no·de·lu·sions

Wesley has no delusions of growing old and having a family. He knows, from the moment Angel offers him a job that he will die fighting the good fight, helping the helpless.

His last thought as he backs away from the bomb, its timer already ticking down the last few seconds, is that he'd thought he might at least last a bit longer than this.

~*~

The first thing Wesley becomes aware of is that the wind has been knocked out of him, and he is lying face down on the stairs. When he finally does breathe, he wishes he hasn't; the air is filled with choking smoke, and his world glows with the decievingly cheerful orange of flames. He hears a voice, shouting his name, and dares to believe it is Angel.

But vampires are not known for being particularly comfortable around open flames, and Wesley has no delusions that Angel would walk into a burning building just for him. Yet there he is, turning Wesley over, murmuring promises and apologies and endearments, slinging Wesley's body over his shoulder, and carrying him to safety.

~*~

Wesley stirs, opens his eyes just a crack, to see Angel's retreating form; something must have happened to Cordelia as well, he thinks, and it is right that Angel should be by her side. Wesley has no delusions that Angel might care for him as much as he does the young Seer.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees a young black man keeping vigil, and he realizes that Angel cares enough to have someone watching over him as he heals, something that takes him by complete surprise.

~*~

When Wesley awakens, Angel is there, smiling. "Welcome back," he says, but there is little time for catching up; Cordelia had a psychotic episode, and is in a drug-induced catatonic state. There is the scroll, and the incantation must be read, and rescuing Cordelia from her hellish visions is their priority. Then Cordelia awakens, and balance is restored to their small circle.

Angel arranges for Wesley and Cordelia to be discharged at night, and brings them both to Cordelia's apartment. Wesley is grateful, because he can't bear the thought of staying alone in his small depressing flat until he is well enough to get back to work. Angel takes care of them, at times even mothering them: Cordelia, lay down and rest or so help me I'll lay you out and make you do it. Wesley, you have to eat more, you're skin and bones and it scares me. Wesley has no delusions that Angel understands how much this simple kindness, this love and friendship means to him.

~*~

Wesley finds himself kicking his own arse mentally; how could he have been so thick? Proto-Bantu, he knew that, he knew life and death were synonymous in that culture, what in Hades made him forget that? He tells them, watches Angel's reaction; Wesley notices Angel's eyes lock onto his, dart to Cordelia, and then back to his, holding his gaze.

Suddenly the space between them closes, and Angel's lips are on his, cool but soft and sweet, his hands warm from the glass of blood Cordelia has given him but just as soft as he cups Wesley's face; his lips don't part, and Wesley suspects Angel doesn't wish to share the taste of blood with someone who would not appreciate it. Angel's arms wrap around him, strong and gentle, and he draws back from the kiss to allow Wesley air. Cordelia is standing there, arms crossed, clearing her throat. "Lips to yourselves, boys, I just want in on the hug," she smirks, and Wesley draws her into their embrace.

Wesley has no delusions of growing old and having a family. He knows, from the moment Angel's lips meet his, that he will die fighting the good fight, helping the helpless, but he will not die alone, and that is enough.