da·mage·done

"It was Darla," Angel insists. "She's back - and she's human now - but I know her scent."

Wesley resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Angel, you can't just sniff a person and know..."

Angel leans ever so slightly closer to Wes, just enough to make him uncomfortable, and inhales.

There's an undercurrent of cheap alcohol and a heady whiff of blood, both of which concern him, but... "You had sex last night, with a bleach blond." Angel's eyes narrow and his nostrils flare as jealousy rises up in his chest.

"Good Lord, how did you…" Wesley's eyes go wide; he knows Angel knows.

Cordy looks shocked."That's unbelievable. I didn't think you ever had sex."

Angel closes the phone book, interest in the search for DeEtta Cramer momentarily lost. "She's not in the book."

"Wait, how do you know?" Cordelia asks, confused. "You're not gonna find Cramer in the J's, not even with my filing system."

~*~

The bar was dark and dank and reeked of alcohol and sweat; just the way he liked them. There was no way anyone would recognize him here, drowning his sorrows, his lust and desire, in the bottom of a bottle of scotch. Not that anyone would care to look.

"Watcher."

Fuck. Wesley looked briefly up at the blond vampire, backlit by neon beer adverts. "Go away, Spike."

Spike was never good with following directions, so instead he pulled up a chair, backwards, and straddled it. He grabbed the bottle of Scotch Wesley was halfway through already and eyed it before taking a good long swallow. "This stuff will burn your stomach out faster than acid, Watcher. Don't think that ponce you work for would like his book boy dead by rotgut."

"Spike, I sincerely doubt Angel cares one way or another how I live or die; please leave me to wallow in peace and stop drinking my fucking alcohol."

Spike smirked, taking another swig. "You want him to fuck you," he observed. "Smell it comin' off you in waves."

Wesley still refused to meet Spike's eyes. "Go. The fuck. Away."

"Wanna know what it'd feel like, Watcher? Like a dead man rammin' his cock up your back passage, coz that's all it'd be."

Wesley finally looked up, and Spike was surprised by the cold fire that burned behind the other man's eyes. "And what about when he fucked you?" He didn't wait for Spike's answer before rising. "Finish it; it's paid for. I'm going home."

He was quite obviously drunk, and it was equally obvious he intended to drive home in that condition. "Hell you are," Spike said. "Twinkletoes'd have my head if I let you leave like this; you'll end up a grease spot on the freeway."

"You don't care," Wesley said, narrowing his eyes. "And neither does Angel. You're dead things, with dead hearts." He straddled his bike, revved it up. Spike reached over and cut the engine.

"He cares more than you think," Spike said, "and I care to keep my head attached to my body, thereby clinging to my unlife, such as it is. You're not bloody driving like that."

Wesley was prepared to argue, but he chose that exact moment to topple over sideways, falling off his bike and landing on his arse. He stood up, dusting off his leather pants. "Fine. I'm not driving. What are you going to do, walk me home?"

Spike looked around, shrugged. "Yeah. Why not?"

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Clearly, there is no God," he told no one in particular. "Fine, then, come on." He gave his bike one last longing look before walking off in the direction of his flat.

"Nice night," Spike said conversationally, after at least five minutes had passed in complete silence.

"Bugger off," Wesley replied in the same tone.

"Might do," Spike retorted. "This your building?"

Wesley nodded. "You've done your good deed, who knows why, now leave."

"Mind if I use your loo?"

"Sure. Fine. Whatever it takes to get you to fucking leave. Me. Alone," Wesley snapped.

Spike grinned. That was the easiest invitation in he'd ever gotten from a person that hated him. He followed Wesley up the stairs and into his flat. "Nice place you've got here, if you go for small and dark, which, incidentally, I do."

"Loo's there, Make yourself scarce," Wesley said, already unbuttoning his shirt. God, he was an idiot, inviting a vampire into his flat. And not even the one he wanted to be there. He hoped for a brief moment that Spike would kill him; he deserved it for his stupidity. He peeled his leather pants off, not even bothering to put on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed.

Wesley had just begun to relax into the sleep of the intoxicated when he found himself being flipped onto his stomach. "What the -"

"Shut it, Watcher," Spike hissed. "Not a fucking word."

Wesley closed his eyes and resigned himself to his fate; he knew this wasn't about fucking him, it was about fucking Angel over, but he didn't know whether or not that was a comfort.

~*~

"You wanna tell me what the hell you were doing with Spike?" Angel growls, grabbing Wesley's arm roughly and backing him up against a wall.

"Apparently I have a death wish," Wes says casually, but Angel can smell the fear on him.

"Spike's in L.A.?" Cordelia asks helpfully. "Should we be worried?"

"He's already caused all the damage he meant to," Angel says quietly, releasing Wesley's arm. "Are you okay, Wes? Did he hurt you?"

"Wait, Wes had sex with Spike?"

"Why?" Wesley asks, ignoring Cordy. "Would you like to help him reform, perhaps feed him donuts and give him a comfy place to sleep?"

The words cut Angel deeper than he thought they would. "Wes..."

"Ouch," Cordelia comments, ducking into the office.

"I'm taking the rest of the day off," Wes says, his voice strained. "Angel - don't come after me."

Angel makes it to the door before Wesley does. "Wes, we need to talk about this."

"The time for talking has passed," Wes tells him, the ice in his glare chilling Angel down to his soul. "You've made your feelings clear; I rank below crazed murderers, potentially reincarnated blondes, vivid sex dreams about said blondes and God only knows what else, where you're concerned. Call me when you need something translated, hm?"

"I love you." The words hang in the air, and Angel notices Cordelia has poked her head out of the office so as to better hear their conversation.

"Bullshit," Wes returns. "Give up the search for Darla."

Angel falters. "I can't, Wes. You know that."

A muscle on Wesley's jaw twitches, and Angel finds himself mesmerized by the pulse thrumming in Wesley's neck. "I'll be at my flat. You know what? Do us both a favor, Angel, and don't call me."