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Title: Clarity
Author: Spirit
Pairing: Angel/Wes
 Rating: PG-13
Setting: After 'Reunion'



I keep reminding myself to breathe.

It seems that my entire system needs to be reminded to do its task. Each function needs some conscious acknowledgement and with each step, I'm overly aware of how easy it is to take normality for granted. How simple things seemed only days ago, when I could open my eyes in the morning and go to work - knowing that whatever the day brought, I'd be able to make a difference.

All I can think about now is how hard it is to will your lungs to inflate.

He was so resolute, so focused on anything but us for so long that when he finally turned his attention to our presence he wanted us gone. And whilst the others have shrugged and stated that he will change his mind, he *will* miss us; I'm not at all certain that is the case. We're so insignificant in the light of recent events, a single breath in a lifetime of silence. And when he says family, I'm no longer sure it is to his human companions that he refers.

Any other man would turn and run, giving it up as a bad job, finding employment elsewhere. Any other man would stop this foolishness now, would have stopped this dangerous work long before Angel had the chance to turn his back to the light. Any one else wouldn't have come.

//Right now the three of us.//

Gunn seeks the evil on his own terms, battling as he has always done - a leader of the unseen.

Anyone else wouldn't be here now.

//.are all that's standing.//

Cordelia thinks he will come back. She sees, she seeks and we do what she tells us.

Anyone else would carry on without him.

//.between you and real darkness//
 

His door is open.

I walk forward, hesitating slightly before entering his territory. The halls echo with his emptiness and I wonder if he's still here at all. Not that silence gives him away - he could be walking the floors above me, catlike and ready to pounce on his intruder. But this hotel was tomblike long before we claimed it as our own and I've seen enough darkness to brush those fears aside.

'Angel?'

I can hear my call reverberate up the stairwell and wonder if there really is a truth about the homes of the dead. Do ghosts wander these halls as a warning to those to go after? Do curses always plague those who betray burial-rights? Am I doomed to some unspeakable death, because I will not let him lie still? And if there are consequences to my actions beyond being turned away again, will anyone care?

Breathe. Move forward.

'Angel, it's Wesley. I need to talk to you.'

I settle my hand on the banister rail, glad of its support. The stairs loom awkwardly in the darkness, twisting upwards into places I can't see. And though I know every footfall, I can't help remembering the strongest fear from childhood - everything is different at night and all the shadows are monsters. But I'm seeking the worst of those who lurk in the gray and I find the first step with an unwilling foot.

'What are you doing here?'

Don't turn - don't tremble. He can smell fear.

'I came to see you.'

He doesn't laugh, but I feel it all the same and when I gather myself together to face him, I'm almost shocked not to see that easy smirk. It should dispel my tension, but in some measure it's heightened and my stomach tightens. I keep hold of the rail and raise a hand to indicate the darkness.

'Can we talk?'

He stares impassively at me before flicking on the light. Before I can say anything, he walks towards me and I hold my breath, wishing I'd brought the stake Cordelia insisted on. But before I close my eyes and submit to whatever the night brings, he brushes past me, walking ever upward to his bedroom. Following his lead, I mount the stairs, exhaling as quietly as I can, puffs of air misting in this brief moment of winter.

I wonder why we're going further into his sanctum, the memory of the last time I was this close striking a vivid image. I can still feel his hands round my throat. I couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything except watch his eyes, predatory and focused, despite his instant awakening. And when, finally, his hands dropped, I could see what pressed against me - lean naked flesh glowing with unnatural perspiration. And I swallowed hard; the sight of another man's arousal a strange and enticing place.

We both watched as I reached out to touch, before I regained my senses and spoke. Hand never really close to him, but intent clearly there.

The need was there.

He's all shadows now, clothes matte against the dim lighting of the stairwell. And although he's the one with the extra sensory nose, I think I can smell the demon. Nothing looks different - he's still the semblance of my employer, but he bears the mark of the beast more clearly than when he wore Angelus' garb. This is the blurring of the line - this is why I'm here.

This is why I'm so afraid.

He pushes the door open and I step inside, noting the rumpled covers, wondering whether he knows. Wondering whether he's even conscious of the dichotomy here. He pushes past, touching me again, shoulder against my own, there and gone before I can register it. But my imagination seems unfettered by the mundane and I feel the crackle in my head, if not my body. Reaching for the nearest chair, I slink down and try to take a deep breath, trying to remember the well-thought out argument I practiced earlier. I look up, mouth open and ready to speak, but for a moment, there's nothing there, because he *is*.

Leaning back on his bed, one arm hooked behind his neck in a more casual posture than I've ever witnessed, he's waiting for me. But there's no patience here - none of the gentle tones he uses for those we rescue. I'm an inconvenience to him, that's plain. His path is already set in stone and he's just waiting to hear me talk, because that's all I can do - my actions are ultimately futile. He believes that; I can feel it in my chilled bones. He'll just hear me out, and then tell me he doesn't need us any more. Tell me once again that I'm fired and no longer have a place here.

And we could have done this all downstairs.

'You're catching flies.'

And again I look for the grin, for the evidence of that other, but it's not there. So I swallow hard and lean back, determined that I will at least go through with this.

'You're letting them manipulate you.'

'Who?'

'Wolfram and Hart. You.' I pause a second as his eyebrows raise slightly, the words that seemed so sensible and convincing in front of my mirror all wrong now. All childish in front of a man far older than the law firm we're discussing. 'They told you it was destiny. That they would separate you from the Powers that Be. That.'

'I know that. We stopped that.'

He glares at me.

`I stopped that.'

And he really does believe it. Or if he doesn't, he can't bring himself to care about a prophecy that promises him true death. Not when he had done it all - offered it all and gained the promise of redemption for his sire, only to watch the house of cards burn, unable to raise a single hand to prevent it. And whilst I can't pity those who died, he chose - he betrayed the one thing that makes him different.

//In case you've forgotten - we're not in the business of giving up on people//

'Did you?'

'Yes.'

I shake my head as he watches, all too aware of the pomposity in my tone. I can't help it and since he expects all of this, I can't stop my yammering.

'Angel, you let them die. You made a conscious decision to walk away.'

'They deserved it.'

I don't want to argue with that. I can't even begin to make a convincing case to justify their survival. But it's not their well being that commands my presence. They're destroying him and he can't see the cracks.

'But you had no right to choose.'

And for the first time, I wonder if my coming here is a real mistake. Because I'm making my own judgments and he's not the only one who has no right to the decision.

'You could have walked away without closing the door.'

He shrugs, that arm falling easily to the bed as he rolls onto his side. I'm not reaching him; I'm not even getting close.

Brown eyes still very evident, he gestures to the outside.

'If it wasn't Holland, it would be someone else.'

'It will be.'

'I'll be there to stop them next time.'

'Are you sure? They aren't the only members of Wolfram and Hart. What if they choose to massacre the rest?'

The faintest semblance of a grin assembles on his face.

'Some people might even thank me.'

'For going deeper into madness? Angel - what if they choose Cordelia next, or Gunn?'

//or me//

'That's why you're supposed to be away from me now. You should be protecting yourselves.'

'We're your friends.'

He shakes his head, the smile lost again.

'I don't have friends, Wesley. I have employees.'

'That's just a name. The last time you told us that, Faith.' I swallow quickly, scars still fresh enough to claw at my physical memory. 'The last time, things got out of hand.'

In under a second, he's on his feet, in front of me before I can blink. I can smell him, can smell that mark clearer now and I wonder if either of us are sane; if this is going to end in a clammy grave. But he's in my face and if he had breath, I'd feel it against my lips. And even in the midst of this fear I can recognize want.

I can recognize the beast.

'Is this about you Wesley? Are you scared I might just be right?'

'.No.'

And then he's inhaling, tasting the fear I know I must be wrapped in. Nose almost flush against my skin, sensing me in a way I can only imagine. I breathe in before I can stop it and when I feel his mouth against my throat, I don't know whether he regards this as a welcome.

Or if he's already within his property.

'You do want redemption, Angel,' I manage, 'you do want to make amends?'

And I want it to be a statement, but I've been asking so long - how much does he have to take? How many times does he have to sacrifice everything before peace is a real possibility?

Why did I believe he'd never cross that line?

'You're warm.'

I swallow again, feeling the sharpness of his human teeth against the moving flesh.

'I'm human.'

'I want to earn it.'

And I can't stop the shivering, the temptation of being so close to death driving all other demons from my door.

'Earn.your redemption?'

He moves up, hands closing over my own, pinning me down. Not that I really want to go anywhere - I just want to know what it is we've been fighting for. I can feel his mouth against my ear.

'She was so damn warm, Wes.'

'Darla?'

His hands tighten reflexively and I try to stop pressing back against the chair. Did I really want to see this so close - didn't I realize that there was no true escape from the beast? And it takes all my strength to stop the begging passing my lips.

'Under my fingertips.she burned.'

And I breathe, chest expanding and hitting his, relieved that he craves something. Relieved that it's human.

'You did your best. It wasn't your fault.'

It sounds hollow even to me, despite the simplistic truth, so the grunting chuckle doesn't surprise me in the slightest. But his hands, his body covers mine and I can't walk away from this now.

'I was so close.'

'To what?'

He doesn't answer, just presses his mouth against my neck, moist lips cold on my flesh. One taste, one brush with Angelus and we'd both find this simpler, if not easier. I could end this then, send him to Hell with a clear conscience. But I can feel Angel here, hurting and angry. And I'm as unable to lift a hand to destroy him, as he is able to sink those teeth in and break this friendship for good.

And when I finally break this tenuous peace, it feels as though I'm repeating something I heard in the distant past. And that's fitting, because this is a lie too.

'You need us.'

And I want him to laugh, to just sit back on his heels and flash that handsome face at me, whilst we both know that he's seen more of this world than I ever will. That even when I turn old, presuming I live that long, he'll still know more about need and want than I ever shall.

I want all that, I want to leave with my tail between my legs, because there's something here, some almighty truth lurking in the silvery light. And it's neither evil, nor pure, but it is here and if I stay, if I try to understand what he's going to do next, without us, I may just find that insanity after all.

But he lays his head on my shoulder, and draws my hand up to his mouth.

'If I turn you, would my soul make any difference?'

I swear I can feel the rivulets pulsing beneath his mouth, scant millimeters from running freely down his throat, fulfilling his needs, offering me eternity, or the simplicity of death.

'You want to be human.'

And the grazing brush of tiny teeth knocks the wind away as surely as if he'd thrown me aside. Because in that moment, I want it too.

I've seen the desecration his kind can produce. I've been reading it, understanding it in order to destroy the enemy for so long, I can't see anything else. And whilst he's invented a side space, a short annex to good and evil, for one breath I want the freedom of the beast.

'I don't want to be alone.'

And when his teeth grow, change shape and finally plunder the soft throb at my wrist, I can feel all that held air rushing through my lungs, inflating them and moving blood round my system. It moves swiftly and the headache that's threatened since I decided on this insane quest shifts away as blood flushes through my temples. I can see the control I've held so tightly slipping away and my body no longer needs prompting.

Before he can taste more than a sip, I draw my hand away from him.

'We're all here for you. Cordelia, Gunn.we're here to help you do what's right.'

He says nothing and for a second I wonder if he'll ignore me, tasting what I've offered for so long. And his head does turn against my neck once more, lips warm in the flush of a feeding promise. It's still here, I could still change my mind and I could still.

'I'll tell them both that you just need a little time.'

I stand, pushing his dead form away, and walk toward the door, exiting this lair before I can succumb to the inevitable. And even if he doesn't, I know that that one day I'll offer my throat as easily as he'll take it.

I close the doors behind me, the light still gleaming in the empty hallway. I don't look back, but I can feel that last warmth on my back. Because he will move sometime and he will find us. Because it's not that he needs us, but that we belong to him.

And I can wait until he understands.

~

"Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against the hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might sand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly; floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood, and whatever walked there, walked alone." - Shirley Jackson

~finis~
 

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