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Lost Boys	By : Spacey Category: Angel the Series > Slash - Male/Male > Angel(us)/Wesley > Angel(us)/Wesley Views: 2496 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own AtS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 6

Angel entered the offices for the second time that night. The look on his face told Cordelia all she needed to know.
“No luck,” Cordelia said.
“None. I retraced his steps and no one saw him after he talked to his friend.” Angel was discouraged. “How about you two? Did Wesley go to the hospital like I told him?”
“What do you think?” Angel sighed. “And he hasn’t come out of the bathroom in forever, “ Cordelia added. She swallowed two more extra-strength aspirin with a grimace.
“Did you at least bandage him”
“He wouldn’t let me. Just locked himself in the bathroom with the first-aid kit. Please tell me you can talk some sense into him because I’m all talked out.”
Angel knocked lightly on the bathroom door. Wesley heard the gentle knock and paid it no regard. He stood, naked from the waist up, staring at the three deep gashes that crossed his chest. The first and last were shallow and would heal in days. The middle gash, however, was deep. He had the kit open and sutures laid out. It would not be the first or last time he had tended to his own wounds.
“Wesley? Are you conscious?” Angel knocked on the door again, this time louder.
“I’m fine, Angel. Just tend to Gunn and Cordelia.” The doorknob rattled and Wesley watched as a slim piece of plastic swept the doorframe near the lock. Angel eased the door open.
“That would be hard since Gunn is still missing and Cordelia hasn’t needed my help since the Neiman Marcus shoe sale of 1999. “ He stepped inside. “American Express. Don’t break and enter without it.” He held the plastic up sheepishly.
Wesley made a vain attempt to cover himself but Angel yanked the torn shirt from his hands, taking notice of the Englishman’s wounds. “My god, Wesley. I had no idea that…I knew you were hurt but…”
“I’ll heal. Humans *do* heal eventually, if you remember.” Wesley went back to staring at himself in the mirror. “Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve some patching up to do.” He gave a rueful grin and with his uninjured hand, lifted a small bag containing surgical thread, attempting to open it with his teeth.
“No.”
“No what?”
“No, I won’t excuse you.”
Angel stepped all of the way into his small bathroom and shut the door behind them. Taking the sutures from Wesley’s hand, he set the trembling man on the toilet seat and began unpacking the kit completely. His eyes appraised the slim form seated before him. He was scarred, and not just from today’s events. Old scars and some fairly fresh criss-crossed his body. Angel ran his thumb across a particularly deep scar-pale white and translucent-on Wesley’s right shoulder. Wesley shuddered slightly at the touch and Angel turned to the first-aid kit in shame. Wesley must be so disgusted. Here he was, trying to help a badly injured man, and all he could do was find excuses to fondle the wounded.
“This will sting,” Angel warned unnecessarily as he coated the gashes with antiseptic. Wesley put up no protest--the will to argue having gone some time past. Instead, he stared straight ahead, a sight Angel found far more disturbing. After cleaning the wounds, Angel efficiently stitched the deepest parts of the cuts. Wesley hissed in pain and Angel cursed the moment he decided not to put several bottles of alcohol in the first-aid kit as Doyle had once requested. The smudge was still there, he noticed. Just a fingerprint, really, on pale skin. Angel eyed it and silently wondered what Wesley would say if he licked him right then. If he reached down and let his fingers trail over that pale skin and let his tongue sweep his cheek.
“You couldn’t find him, then?” Wesley asked finally.
Angel was startled from his reverie. “No, but his friends are going to contact me if they hear from him.”
“Cordelia’s vision. She said he was hurt—“
“And she wouldn’t have gotten the vision if there was nothing we could do. We have our ways.” Angel was putting on a smooth façade but Wesley could sense the worry, just under the surface.
“Angel—“
“Hold still.”
The ex-Watcher was in no place to argue. Or move. Or even breathe. Wesley continued to stare at the distant spot, not moving.
((Just clean it up yourself, boy.))
((No one is going to molly-coddle you around here, son))
((Does the mama’s boy have an owie?))
He was afraid to stop the gentle ministering of the vampire who sat before him. Did Angel realize how strange it was to stare into a mirror and watch a needle pierce your skin of it’s own device? To watch it thread through the ragged ends of a bloody wound and then tie itself? Angel was close--only inches away from his bare skin. He could feel the vampire’s tense hunger. His body hummed with it and he had to forgive him the anxiety. It must be hard to be so close to fresh blood and have to abstain. He half wondered if he shouldn’t simply offer to let Angel clean the wound in his own way. The healing saliva of a vampire was much discussed but rarely documented in the Watcher’s Diaries. But that wasn’t really what he meant. Not really.
((What are you gonna’ do about it, boy? You gonna’ cry?))
Nearly ready to ask the vampire to drink his fill and leave the empty husk behind, Wesley started when Angel proclaimed him finished. He ran his hand down smooth, clean bandages.
“You should change those each day. And try to keep them dry.” Wesley smiled gratefully. “And no more demon rugby. Strictly American Rules for you. Got it?” Wesley made to step out of the bathroom but Angel stopped him. “I mean it, Wes. Your arm this morning. Your gut today. What are you trying to prove?”
Wesley's gave a sad snort and avoided the vampire’s gaze. Angel knew there were more questions he should be asking, but interpersonal communication had never been his strong suit--he'd always left that to Spike, who could be surprisingly insightful at times. Before he could come up with a reasonable inquiry, Cordelia interrupted them.
“How is he doing?”
“I’m doing fine, Cordelia. Thank you for asking. What can I do now to help Gunn?”
“You can go home and get some rest. We’ll call you if we hear anything.” Angel said firmly.
“You want me to go home?”
“Yes.”
“Angel, I’d sooner poke out my own eye with one of Cordelia’s lacquered fingernails as go home right now. I was told that you have your ways. I’d like to know what they are.” Wesley met Angel’s gaze and narrowed his eyes.
“That’s gross, Wesley. Way to pay a girl a compliment. We were just going to do more research. Yay. Oh, and in case I didn’t sound enthusiastic, that’s because I’m not.” Dark circles rimmed the girl’s eyes and her temper was getting short.
“Go home, Cordelia. Wes and I will cover it.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Angel," Cordelia sighed. "I’ll be back in a few hours. Call me if—“
“—of course.”
“And I’ll call you if I—“
“—of course.”
She picked up her purse and planted soft kisses on each of their foreheads before walking wearily to the door.

*****

Soft pools of light crossed the thick wooden table loaded with books. Hours had passed and the researchers had come no closer to finding information about the Dak’tari. Their eyes gritty and sleep deprived, they were briefly rejuvenated when Cordelia returned in the early morning hours with coffee. That brief respite lasted only a short time, however, and they soon found exhaustion weighing heavily on them.
“This one has the Dak’tari feeding entirely on children while in this other text, they take from males of many species and ages. Some list their primary feeding grounds as Los Angeles, others site them as being more inland. It’s nearly impossible for me to pinpoint any factual information.” Wesley was frustrated, but clearly in his element, flipping from text to text. Angel had to marvel at the strange turnaround from the night before.
“Just find what you can. I know we’ll find him. We have to.” Several hours has passed since his disappearance and Angel’s concern was beginning to grow.
“You’re worried about him.”
“Gunn’s a fighter. He can take care of himself.” Angel seemed unfazed and did not lift his eyes from his book.
“In Cordelia’s vision, the Feeders were taking his lifeforce, regardless of his physical abilities, Angel.”
“Well gee, don’t sugarcoat it, Wes. Give it to me straight.” Angel looked up in exasperation.
Wesley removed his glasses and set them on the table. “Angel, I don’t work for the Counsel anymore. I don’t stand on pomp and tradition as I once did. I believe that you are right--that with help from the Powers That Be we will be able to find your friend. I just hope that finding him is *enough*. If you would like me to stand on pretense, then I will tell you that I’m sure your friend is sipping coffee right now and enjoying a lovely plate of cookies. But if you want a real friend and ally, then I must always try to be honest with you, Angel, and I would hope that you would do likewise.” Wesley’s eyes found Angel’s and he held his gaze with conviction.
Angel was silent, caught in his thoughts. He knew the time had come to make a decision. Wesley could be trusted, that much was certain. The allegiance he had built with Cordelia and Doyle, and later Gunn, was unwavering--their devotion to him, the same. Could Angel make the same claims toward the tall Englishman who now sat staring across the table from him? In many ways Doyle, Cordy, and Gunn had been closer to him than anyone he had known. To allow someone new to gain entry into the small circle of those he cared about was a rare thing. The question still remained, though; did Wesley want this life for himself? Only Wesley knew the answer to that. It would have to be his choice. Decided, the vampire lay his hands out across Wesley’s book.
“I’m worried, Wesley.”
Wesley waited for Angel to go on.
“He’s barely more than a child himself.”
“Who?”
“Gunn. That’s how I met him. Just a child leading other children. A street kid trying to take back the night from a local nest. He has no family that he didn’t find or put together from pain and common tragedy. Just us. Cordy and I. And he’s all alone. He’s alone because of a mission I sent him on. I could have waited until tomorrow, but I let him go alone. I should have—“
Wesley placed his palm on the back of the hand that covered his book. “Angel,” he started bitterly. “I’m so sorry. If anyone is to blame, it’s me. I’m the one that introduced you to the Dak’tari. I’m the one that encouraged this fruitless search. If anyone should be sorry—“
“No. Never *apologize* for wanting to help people.” Angel felt the soft tremor of Wesley’s hand that still covered his own. The human’s face held so much confusion and pain. He imagined six lifetimes of stories in one person--a quality often found in vampires and rarely found in humans. The hand was still there, comforting him. Without thinking, he lifted his own thumb and traced it against the thick pad of skin under Wesley’s thumb.
The tender friction of skin on skin sent Wesley’s heart racing. He gently stroked back, his eyes sinking closed. Marveling at the sensation, he was loathe to pull his hand away but to let it remain covering Angel’s own was too intimate and spoke of things he’d best leave unsaid. His indecision was broken by the arrival of Cordelia.
“Hey, haven’t you two girls been listening for the phone? I’ve been calling for you for forever,” she reprimanded. “I don’t get paid around here to be ignored. I can do that at home easily enough. Phantom Dennis has been in a snit and—“
“Why?” Angel stood from the table.
“Something about not respecting his personal space--but I can’t tell where his space *is* if I can’t see where he’s standing! I’m not psychic--I mean I am, but I can’t—”
“Cordy!”
“Oh, why did I need you? We just got a call from some guy named Goldie that thinks he might know where Gunn is.”
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Lost Boys