Title: Unforeseen (2/?)
Author: Fia Reynne
Fandom: Angel
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: pre-Angel/Wes
Summary: (AU) Angel makes an attempt to save Wesley from the visions that are killing him, and instead drives him away.
Disclaimer: Joss thunk them all up, I just play with them when I'm bored.


Angel hissed as the clear liquid hit his skin, and wondered - not for the first time - whether hydrogen peroxide wasn't made from holy water.

"Sorry," Wesley said lightly, and Angel wasn't convinced he really was. That might have had something to do with the fact that Wesley was smiling almost maniacally as he dabbed the blood-tinged foam away from the wound. "What?" he asked, when he felt Angel glaring at him.

"You're enjoying this," Angel accused.

Wes smiled, sort of a lopsided smirk, and admitted. "I am, a bit. It's not often anymore that I'm the one on this end of the gauze pad."

Angel scoffed. "Yeah, speaking of which, what happened to that whiskey-induced death wish I've been trying to drag you out of for weeks? 'Cause whatever I did that finally worked, I should know in case I need to do it again."

Wesley's smile widened, but he refused to speak, instead returning to the task at hand.

"Is it a girl? You met someone." Angel forced a smile, even though he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. Actually, several somebodies had, but not in the last hour or so. "Good for you." He didn't quite understand why the idea of Wes with a girlfriend made him feel like he might be sick... or hit things, hard. Wes was a dead man walking, why shouldn't he find someone to make his last days enjoyable? Angel pondered that for a while. Because he wasn't going to die. They'd been looking for ways to get rid of the visions: spells, mystical objects. Wes had even found a coven of techno-pagans who thought they might be able to transfer the visions to a computer, so they could get updates by email. There were a lot of words Angel didn't understand - bandwidth, streaming video, something about different kinds of bites - so he stopped listening after a while, but it hadn't worked out anyway. But something had to.

"I can't be in a relationship," Wes reminded him. "Kiss of death, remember? Or at least massive cerebral damage. I couldn't do that to someone I couldn't stand, let alone someone I cared for, Angel."

Right. The kiss.

Angel realized suddenly that he was a complete and total idiot. Of course - humans couldn't withstand the visions, but demons could, and vampires were technically demons...

Before Angel knew what was happening, his tongue was in Wesley's mouth.

An instant later, the blood-soaked gauze pad was on the floor, and Angel was alone.

~*~

"I haven't seen him," Cordelia said suspiciously, setting down the empty Starbucks cup. "Angel, what did you do?"

"I - nothing!" Angel protested, slumping in his seat. "I just thought maybe he'd come here, if he needed someone to talk to. Damn it, Cordy, I know it didn't work when you tried it, but it was worth a shot, you know?"

"'Worth a shot' doesn't sound like nothing." Cordy pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "'Worth a shot' sounds like something big and stupid, hence the fact that you have a missing Seer and apart from the fact that I love Wes as much as you do, how is this my problem? Diego is going to be here any minute to run lines."

"Not Diego Santorro?" Angel looked impressed.

"You've heard of him?" Cordy asked. "Since when do you watch daytime T.V.?"

Angel shrugged. "I have a lot of free time in the afternoons. So, you and this Diego...?"

"Oh, heck no," Cordy laughed. "He's about as gay as they come. He's just a really good actor - I totally believe him when we're making out."

There was a moment of silent confusion, and Angel finally broke. "You're making out with a gay man."

"On camera," Cordy replied, trying to smother her glee. "I got the part! Which is why we're running lines. Which is why you need to leave."

"I kissed him." Angel stood up and walked toward the door.

"Diego?" Cordy smirked. "Who hasn't?"

Angel shook his head. "Wesley."

"Oh," she nodded sagely. "You're screwed."

"Thanks."

"No problem," Cordy grinned. "Now make with the leaving. Oh, and if it helps, third time was the charm for me."

~*~

Wesley never imagined he'd find himself taking to the road again, or at least not so soon after having found a kind of stability - if one could call it that - in Los Angeles, but here he was. Sitting in a truck stop on the edge of the desert, and he didn't even know where he was. He could probably backtrack, if he wanted to find his way home, but he needed to clear his head first.

He hadn't even bothered to change into his leathers before he'd started riding, he'd just climbed on his bike in the jeans he'd been wearing - Angel's, he recalled, since his trousers were ruined, and these were too loose in the hips and hung awkwardly on him, but at least they weren't black - when Angel had either lost his mind or decided he didn't want Wesley around anymore. If it was the former, Wesley needed to go back and deal with the fallout. If it was the latter, he had no reason to return.

The sun had just gone down, and the desert wind was cooling rapidly. The air conditioning in the truck stop was starting to be too much, and Wesley looked down to realize he wasn't even wearing a proper shirt, just a plain white tee shirt - this, too, belonged to Angel, though he suspected it was too small for him, because it fit snugly on Wesley's lean frame - with a splash of blood, also Angel's, over his heart. No wonder the waitress asked him so many times whether there was someone she could call for him. She likely thought he was either a murderer, or wounded, possibly in shock.

Well, he was certainly in shock, at least.