... but a plastic one... so I don't die, but just keep feeling the pain." 
 
"I'm not laughing." Wes replied, softly. "I highly doubt I'd have been making good decisions, under the same circumstances." 
 
"A great deal of this comes from knowing that nine times out of ten, it's going to be me making the call on priorities. And if I can't say to myself that this is what any one of you would do, that I can't allow the personal when we're working...then I have nothing to fall back on. I need to know that you're capable of not putting me first. Because one day - I may have to do the same. And if I know you won't....then how can I?" Wes paused and then continued, ruefully, "I've never understood why people put me in charge of more than a paper bag, you know. For just this reason." 
 
"Hafta put you first, love." Spike slowly shook his head and looked up, "But I know what you mean. 'M not that single-minded. Wouldn't let Harris get his head lopped off while I 'tended to your papercut." 

"You know, somehow the comparisons my mind was coming up with were both more, and stunningly less, dramatic…" Wes smiled tentatively. "And believe me, you're the only one who's gotten this nice a version of that conversation. I might understand Xander's reasoning, but I'm really not thrilled with his execution of it.…" 
 
"Yeah… I kinda let him have it, myself." Spike's voice was only a tinge regretful. "He's the one who set this all up. The one who made the plans. It was his responsibility ta think it all through." 
 
"Yes, yes he did, and yes he was." Wes waved that all off. "But does that make him automatically the fount of all knowledge? Or the man who, let's face it, made a completely piss-poor decision because he was, God help us, worried about someone on the team - yes, it was me, but that's irrelevant here. Xander would have reacted the same way no matter who it had been. And that is the problem with him. The problem we have with this stupid job is that it's out of hand and we were unprepared - and that's everyone's fault." 
 
"'Spose..…" Spike agreed, grudgingly. 
 
Wesley's mouth twitched, "Decent of you…" 
 
"Still.... doubt Harris would have been so wibbly if it'd been me. Still not sure where I stand there." Spike huffed. 
 
"Well, he would probably have conceded the uselessness of a hospital, true, which would have been one less issue...but he would have been equally worried." 
 
Spike huffed again at that idea. "Either way.... don't think either one of us is in the front of his thoughts right about now." 
 
"Oh?" 
 
"Yeah.... came on him and her highness in the hall. He sprang away from her like he was caught with his fingers in the cookie jar...then started talking real fast-like... the way he does when he's nervous about something." 
 
"Well, there we are, then." Wes grinned, "Something good did come out of this…" 
 
Spike shook his head, chuckling, "Only you would think it was good that one of his mates got tangled up with "another" demon type."  
 
His face suddenly grew serious, "That lot over at the Hyperion might not be quite so enlightened." 
 
And that, Spike figured, was at the root of a lot of their problems. Acceptance. Not only from friends and family… but often even from each other. 

* 

Wesley frowned. Considering how Angel felt about Illyria, that was more than likely. Considering how Xander felt about Angel, it was extremely unlikely that any response of his would be received well, even if it was approving. And he really didn't want to think about the potential arguments that Xander would receive from the former Sunnydale contingent - well, not Faith, who had become a firm believer in glasshouses and stones, over the last couple of years, but judging from how very upset Willow had been simply at the idea of Xander staying, she was hardly likely to be any more delighted about her best friend beginning a relationship with someone they were all predisposed to regard as a demon.  
 
As always, he chose not to even contemplate what Buffy's reaction might be. He wasn't feeling secure enough about anything right then to bring her into the equation. 
 
He wasn't, on the other hand, prepared to even pretend to ignore the fact that this might well end up being a problem that Xander shouldn't have to deal with. None of them should, really, but he had long ago learnt that friends could be amazingly more stringent about lives that weren't their own than they ever could be on their own behalf. 
 
"You know exactly what I think they can do, if so," he said simply. "And I'd be perfectly happy to share my conclusions with them, should the occasion arise." 
 
Spike chuckled, just a bit, at that, so obviously Wesley had finally managed to say something right. Sometimes he wished he could just read Spike's mind, and save them both the perpetual double think that ended up with one or both of them saying the wrong thing because they were trying so hard to get everything right. It really wasn't helped by his headache, which was like a signed guarantee that he was going to make them both annoyed at some point. But Spike was looking thoughtful, rather than privately amused at something stupid Wesley had said or done, so presumably they hadn't reached that stage yet. 
 
"Yeah.... didn't take you and me that bad, I guess. Or... Well…" he stopped suddenly, looking rather confusedly at Wes. "Do they know? I mean, I'm bloody sure Angel does... and, for some strange reason, he didn't say anything... And Dawn...well, we know she knows, and she seems fine with it, but she's always been a bit of an odd fish when it comes to me…" 
 
Wesley, who was still considering giving Dawn her own planet for the pleased, surprised look that had been on Spike's face after she hugged him and kicked him in the shins - which apparently with those two counted as the ultimate expression of forgiveness - nudged Spike with a companionable foot, making him look up from his embarrassed inspection of the floorboards. "What, for completely adoring you? I somehow can't find it in myself to criticise. I also can't find it in myself to provide her with the photographs she asked for, but I'm carefully not thinking about that. And Angel obviously knows. Unless he's lost all his senses or is under a spell again, which as the Hyperion stands now, isn't as unbelievable as it would be normally. Charles, I suspect, knew before I had an inkling." And that was something they really never needed to discuss. "The fact that it's now true won't affect him in the slightest. And Cordelia…" he smiled faintly, knowing that whatever Cordelia really thought about any of this, they would find out in her own good time. "Cordelia knows what she chooses to. It rather depends on her mood and the day. So while I would say she knows, I wouldn't like to stand on my knowledge with certainty....sorry." He took a deep breath. He wasn't making himself very clear, even if he was offering an insight into how Angel Investigations generally conducted themselves when there was something they didn't feel quite up to dealing with. "Yes, they know." 

Spike nodded, then kicked off his boots, and crawled up on the bed next to Wes, wrapping his arms around Wes's waist and putting his head in Wesley's lap, like a persistently affectionate cat completely assured of his welcome. "Ffff... not important anyway... don't rightly care... Just was curious. Told Buffy." His voice was quiet, contented sounding, a statement of a vaguely interesting fact rather than a cause for debate, and Wesley felt adrenaline jump through him quite suddenly at the sound of her name, before slowly realising that he was being told how little that mattered now, and relaxing. "Just wanted you to know." 
 
"Ah." Wesley ran his good hand over Spike's head, his fingers separating the strands of hair absently. Thank you. "You didn't have to, you know…" It was as close he would get to admitting how much the thought of having to speak to her himself had bothered him. 
 
"I did…" Spike nuzzled into Wesley's hand, his eyes closing. "Wanted her to know. Seemed right, ya know? She'll tell the rest…" here was a sudden chuckle, as though at some hidden joke. "Besides... needed to.…" 
 
Wesley's eyebrows raised slightly. "Mm. You're braver than I…" He looked down at Spike with a small, rueful smile, but his hand didn't stop it's caressing motions. "I think people are deliberately not asking me right now, just so they can look forward to mentioning it at some point I'm not expecting, and watch me aim for coherency." 
 
Spike grinned. "Doubt that, love.... Me? I had evil ulterior motives though…" There was another chuckle, and Wesley tilted his head as much as he could, peering downwards, feeling his mouth beginning to twitch in response to the evil laugh. 
 
"Dare I ask?" he enquired with a feeling of mingled amusement and slight dread. 
 
"Baby Slayers…" Spike said it softly, peeking up at Wes with twinkling eyes. Apparently that was somehow an answer. Wes stared down at him in complete confusion. 
 
"Baby Slay....what? What's that got to do with anything?" 
 
Spike looked at Wes as though he was the one making no sense at all. "Heard 'em, didn't I? Three of 'em, watching you and Dawn. Talking about how good looking you are and…" His voice moved into a horrible approximation of what he obviously thought teenage girls sounded like. Wesley hoped, for the sake of everyone's sanity, that he was getting it wrong. "So dreamy.... and that accent.... yum.…" He snorted, and returned to his normal tones, to the relief of Wesley's ears and headache. "Wanted them to bloody well know that you're mine…" 
 
Wesley blinked, stunned and amused in equal measure. It wasn't that he doubted Spike's story, or his reasoning, but that this had been directed at him? "Oh," he said blankly, and then laughed, quite suddenly, imagining the scenario. "I take it you succeeded?" 
 
Spike moved in a sort of full-body shrug. "Well, didn't resort to name calling and hair pulling.... but yeah, think so.…" He nuzzled his nose into Wes' belly button, eliciting a surprised intake of breath, then looked up, smiling innocently. "'Course, I'd be careful the next time you go over there.…"  
 
Wesley closed his eyes in resignation. "Because...?" He wondered if he actually wanted to know. On the other hand, he was definitely not going to escape from finding out, so he prepared for the inevitable groan-inducing explanation that he was bound to receive. 

Spike's lips twitched. "Told a couple of them that you weren't interested in any "equipment" they had.... That one... Naomi, I think her name is.... Cheeky bit. She might actually ask for details.…" 
 
Wesley couldn't help it. He snorted out a laugh, imagining the scenario. "And if I'm still in a bad mood, I might just be unkind enough to give them…" he pointed out. Though the bad mood seemed to be dissipating. "I really don't think you need to worry about discouraging the nursery, Spike. Dawn seems to have them well in hand…" 
 
And there was the look again, the one that made Wesley want to find out whatever Dawn wanted most in the world, and give it to her, the expression of amazed love and awe and pride. He stayed quiet, listening more to the tone of Spike's voice than what he was saying, and wondered for what felt like the thousandth time how Xander could ever have thought having a soul made any kind of fundamental difference to Spike's ability to love. "That's my girl.... Amazing, iddint she? Like a lovely bit of a whirlwind... All enthusiasms and beauty…" He laughed. "Makes me tired sometimes.…" 
 
Wesley was proud of how ordinary he sounded, when he found any words at all, of the fact that he didn't sound sentimental or anything but dryly amused. "I'm impressed…" He smiled, and breathed out a laugh, remembering. "I was impressed with how very blue her tongue got, as well. I'm sure so was everyone else…" 
 
Spike snorted. "Hard to miss since she insisted on showing it to everyone.... Angel in particular. Don't think she has much respect for him, ya know? Probably good for him ta have someone around that won't take him seriously." 
 
Wesley tried to keep his voice level for another reason entirely, this time. "Poor Angel. The dents to his ego just keep on coming…" But his smile betrayed a complete lack of sympathy. 
 
Spike laughed suddenly and impersonated Dawn impersonating Angel. "Look, I'm Angel.... brood, brood, brood... I'm broooooding.…" he laughed hysterically and buried his face against Wes. 
 
Wesley choked slightly, remembering Cordelia, once upon a time, doing the same thing. "Yes, and if it hadn't been for the fact that the chair kept swivelling round, it would have been perfect, and all I could think was...'I wonder if Angel does swing that chair when he's on his own'" His laugh this time was mostly aimed at himself. 
 
Spike just snorted at him. "Poof's a right swinger when he gets the chance... up and down and all over the bloody spectrum....Oh...well... sorry... before the soul that was." He looked up at Wes, and his tone was suddenly serious. "Too bad really..…" 
 
Wesley blinked at him. "What? Angelus, the great loss to swinging of our time? I must say I don't feel all that regretful…" 
 
Spike unwrapped one hand from around Wes's waist and brought it up to his cheek, smoothing his thumb over one cheekbone. "Too bad he didn't find someone... someone who'd care enough about him to pull him out of craziness.…"  
 
Wesley caught his breath, all humour killed in him. He turned his head slightly to the side, and pressed his lips to the inside of Spike's wrist. "Poor Angel…" he whispered against the cool skin, and the tone of his voice was completely different this time. 

Spike raised himself up, wrapped his arms around the other man once more, and gently kissed Wes. "Glad I did.…" 
 
"Bad moods and mortality and all?" Wes was only half-joking, his eyes anxious. He brought his good arm tightly around Spike. 
 
Spike nodded slowly. "Hob-nailed boots, too…"  
 
Wesley's mouth quirked upwards. "Well, if you can live with it -" 
 
"For as long as you'll have me…" was the response. 
 
Wesley's voice shook slightly, despite his attempt to keep the tone light. "So, a long time, then…" He leant into Spike's embrace. 
 
Mindful of Wes's stitched-up head wound, Spike punctuated his next words with kisses. "A very...very...enormously…long time…" 
 
Wes was smiling by the time he'd finished, the half-wary look of earlier entirely gone. "Da mi basia mille," he murmured, some of the only lines of poetry that he knew, half-remembered, long ago Catullus. "deinde centum, dein mille altera…" 
 
Spike grinned at him. "It's a long time in any language, love…"  
 
Wes looked at him, startled at first, then tilting his head back and laughing with unreserved delight. "And I hadn't even thought about how long it would take...ow." he finished crossly, as his headache chose to remind him of its existence. 
 
Spike had the Glare of Concern down to an art form, making Wesley feel simultaneously embarrassed and cared for and thoroughly disarmed as a result. "Silly sod.... Just got yer head wrapped up and yer bouncing it around like it was nothing.…" 

Wesley rubbed at the back of his neck, wondering if he looked as sheepish as he felt. "If I say 'you made me forget about it', am I getting out of this?" he tried hopefully. 
 
Spike snorted with laughter. "Git," he responded, and Wesley half-shrugged in apology. 
 
"Well, it was worth a try…" he pointed out. 
 
Spike just shook his head in exasperation, obviously having consigned Wesley to the idiot pile for the foreseeable future. "Come on then.... Pain killers and sleep.... and then…" he waggled a finger, and Wesley was rather tempted to bite it, "If you're good.... I'll bring you ice cream.…" The smirk was utterly unrepentant, and Wesley didn't even pretend that his glare was feigned. 
 
"Ice-cream?" His voice rose in a kind of surprised outrage. "Why would I -" 
 
Spike just grinned at him, delight at having wound Wesley up so successfully glittering in his eyes. "Or something else you might like.…" He kissed Wes again, running one hand down low to rest between his thighs. 
 
"Mmmm." Wesley smiled into the kiss. "Infinitely preferable…" He knew that the feeling of panic that had him by the throat at the idea of Spike moving away was utterly irrational, a leftover from his earlier flashback at the thought of Angel in the hospital, but - 
 
"I just -" he swallowed, and forced the words out, closing his eyes against his own emotions. "Just - stay? Just for a bit. I'll take the painkillers in a minute, I just -" 
 
"Hate hospitals, yeah?" Spike seemed to realise that was about all the understanding and sympathy Wes could take right now. 
 
Wesley nodded, eyes still closed. 
 
"Gonna try an' sleep, if I stay? I'll wake you up to make sure your brain didn't die in a couple of hours." 
 
"Yes." His voice came out odd and raspy, and he knew Spike would be able to tell that he was on the verge of real panic. 
 
"Don't have to." Spike wasn't humouring him, thank God, just accepting that whatever was going on in Wesley's head was deeply and thoroughly unpleasant right now. "Could tell you all about the party Mr Pak's planning for Jin's thirtieth…" 
 
Wesley choked on a laugh. "Please don't," he said, with a shaky smile. The he decided that his pride could go and hang itself quietly on the nearest tree, because he didn't want to be stoic, damn it, he didn't want to make jokes, he just wanted not to think about Angel, and decisions, and potential difficulties, and Xander. 
 
He closed his eyes again, gripped on to the back of Spike's shirt with his good hand, and pressed the undamaged side of his head into the vampire's shoulder. 
 
"Just…stay," he repeated, and was saved from feeling like the most ridiculous man on the face of the planet by Spike repeating, 
 
"For as long as you'll have me, Wes." 
 
Before he fell into an awkward, painful sleep, Wesley managed to remind himself that whatever else, whatever else came out of this, Spike must never find out that Angel had been at the hospital. 
 
Because he would know far too exactly, then, what had caused this. 

* 

Eventually, of course, they did talk about the party. Or, actually, Xander talked about the party. Oz and Illyria talked about the party. Wes though, it seemed, was attempting to deny the whole idea. 
 
"Come on, Wes... it's Jin's birthday. Know you like her. And Shen and Nguyen are expecting us too... All the Pak's...." Spike spoke, his face suddenly going sympathetic, "You need a break." 
 
Wes agreed. He probably did need a break. In fact, he knew he did. What he didn't particularly think he needed was a large amount of people he didn't really know.  
 
"I do like Jin. I just...I'm simply not the sort of person who likes - well, parties. In general." He grimaced. That had to have been the worst excuse he'd ever come up with, and the fact that it was true didn't make it sound any better. 
 
"It'll all be friends, love.... Us and the Paks... a few neighborhood people.... That's it really. The Niblet is coming... " Spike tempted Wes. Dawn was often his ace in the hole, when it came to coaxing Wes into doing something he wasn't too keen on.  
 
Wesley's eyes glinted with the first signs of humor he had shown about the whole idea since it was first proposed. "Spike...are you trying to manage me?" he demanded, half outraged and half laughing. 
 
"I already do, love. Haven't you noticed...?" Spike chuckled. He didn't, not really, but he did watch over Wes... take care of him as much as he was allowed. And he enjoyed it. 
 
"Oh, I'm noticing." Wes' voice promised doom, with a side order of revenge. "This is your incredibly subtle way of telling me I'm leaving the books and going out there, isn't it?" 
 
"Yes? Please?" Spike gave Wes a teasing grin. "The Bit threatened me... really..." 
 
"Oh, that I do believe." Wes grinned. "But that, Spike, is because she likes threatening you." He pushed the open book aside. "And this is my incredibly unsubtle way of saying you win. But I reserve the right to sit with those two amazingly old men who are still playing chess in the middle of the garden, and ignore you all." 
 
"Wes, love... I don't think they're actually playing chess. I think that's just an excuse for them to nap in the sunshine.... " Spike shrugged and then sniffed. "Don't see the appeal, myself..." 
 
Wes snorted. "Says the man who convinced me an electric blanket was an important aspect of life as we know it...but you're right, of course. No, I think you're more suited to vast amounts of activity...at night."  
 
Spike rolled his tongue behind his teeth and waggled his eye brows, "Given the proper incentive...." 
 
Wes laughed. At least half the time, he was the instigator, and he really couldn't have cared less. "Given any incentive, to my sure and certain knowledge." He got up, and looked out of the window. "Er...exactly how many people are coming to this thing?" 
 
"Dunno. " Spike moved to stand beside Wes and look carefully out the window, "Why?" 
 
"Because I think Xander's building them a house." Wes pointed out the edge of the garden, where Xander, hands on hips, was peering at an awkward pile of wood and planking. Goodness only knew what it was supposed to be, but from the way Xander seemed to be telling off the deliveryman, it didn't appear to be what he had expected. 
 
Wes leant into Spike for a moment. "I promise not to act like a grouch." 
 
"You rarely are, love.... truly. Matter of fact, the Bit says you're the only one who lets her have any fun..." Spike leaned against Wes, his hand slipping down to encircle his wrist. 
 
"Does anyone else actually let her breathe? Because I have to wonder about her definition of 'fun', otherwise..." Wes asked, then took a small breath. "I just - It was easier, sometimes, not seeing people. I don't want to go back, but...I sometimes feel as if all my skin's been scraped off." He straightened. "Ignore me. There's no better way than letting Mr. Pak turn into a bulldozer, to be forced out of incipient hermitude." 
 
"I'll keep you safe, love... Lick over all the scrapes and help them heal." 

"I know." Wes meant it. He did know. "It's the only reason I'm agreeing to this. Otherwise I'd have become conveniently deaf and vengeance would have been Dawn's." 
 
"Would have been self-defeating that... " Spike smirked. "She would have stormed up here to drag you to the party... And then figured some way ta punish me for not managing it myself." 
 
"I'm sure I could manage to ignore -" Wes stopped as a squeal from below threatened eardrums and probably, he thought, structural integrity. "No, never mind. I really couldn't." 
 
"That's my Nibblet.... voice that could shatter plexiglas." Spike rolled his eyes. "Sun'll be down soon...." 
 
"With your luck, she'll have brought you a nice umbrella." Wes was only half-joking. Then he stared downwards, his voice becoming surprised. "Good God - Charles." 
 
"So it is. I knew they wouldn't let her come alone.... Not with Angel muttering to everyone who would listen about how we're always naked." 
 
"Spike....as far as Angel's concerned, we are always naked. Besides," Wes peered down at Gunn, who was engaging in his own brand of handshake with quite a few of the younger Paks, "I don't think he's here by force." Unless the enormous grin was actually Gunn's new version of 'I'm gonna kill you', that was. "He did get on quite well with people, when he - well. Before." 
 
Spike frowned, just slightly, "Well, his return ta humor better extend in all directions or we'll be having a talk. 'M just glad she didn't bring Red or Demon Girl...." 
 
"So, I would imagine, is Mr. Pak. Because at the moment, Willow means Faith, Anya means Andrew - let's just not question that one, please - that would mean Buffy, and that would mean every little training-wheeled Slayer in existence." 
 
"And a headache the size of Alaska... and twitching." Not to mention, probably another spate of bad dreams that Spike didn't even wish to contemplate. It was like all that Slayer power just focused the guilt his soul tried to pile on him the rest of the time, concentrating it. 
 
"Mm." Wes frowned, briefly, then decided not to pursue that one. "Still. Ear-plugs aside, those two are bearable. What made Dawn decide she wanted to come, anyway?" 
 
"Well, I can't do the voice, but I think there was mention of food, and music... and something about hot guys and 'Oh, my gawd, Nguyen has a cute ass... ' Which I really can't argue with.... " Spike's smile was innocence personified. 
 
"Oh? You mean you weren't trying to argue Dawn out of looking at men with a prospective eye?" Which was Wesley code for 'and I have seen straight through you - again...' 
 
"Well, I might have mntnhewsgy... " Which translated to him having told Dawn that he suspected that Nguyen was gay... which, really, he had no idea about, but had seemed like a good idea to plant in her head at the time. 
 
"Dear me, and not the spell to counteract it?" Wes was laughing by now, shoulders shaking with it.  
 
Spike huffed just a bit, "Can't help it. Still think of her as being a child..." 
 
"Yes, I know. Despite the fact that she's perfectly capable of running all our lives." Wes watched Dawn fling herself at a rather terrified-looking Illyria, and snorted. "Into the ground," he added. 

"Kind of makes ya tired just ta watch, doesn't it?" Spike smiled down at Dawn as she paused to hug both of the old chess players. "Like a force of nature...." 
 
"Yes....why is she hugging them?" Wes sounded completely bewildered, he realized. He felt it, too. 
 
"I'm supposed ta know?" Spike just laughed and shook his head. "Best we get down there, though... or she'll be up here looking for us." 
 
"I am now absolutely and completely sold on the idea of a party," Wes said firmly and mendaciously. "Out there," he added, with a great deal more truth. The apartments-office weren't finished, yet, and for some reason he didn't want anyone else outside the new company up there until they were. It was a possessive feeling that he couldn't explain, even to himself. 
 
They went down to the ground floor and the moment they put foot to the steps leading out of the building there was a squeal and a teenaged body flying at them. "Spike! And you got Wes to come. Yay!" Dawn almost knocked him down with her enthusiasm. 
 
Wes stepped backwards slowly, quietly, and, he hoped, un-noticed, and ran into a brick wall. Or rather, into Charles Gunn.  
 
"No ya don't, English." The tone was threatening, but Gunn's eyes gleamed with old affection.  
 
"Charles." Wesley said slowly. "And you're here because -" 
 
"Got some makin' up ta do." Gunn shrugged. He had always been as wholly unapologetic in his apologies as in his threats. He jerked a thumb towards Spike. "He need rescuin'?" 
 
Wesley looked over at the tangle of limbs, and shook his head. "Dawn's ticklish," he pointed out. Then he bumped Gunn's shoulder companionably. "And Xander has beer. And probably needs help far more." 
 
"The man with the beer will always get my help. Lead on, English." 
 
Wes made a face at Dawn, who gave him an unapologetic grin, and started making his way towards Xander, the wood, and the cooler. "You didn't have to come, you know," he pointed out, and was interrupted by a beaming Mr. Pak. 
 
"Ah, Charles! Head is out of arse, as the English say, yes? Good to see you, my friend...come, you must meet some people..." 
 
Gunn mouthed, "Help.." as Mr. Pak dragged him off, but Wes just waved and went in search of Xander and the beer. 

* 

Xander stood, hands on hips, looking at the mess in front of him. This was so not right. It was supposed to come in pieces but normally that meant just attaching the supports and the binding clamps so the flooring didn't shift. He wasn't sure what the Hell he was going to be able to do with this pile of crap in the hour he had left. 
 
"If I ask you 'is it supposed to look like this', do I get hit?" Wes passed Xander a cold beer.  
 
Xander's good eye flashed for just a moment, but then a look of defeat came over his face. "This is supposed to be the stage. I wasn't supposed to have to build it from scratch, just put it together." He popped the top of the beer and took a long soothing drink. "This kinda sucks." 
 
Wes looked around. "This 'kinda' looks like a waste of time - wait, before you smack me with a plank! I think there are far too many bits missing even for you to do a good job." 
 
"Yeah... I'd just about come to that conclusion myself. I guess I can cobble something together but dang. I wanted everything to be nice for Jin. She and Nguyen have been so good to me." Xander looked disgusted. "Help, Wes. Please..... " 
 
"Hmm, yes… Perhaps I can come up with something, " Wes was suddenly cut off by an overly-enthusiastic hug. "Hello, Dawn." 
 
"Hey, Wes. Watcha doing?" And with out a pause, or really even a breath, she continued, "Oooh, Xander, isn't the stage ready yet? Because I think the Dingos got the van unloaded and they're going to want to set up soon." 
 
"And therein lies the problem. We need this done fast, and some about-to-have-his-ears-singed delivery man forgot half the parts." Wes grinned, and wiggled his fingers like a stage magician. "Want to help out?" 
 
"Oooh!" Dawn bounced on her toes.  "Really? That would be great! Wes you are the absolute best, you know that right?" She leaned in and kissed him. 
 
"Um, thank you?" Wes blinked at her, gave her a small, embarrassed peck on the cheek back, then smiled. "Right, do you remember what I told you about focus?" 
 
"I think so." She nodded. "Although, it's really hard for me to practice. Buffy caught me the other day and absolutely freaked." 
 
"And speaking of freaking…" Xander's voice took on a slightly ominous cast as he nodded across the length of the garden. 
 
Anya and Andrew had just arrived. 
 
"Um… I'll just let you two discuss the mojo and… Excuse me." Xander scurried off towards the pair, a nervous look on his face. 

* 

Illyria was discovering a new, and most unwelcome emotion. Shyness. Since Xander had kissed her at the hospital, he had neither come to her room nor her bed, had scarcely touched her, had offered only smiles and awkwardness. 
 
And she did not know how to counter this distance. 
 
She had been told that she could keep her own form for this party, but somehow….it seemed wrong. She scowled at her reflection in the long mirror on the wall of her little room, and the bathing pool reflected the lanterns outside back at her in ribbons of wavering light, softening her white-clad image. 
 
Linen trousers and a long shirt of Nguyen's. White. Serene. Untouchable. 
 
The God-King incarnate, floating amidst borrowed fabric. 
 
She lifted her hair up, and turned her head from side to side, frowning. 
 
You should put your hair up, her Wesley had said. 
 
Why? 
 
Because then you'll be beautiful. 
 
She could not see it. 
 
Outside, the Dingoes finally decided on a song. 
 
I see her everywhere, everywhere I go… 
 
Was it her shell he had desired? 
 
There was a knock on the door, and Dawn's head came around it. 
 
"Hi there! You were out there and now you're not, and Wes let me do magic, look, the stage is all done, and aren't they cool?" 
 
Illyria looked out of the window, at the growing dusk. The wolf looked happy. Content. And Xander was…talking to some woman with blonde hair, and looking as unhappy as she had ever seen him. She hissed through her teeth, and walked over, her hands pressing against the cool, painted wood of the window sill. 
 
"Dawn. Who is she?" 
 
Dawn came in, and followed her pointing finger. 
 
"Oh, that's Anya. She's okay, you know, but she's - oh my God." It was a breathy whisper, and then Illyria found herself being hugged - again - and this time almost squashed with it. "You like Xander!" 
 
Illyria could have evaded. But it would have been unworthy of her emotions. 
 
"No," she said quietly. "I love him." 
 
And horribly, her voice shook. 
 
"Oh, sweetie…" Dawn wasn't hugging her any more, it was something else, something that prickled at Illyria's nose and eyes, something that came with a gentle rocking motion to the rhythm of the music. "That's okay, that's okay, he does too, I bet…." 
 
"I look wrong." It was a mumble, but this was the dimension walker, this was raw power, greater even than her, and she could admit frailty. 
 
"Well." Dawn stood back. "We can fix that. Come on." 

* 

They found bolts of silk in a chest in Mr Pak's bedroom - 'Pfft. He's not using them.' and Dawn made her stand still in the centre of the room while she draped and pinned and made Illyria stand with her arms over her head. 
 
"This is…colourful." Illyria said eventually. 
 
"This is great," Dawn corrected her, winding an end around her waist and knotting it. "You look like a model, and wow, you have such cool muscles, I need those, and then I wouldn't need a bra either." 
 
"A bra?" 
 
"We so need to take you shopping," said Dawn crossly. "Stupid guys. I love them, I do, but honest, 'Llyria, they wouldn't notice if you walked around naked." 
 
"They do not," Illyria agreed, and Dawn giggled. 
 
"Bet they do really," she said, and winked. "Now we need to put your hair up, cos wow, your neck, you're like a dancer, anyone ever tell you that?" 
 
Return my love, return to me….somebody's lying… sang Devon, rough-rich and ironic, and Illyria turned to Dawn. 
 
"Will he see me?" 
 
"He'll see you," Dawn said confidently, and took her t-shirt off to wrap a piece of silk around her neck, crossing it over her bosom and tying it twice around her waist, and looking as though she had been given the most expensive shantung top ever made. "Think they'll see me?" 
 
Illyria moved her head slowly from side to side, seeing unfamiliar length and grace, and frowned at her unfamiliar reflection, the wavering ribbons of light somehow seeming to be absorbed by the shimmering fabric that clung to her. Then she turned, and smiled. 
 
"They will," she said, looking at how Dawn's skin glowed more than the silk, how her long hair brushed against the fabric and whispered promise. "They will." 
 
Dawn grinned at her, and sprayed perfume into the air, before walking into it, flipping her hair from side to side in the faint mist, her eyes closed. Illyria stepped backwards, her nose wrinkling, and hoped that this was not compulsory. 
 
"Go and wreck Anya's evening," Dawn said cheerfully. "Because I? Have got plans." 
 
And Illyria watched as her dark gaze moved to Oz, as though drawn by a magnet. 
 
Oh. 
 
* 
 
They saw her. 
 
Wesley raised his bottle of half-drunk beer to them in a silent toast when they emerged, his eyes glinting with appreciation, and Illyria wished that she had the strange confidence-that-was-not of Dawn, to spin, and curtsey, and blush as he took her hands and held them out, murmuring something that made her stop blushing, and lean in to place one of those odd little butterfly kisses on his cheek. 
 
Gunn drew her away into the dancing, and Spike scowled, only to lighten into something else as Wesley laughed at him. 
 
Sister had meant wife, once, too, and lover, but that was not the meaning of the word that Wesley's lips shaped, nor could it have caused such understanding sorrow to cross Spike's face so briefly. 
 
Loss, that one meant. Loss, and balm-for-grief. She did not know the meaning of the word Alonna, but she watched the dark man dancing with her new friend with kindness, seeing the softness that the word had brought over the two men she had learnt to trust beyond all others to give her guidance in her behaviour. 
 
Illyria stood, quiet, waiting, beneath the Chinese lanterns. 
 
Turn and see me, Xander. Turn and see. 
 
But when he did, he took in a visible breath, and stared for one terrible moment, before walking away from her and the blonde woman to whom he had been speaking.  
 
Anya. 
 
Illyria hissed in furious air between her teeth, and walked across the grass. 
 
* 

Anya was all that Illyria loathed about humanity. Cold and sensual and patronising her use of this strange new form. She would have preferred this woman as a demon, accepted her mockery in a way she could not when it came with perfect smiles and practised, false kindness. But she smiled in return, and felt Wesley's familiar warmth with relief as he laid one long-fingered hand on her back to pass her a drink that was cold, and fizzed slightly, and tasted, oddly, of raspberries, even though it was blue. 
 
The glass was frosted. She watched the imprints of her fingers melt into blurs as she smiled, and smiled, and answered intrusion. 
 
"Oh, Xander's still awkward around me." Anya laughed, her eyes sharp and assessing. "You know how it is. Can't see what you're really worth, once they've had what they want." 
 
"I do not. He will not have me in the way you allude to -" for Illyria, too, could be blunt, knew that kind of force as well as she knew the stiletto knife of an unmeant smile - "but he knows my worth." She swallowed the cold liquid, felt a thin sliver of ice touch her lips, and smiled once more. 
 
Anya looked at her in obvious confusion. "You think he knows your worth? Because he won't be with you?"  
 
"No." Illyria shrugged, feeling silk graze her shoulders. "He knows my worth whatever else may exist or happen or not. It is irrelevant." 
 
Anya looked away dismissively, taking a drink of her beer. "Well, I'm sure you'll bring him around for awhile, at least. Long enough to experience as many orgasms as you could wish. He is very good at that..."  
 
Illyria was starting to feel slightly annoyed, as well as being confused and struggling with this new dislike. "I do not think that is his sole purpose in life. Nor do I think it is mine, to experience such a thing. Your conversation is becoming most irrelevant." 
 
"That's only because you haven't experienced it. Trust me, it's one of the few benefits of human form." Anya smiled reminiscently, and Illyria felt her temper flare. She swallowed it down, and tilted her head up to stare the other woman down. She felt the grass between her bare feet, and drew comfort from it. 
 
"You assume...a great deal as to what I have experienced. In any form." It was hard to tell whether she was trying not to smile, or not to hit Anya. It was pretty much even, if anyone had happened to be unwise enough to try and guess. 
 
"Well, I can only judge from the company you keep. " Anya was smiling again, close-lipped and somehow angry. She held up her hand and ticked her points off, and Illyria resisted the temptation to smack the beautifully manicured fingers away. "Wes... I'm sure he's fond of you but he's pretty much keeping to the flip side of things these days. And, yes, there was a time that Spike would have been more than willing... but he got that pesky soul and the guilt that goes with. I suppose it could have been Oz... but he just doesn't seem your type. And then there's Angel... but he's too busy brooding to look passed the end of his nose... So unless you're doing Gunn." Pause. "Oh, God... you're doing Gunn, arent' you? Is he good?" 
 
Illyria rolled her eyes, and wondered what this obsession was with sex. No-one else seemed to want to inflict this upon her. "No....I am not doing anything with Gunn. That would hurt him, and I do not wish to."  It seemed that she would have to state the obvious. "But perhaps you should remember...four thousand years ago, I walked where I pleased....in whatever guise I pleased. And my wish and desire was law. Your knowledge of what may be done in human form is....slight." She tilted her head, looking questioning. "Perhaps you would like instruction?" 
 
Anya gave her a speculative look, "Well, I've never done girls before. I asked Willow, but she was all, "No..Xander...." And I think she "meeped" at me." 
 
For once, Illyria was utterly confounded, "Perhaps I did not mean the word I used. Explanation?" 
 
Anya rolled her eyes slightly, "Sex. Like what Wes and Spike do, only with two girls. So, no, I guess it's not exactly what they do, but certainly what Willow and Kennedy did... And I think maybe she's having sex with Faith now, but they're keeping it pretty quiet." 
 
Illyria almost choked. By all the gods, for this woman to assume so much! "I did not mean that I required one. I was offering to provide one. Thank you, of course, for your offer, but no. I do not find you attractive." She smiled politely. 
 
"Oh...well, no accounting for tastes, is there?" Anya gave a shrug... "But still, Xander... You do find him attractive, obviously... so you should be sure not to miss out. But, well, just remember that he's not a very..... steady... person." 
 
Illyria's fixed smile vanished into a frown. "Are you...telling me what he is? Because that is not your right. Nor is it anyone's right, to tell me what opinion I should form. I am not required to listen to this." 
 
"No... they tell me that people are only required to pay taxes and die... but I'm not even sure that second will apply to you." Anya shrugged again, "I was only offering friendly advice... take it or leave it." 
 
Illyria's eyes narrowed, became intent. "I think....I will thank you very politely, and leave it." Suddenly, she took one of her too-quick steps forward, too suddenly Anya's equal in too many things, and her better in some, and her eyes were no longer the soft blue of a newly mortal girl, nor vulnerable in any way, but hard as steel, bright as turquoise, the eyes of the God-King. "Do not treat me as a mortal child again, Anyanka. I have no need to learn love, nor lessons from you on its expression. And as you are now? You should, I think, bear this very carefully in mind, when you speak of those whose feelings you have dared deem unworthy of you." 
 
To Anya's credit, she only took a half step back, "Fine. Do as you wish, God-King. I'm only an ex-Vengeance Demon, after all. I know nothing about the vagaries of men, second OR first hand... " Her sarcasm wavered just a bit, before she spoke again. "I only know what Xander did and, I'm sure, is capable of doing again. I'll just leave that for you to think about." And with that she walked away, calling out, "Andrew, I thought you were bringing me a beer?" 
 
Illyria shrugged as Anya walked away. "Vengeance is.....limiting," she said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should have told her the beer is no longer beer?" Then she grinned. "Or not." 

* 

Wesley seemed to have been designated the unofficial sane person for the evening, and was not really enjoying the experience at all. He watched from his seat on one of the piles of wooden crates as people danced, as Illyria and Dawn vanished, laughing, and returned sharing brownies from a plate and licking chocolate unselfconsciously from slim fingers, unaware of how they were turning every male head in the near vicinity. 
 
"Gonna dance with me?" Spike, half-drunk, half-sleepy, all amorous. "Have ta dance, Wes…." 
 
"I don't. Can't." He grinned. "You've seen me try." 
 
"Yeah, but…" Spike gestured expansively. The bottle in his hand sloshed. Wesley didn't want to think about which drink of the night had just been tipped down the back of his neck. It smelled, vaguely, of grapefruit, and stung worse than aftershave. "Lanterns, Wes. No-one'll see." 
 
"Spike…" He was half-laughing, not really protesting, being dragged to his feet. 
 
Spike leant in, and kissed him. He tasted of cigarettes and cinnamon schnapps and grapefruit vodka. He smelled like Jin's perfume and Oz's brownies and the smoke of the lanterns, and Wesley loved him so much that his heart ached with it. 
 
"Dance with me, Wes." And all it meant, really, in the end, was to move to whatever beat Spike chose, and to blur the lines of their bodies into one rhythm, and really, hadn't he been doing that from the moment they met, hadn't he? 
 
Spike's eyes were closed, his hands and hips brought Wesley into the music he would never be able to hear right, and Wesley traced out hieroglyphs of love onto his back, sliding his hands beneath Spike's shirt, touching cool skin and branding it with his fingers. 
 
They danced. 
 
* 

"Yo ho... Yo ho... a pirate's life for me.....Yo ho... Yo ho... there must be more words to his song...." Xander reeled, nearly fell over giggling, and caught himself on Wes's arm. 
 
Wesley just blinked at him. "Ah…" 
 
Xander giggled more, "You look like a perplexed owl..." 
 
Wesley nodded obligingly. "That would be the perplexed part. What....?" He didn't really want to know, but he resigned himself to the fact that he was going to be told anyway. 
 
"She likes me, you know?" Xander beamed at a point somewhere beyond Wes's left ear. "Not inner...inner.... Doesn't want to be moren friends... but thas cool too." he focused his eye, and grinned at Wes, vacantly. "But she mixes a mean martini....." 
 
"Whoever she is, I agree." Wesley rubbed at his forehead. "Who are we talking about?" 
 
"Vermouth...." Xander blinked and shook his head. "No.. thass not right.... Gin... Jin! Yeah... Jin..." More giggles ensued. 
 
Wesley frowned, before untangling names from alcohol. "Oh. Oh! I see." In a not-at-all way. "Why were you drinking martinis with her?" 
 
"All the beer was gone, man....." Xander's smile was distinctly sappy. 
 
Wesley considered pointing out that no, no it wasn't, and then reconsidered. If it was, he didn't want to know what he was drinking. "Of course," he said. "Obviously. Um....why martinis?" 
 
Xander crooked his finger, signalling Wes closer. "Because of that Spy guy... Uh... Bond... " He spoke quietly as if telling a secret. "Jin says you should so play him in the next movie....." More giggling. 
 
Wesley choked. "Jin is insane. And apparently has an even lower resistance to alcohol than you." 
 
Xander frowned for a moment, "Jin's not crazy... She knows stuff.... " He nodded slowly. "I like her... and Nguyen and Oz...." He stopped and frowned, "No... I'm supposed to be mad at Oz." 
 
"You're supposed to be -" The beginnings of a headache started to thump gently at the back of Wesley's head. "Why are you supposed to be mad at Oz?" It was a close avoidance of a whine, but he managed it. Just. 
 
Xander signalled Wes closer again.... then peered around awkwardly as if looking for eavesdroppers.... "Cause Dawnie found his special brownies....." 
 
Wesley closed his eyes, and for a blissful moment, imagined that this would all go away. Unfortunately, when he opened them again, it hadn't. Nor had Xander, who was threatening to knock him unconscious with martini fumes. "So she'll giggle a lot and get extremely hungry. Actually....how can you tell?" 
 
"Dozen matter.... she's not 'posed to have them...." Xander waved his hands around. "If Buffy finds out she'll never let Dawnie come back...." 
 
Wesley's eyebrows shot up. "And how is Buffy ever going to know?" 
 
He got a frown for that, "She knows stuff.....she's the Girl..." Xander said it solemnly, as if it were capitalized. "And besides.... I think Gunn's gonna rat her out...." 
 
"No." Wes realised that this might need a bit of embroidering, in Xander's current state, and continued, "He isn't. Excuse me." After all, how hard could it be to find one tall, shaven-headed black man amidst a group of Koreans, Italians, various (and variously dressed) friendly demons, and random band groupies? 
 
"But Wes.... he might kinda have to tell her...." 

Wesley turned around. Oh, this just gets better and better…He waved a hand, encouragingly. "And that would be because...?" 
 
"She's gonna notice the lump on Dawnie's forehead..." Xander rolled his eyes as if this should have been very obvious to Wes. 
 
Wesley rubbed his hands over his face. "Yes, she probably will. Xander, please try to bear in mind that I have no idea what you're talking about, would you?" 
 
"Oh.. yeah... I forgot...." Xander giggled again... and then clapped his hand over his mouth. "That is so not manly...." 
 
Wesley's eyes crinkled up as he grinned. "No, but it's reassuring. Go do it at Spike, so he feels less lonely in his drunken giggle-fests. Or rather, don't, or at least not until you've told me what I missed." 
 
"Yeah... Spike giggling is cute..." Xander nodded with another big sappy smile. "I like you guys, ya know?" 
 
"Oh, God..." It was a mutter of pure disbelief. "I'm extremely fond of you, too, Xander, but I swear by all I hold sacred I will hex you to sobriety and back if you don't tell me what's going on." 
 
"Oh, yeah..oh, yeah...." Xander blinked for a moment... "What was I supposed to tell you?" 
 
Wesley spoke very slowly and precisely. "Why - does - Dawn - have - a bump - on her - head?" And telling me before Spike sees it would be truly marvellous. 
 
"Because she'd been eating Oz' special brownies...." Xander rolled his eyes. "I tole you that." There was a moment of silence as alcohol soaked neurons fired in Xander's brain and then: "Oh... so she was dancing with Oz and he was kind chuckling at her being all..... ya know...." he waved a hand around in some odd gesture that might have meant something if he'd been sober and more precise. "... and then the music stopped... and Dawn looked at Oz... and Oz looked at Dawn.... and then Dawn kissed Oz."  
 
Wesley felt the usual rabbit-hole sensation. "Okay....not that I pretend to understand what Dawn sees in a mildly scraggly werewolf that she's known since she was a child, but I'm out of options on prescience in any case. Concentrate. Why does she have a bump on her forehead?" 
 
"Cause she hit her head on the side of the stage..." Xander looked exceedingly pleased to have gotten that answer out. 
 
Wesley took that one in, frowned, and realised something. "Because Oz dropped her?" 
 
"No... Oz didn't drop her..." Xander did the big eye rolling thing again. "Geeze, Wes.... You gotta pay 'tention..... Dawn kissed Oz... and I guess it supprised him becuase he kinda jumped back... and with Dawn not-so-steady on accounta the brownies.... she fell"  
 
"Oh God." Wesley groaned, and ran his hands over his head. "This requires yes or no. And immediacy. Did Spike see them?" 
 
"I dohne think so.... " Xander shook his head. "But he did show up right after... 'cause of the blood, I think... Took her off to get her boo-boo bandaged...I thin she tol him she tripped...." He nodded. "Which she kinda did.... but I'm still mad at Oz..." He went back to scowling, arms crossed over his chest inexpertly.... they kept slipping. 
 
"Cause of the - oh God. Right." Wesley sighed. "Go and drink water, or the not-beer, or something. And don't be mean to Oz." And yes, he did seem