Late on a Friday afternoon, Wesley went to Angel's office to say goodbye before he went home for the weekend. He knocked on the door and was immediately called inside, so he was surprised to find that Angel wasn't alone.

"Pardon me," Wesley said, beginning to back out. "I didn't mean to intrude. I just wished to say -"

The visitor turned and smiled at him.

"Hi, Wesley," he said.

"My god... Xander?"

The man was perhaps taller than he had been years ago and was definitely broader, but despite wearing a muted shirt of grey-blue instead of the jarring colors he had preferred in his youth there was no question that it was Xander. He looked bone-weary, and his eye patch was a shocking spot of black on his face, but his smile was as welcoming as ever. Perhaps more so, since he hadn't been all that welcoming back in Sunnydale.

"The one and only," Xander said. "Well, there was that one time when there were two of me, but we fixed that, so..."

"What are you doing here?" Wesley asked. "Last I heard you were in Chicago helping Buffy."

"I think she's in Portugal now, and I'm here to drop off some info about the Slayers in L.A. to the grand master of all things that go bump in the night." He gestured to the pile of papers in Angel's hands.

"Well, then, I don't mean to disturb you."

"We were done, weren't we?" Xander asked Angel.

"Yes. Please thank Giles for the information and tell him we'll be sure to keep an eye on them," Angel said.

"Sure thing," said Xander. "I'll let you guys get back to doing whatever it is you do around here. Nice to see you again, Wesley."

"I just came in to say goodnight, actually," Wesley said. "Unless you need my help, Angel..."

"I've got it. Have a good weekend," Angel said, barely looking up from his reports.

Xander and Wesley retreated into the foyer and headed toward the elevators.

"Where are you headed now?" Wesley pushed the down button.

"Back to the hotel for a greasy dinner and about twenty hours of sleep. I've got a flight tomorrow night... I think to Salt Lake City. I can't remember. Traveling for five weeks straight kind of makes everything a blur."

"You must be exhausted."

"You have no idea," said Xander with a laugh.

Wesley paused, not wanting to overstep the boundaries of their slight relationship.

"If you'd like," he said tentatively, "you could come and have dinner at my apartment. I don't live far, and I could cook something for you. Of course, you may be too tired..."

From the smile that lit up Xander's face, Wesley knew that his offer had been well-received.

"That'd be great, but I don't want to be a problem."

"It's no trouble at all."

So Xander followed Wesley home in his rental car, and they climbed the two flights of stairs to the apartment.

"Here we are," Wesley said, unlocking his door.

"You sure have changed since Sunnydale," Xander said, stepping inside and surveying the room. "Back then I would have expected your apartment to be able to pass the white glove test."

Wesley removed his jacket. His apartment was still fairly neat, but it was indeed strewn with books and weapons in a way that his younger self would never have allowed.

"A lot has happened since then." It was perhaps the understatement of the year.

"Maybe too much," said Xander. "But I'm glad not to be afraid to sit on your furniture."

Wesley smiled and held out his hand for Xander's coat.

"As long as you avoid the table with the phone on it, you should be fine; its leg was broken a while back and has never quite been the same."

"Thanks for the tip," Xander said, grinning.

"Let me start dinner. I don't have much, but I think I can pull together a curry. Does that work for you?"

"As long as it isn't a McCurry with fries, I'll be happy."

"Good. Why don't you keep me company and tell what you've been doing since you closed the Hellmouth?"

As he put on the rice and pulled together the pre-packaged ingredients for a quick curry, Wesley found that he enjoyed having the companionship of another during such a simple task. It felt like it had been forever since he had interacted with anyone without negative overtones or subtext, and Xander was a very open conversationalist. Talking with him was incredibly easy.

So Wesley cooked and asked questions while Xander talked of tracking down the new Slayers, starting up a new version of the Council, and traveling all over the world, wherever his friends needed him to go.

"You sound very busy," Wesley said when Xander had finished recounting the past six months.

Xander shrugged.

"It passes the time."

Wesley stirred the sauce into the sautéed meat and vegetables and turned down the heat.

"And is that what you're doing? Simply passing the time? Until when?"

Xander shrugged again.

"Until I find something else to do, I guess. With no depth perception it's not like I can go back to doing construction, and I've got no other skills that translate into the real world. Besides, the Council needs me."

"You're still a young man, Xander," Wesley said, leaning his hip against the counter, "but I can assure you that you'll be old before you know it. It would be a shame to let opportunities pass you by."

"Hey, I'm Mr. Opportunity. I'll take something if I see it."

"But how likely is it that you'll come across something while you're busy traveling for the Council?"

"What else am I going to do? Rent some random apartment and watch Jerry Springer until a job just falls into my lap?" Xander asked. "At least I'm doing something good with my time."

"I apologize." Wesley reminded himself not to get too familiar, as easy as it was to talk with him. "I don't mean to imply that you haven't thought through your situation. Please, let's have dinner."

They cleared the books of off Wesley's dinner table and set two places. Wesley opened a bottle of white wine and poured them each a glass before bringing the rest of the meal to the table.

As the food and alcohol worked into their systems, the tension eased again. Laughing together, they traded stories of happier times, glossing over the failures beneath to focus on the humor. Xander told him of the memory spell that Willow had cast and how Giles and Anya had thought that they were engaged. Wesley then followed with a story of the time that the Angel Investigations crew had reverted to their high school selves.

"... and Cordelia was crying about how whoever had put us in this situation had chopped off her hair, as though that were the greatest affront..." He got through another sentence or two before he realized that Xander was no longer following along. Wesley realized with mortification that he had unconsciously reached out to touch Xander's wrist and the other man was staring at their hands instead of listening to the story.

"I beg your pardon." Wesley snatched his hand back and tried not to think about what it meant that he was so comfortable with this man. "You must think me horribly callous to talk about Cordelia in such a fashion, given her current plight."

"It's okay," Xander said somewhat distractedly. "I mean, better to remember happier times, right?"

"Yes. I agree. That point of view seems to be a necessity in our line of work."

They shared a long look filled with mutual understanding before Xander's gaze skittered away to focus on his empty plate.

"So it must be nice to be working with your friends in a big office. It's a big step up from the school library or that old hotel," Xander said.

"I suppose it is, though I find that it's a bit isolating. We don't work together as closely as we once did."

"Yeah, I know that feeling."

"At least we're in the same building in the same city," Wesley said with some sympathy.

"Yeah, well. You gotta fight the fight wherever it takes you. At least I get to keep the frequent flyer miles. I get a lot of upgrades."

"How very lucky for you."

"You haven't seen anything until you've flown First Class to Australia. There were jugglers."

"Really?"

Xander grinned.

"Not really, but there could have been. It was incredible."

They smiled at each other, leading to an awkward pause, and both men looked away.

"Would you like something more to drink? Perhaps some tea?" Wesley asked.

"No, thanks." Xander glanced toward the door. "Look, it's been a long day..."

"And you must travel again tomorrow. I understand." Wesley stood up and tried not to be disappointed that his first social event in longer than he could remember was drawing to a close.

"But thank you," Xander said firmly.

"You're welcome. I'm happy to give you a good meal or even a place to stay whenever you happen to be passing through."

"I could be around a lot, since there are so many Slayers here in L.A.. You might get sick of me."

"I strongly doubt it," Wesley said with a sincerity that surprised him.

Xander's smile was warm.

"Then maybe I'll take you up on it. Thanks again."

There was an awkward moment as they silently tried to figure out how they wanted to end their evening, but Wesley finally extended his hand, and Xander shook it.

"Thanks," Xander said. He held onto Wesley's hand for longer than was necessary, both of them watching their fingers intertwine, and then he pulled away to reach for his coat.

"Good night."

"'Night."

With a final smile, Xander left.

Wesley locked the door and turned to survey the remnants of their dinner. He had enjoyed the conversation, the laughter, the comfort of having someone so pleasant around him, but now it was over. It was time for him to clean up the mess and go back to the usual order of things.

There was a knock on the door, and he was surprised to see Xander through the peephole.

"Did you forget something?" Wesley asked, opening the door.

"Yes. This."

Xander leaned forward, watching Wesley carefully, and very slowly brought their lips together. They kissed briefly, almost chastely.

"What are you doing?" Wesley asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Taking advantage of an opportunity, I hope," Xander said.

Wesley looked at the warmth and the nervousness in Xander's eyes and knew that he could not refuse such an opportunity, himself.

"Do come in," he said, and held the door open.

~end~