GUESS WHO'S COMING TO MANCHESTER
He was absolutely covered in pink slime. There was a right place to stand when you killed a Vitter demon, and there was a wrong place. In retrospect, under its belly had definitely been the wrong place. Wesley walked up the stairs to his apartment and was happy that he didn't live among humans anymore. Their landlord wouldn't ask any questions when he saw the slimy puddles on the staircase the next morning, just have them wiped up and maybe comment a bit on the risks of fighting the good fight.
He took off his clothes and threw them directly in the trash, knowing that he'd never be able to get the stains out completely and lacking the energy to even think about trying. Then he hurried into the bathroom and turned on the shower. The water for once warmed up quickly, and he delighted in the hot streams as he tried to rinse the slime out of his hair and skin.
The shower curtains moved. Wesley had his eyes closed to keep shampoo from getting into them, but he knew those soft steps as well as the laughter in the Irish voice that told him, "Wesley, you stink."
"Thank you, I'm aware of that," Wesley replied, trying to remain dignified in spite of the situation. He rubbed the shampoo away from his face and opened his eyes to see Doyle put away the soap and run his hands over his lover's chest, without even bothering to take off his boxers.
Wesley rested his hands on Doyle's naked shoulders, watching in stillness as his chest was rubbed with soap. "I do know how to wash myself, you know," he pointed out.
"This is a job for two men," Doyle replied, rubbing harder. The slime was beginning to harden, now having about the same texture and appearance as bubble gum. And just like bubble gum, it stuck to every string of hair it could find. "Maybe three."
"Then perhaps I should call Gunn?" Wesley suggested.
"Then perhaps I should call in a divorce," Doyle replied in light heart. These days he got along well with the A.I. workers, but the slight jealousy between the lover and the best friend was enough to provide Wesley with a moment's amusement now and then. He wouldn't admit it, but he liked being an object of dispute.
There were finally enough clean patches on his face for Doyle to lean over and kiss him. Doyle's taste had change since his original return, when it had almost always had a touch of alcohol. Wesley didn't mind the change. It just enhanced all the other nuances, particularly that little sour tinge that meant demon. On those occasions when Doyle turned, it became so strong Wesley could spend an eternity just tasting it. Finally Doyle had suggested that maybe Wesley needed a bit of detox as well, and he had all but stopped. Too much and too little spoiled everything.
"Are you alive at all?" Doyle suddenly asked, letting go of Wesley's mouth.
"Well, I'm falling asleep, but apart from that... why?"
Doyle's eyes sparkled with humour, also holding a touch of admiration. "I've been ripping out your chest hair with the roots, and you haven't even seemed to notice."
"Oh." Wesley looked down. His chest was a lot worse for wear, with irritated red patches spread over it, but the slime was gone. "I guess your kissing works as anaesthesia as well."
"Or maybe you're just really *really* tired," Doyle suggested, turning off the shower. "For a beauty treatment it was remarkably inexpensive, but I suggest that when you go to sleep tonight, you thank all higher powers available that the demon didn't aim a little lower."
He leaned over to get a towel, but didn't have time to use it before Wesley pinned him to the wall.
"*I'm* going to thank the powers?"
A grin spread over his lover's face. "Tell you what, we both should."
**********
The phone rang while Doyle was still eating breakfast. Normally, he considered breakfast a holy ritual that nothing should interrupt, least of all the phone, but since Wesley was still asleep he picked it up anyway. He assumed it was one of the A.I. guys and prepared a few reasons why he would not under any circumstances wake up someone who had only come home at five o'clock in the morning. "Yeah, hello?"
"Who is this?"
Okay, that definitely wasn't one of his acquaintances. People who called at breakfast time should apologise, not sound as if you were the one committing the crime. "Allen Francis Doyle speaking, who is this?"
"Edward Wyndham-Pryce. May I speak to my son?"
Doyle mouthed a dirty word. As far as Wesley's family knew, Doyle didn't even exist, and judging by old Ed's tone, it wouldn't be easy explaining away his presence. There was no way in hell he would wake up Wesley to face that.
"I'm sorry, he can't come to the phone right now," Doyle replied, having enough sense not to include the word "bed" in the sentence. "Can I leave a message?"
"Why can't I talk to him?" The voice was full of suspicion, but the commanding tone didn't work with Doyle, who was at a safe distance and used to bullies of a demonic nature.
"Because *your son* has been working all night and does need more than two and a half hours of sleep. I suggest you either leave a message or call back at a reasonable time."
There was a pause, and Doyle wondered if the man would completely explode now.
"His sister's wedding is in three weeks. Tell him to be there."
That was it. No good-byes, just the order, and then the click that informed him the conversation was over. Well, not much point in getting upset. Doyle put down the phone and returned to his meal. He was still only halfway through his last piece of toast when the phone rang again. Christ, already, was it too much to ask to eat in peace?
"Yeah?"
Maybe it sounded a bit too hostile, because there was a pause on the other end of the line before Cordelia asked, a little too softly for her, "Doyle? Are you okay?"
He sighed, relieved that it wasn't Wesley's father again. "Hello, princess. I'm fine. You're just the second person calling in fifteen minutes, that's all."
"Oh. Well, it's kind of urgent. See, Angel found this dead woman with symbols painted all over her, and..."
"I'm not waking up Wesley," he said immediately, knowing that if he did, the guy might very well crawl out of bed and get back to work, regardless of how tired he was. "You sent him home looking like bubble gum, and he needs his sleep. Not to mention the fact that he's supposed to have Saturdays off, and has somehow still ended up working ten of the past twelve."
"There's no need to get snarky. This is serious."
"I bet it is. I'm still not going to let him wear himself out because you people don't know how to take a break."
Cordelia was silent, and he could practically feel her annoyance. Then she giggled. "You're even worse with him than he is with you, do you know that?"
He smiled into the receiver. "Maybe so. Why don't you ask the new girl? She's some universal genius, isn't she?"
"New girl is hiding in her room and not talking to anyone."
"Ah. It's great to have someone around who's crazier than me, isn't it?"
Silence. Obviously not a good joke, then. But he'd always had an easier time with pain if he could joke about it. Cordelia was the same way with the visions sometimes. And okay, he didn't like that, but that was because he still felt a bit guilty about those, while she had no reason to feel guilty about his mental problems. That had been due to bad choices and bad people, and only related to his time with Angel Investigations in the most distant of ways.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to make you squirm."
"It takes a lot more than you to disturb my calm, I'll have you know."
"I'm sure it does."
"So, who was the other one?"
"What?"
"The other one who called, who was it?"
He wasn't sure if he should tell her. It hadn't exactly been a civilised conversation. Then again, refusing or lying would only make the situation weirder. "Wesley's father."
"Oh." From the sound of it, Cordelia knew this wasn't a joyful occasion just like he did. He wondered how much Wesley had told her. "So, what did he want?"
"His sister is getting married. Wesley's, I mean."
"That's nice." She sounded relieved, and he couldn't blame her. Although Wesley was taciturn at best when it came to his family, enough had been said to make it clear a wedding was a lot better than most news you could expect coming from them.
"So, are you coming in today?"
"I don't work there," he pointed out. Was it his fault that it came out sharper than he had intended? Apart from his time at Caritas, most of his jobs had been on a day-to-day basis, but he made enough money to live on, and half of the time more than Wesley. So he didn't spend his time saving the world. That didn't make him a parasite.
"I was speaking in plural, but whatever. We need people here."
"You have people. Four of them. Be satisfied. Now, I'm finishing my breakfast, if you don't mind."
He could practically hear her stick out her tongue on the other end of the line, and he smiled. No matter how serious she had said it was, the world was definitely not coming to an end, or he wouldn't have had a chance to talk himself out of it. "Goodbye."
"Bye."
He hung up and turned his attention back to the toast. Cold and stale, obviously.
**********
It was well into the afternoon before Wesley woke up. At first, he was too groggy to notice the hour, just that his bed was half empty and that the apartment was strangely quiet. Rolling onto his side, he saw the time and wondered what had happened to the day. Surely he couldn't have slept for... and then he realised at what time he had come home last night and it didn't seem so strange after all. Ten hours was more than his average, yes, but it was well within normal boundaries. And Doyle, obviously, would be off at the demonic tailor's -- which just proved how much Wesley still had to learn about the demon world. He hadn't even known there *was* a demonic tailor until Doyle started working there, though he had seen enough demons to know that even those that were inclined to wear clothes didn't always fit into the human four-extremities variety.
He slowly made his way out of bed, still a bit stiff after last night's fighting. Getting old already? he chided himself, and chuckled. Until he saw the note and all thoughts of laughter disappeared. The mere word "father" could do that sometimes.
The content of this note was momentarily confusing. Bess married? But Bess was a little... and then he remembered that Bess was *not* a little girl, just like he wasn't a university student anymore. He had just been away from home for too long.
He made himself a cup of coffee and turned to the bookshelves. Reading made it easy for him to think and avoid thinking at the same time. This required something more than a best-seller, but he didn't feel like working, so he picked out "Foucault's Pendulum". Not that great a story, but confusing enough to keep him occupied while he sorted out his emotions.
When he heard the key in the door he was long since done with the coffee and about a hundred pages into his book. He let it slip down into his lap and then simply waited, motionless.
"Ah, there you are," Doyle said, entering the kitchen. He threw his jacket on a chair and himself on top of it, never for a second taking his eyes off Wesley. They held a worried expression that didn't exactly make Wesley feel more comfortable. "I wasn't sure you were home at all."
"Why wouldn't I be?" Wesley asked, and then suddenly realised what Doyle meant. "My father wasn't the only person calling, was he?"
"So, are you going to the wedding?" Doyle asked, not so subtly changing the subject.
Wesley wasn't willing to let it go so easily. "Do you realise that people's lives depend on whether or not I show up at work?"
"Yes. Do you realise that if you keep working 24/7 it will probably be yours? Don't get me wrong, some of those cases might be worth dying for. But not as many as you seem to think."
Wesley took a deep breath, and then let it out again without the lecture he had planned. It wasn't worth it, he thought, and then it struck him that if it wasn't even worth a fight, Doyle was most likely right and it wasn't worth dying for either. That put the smallest of smiles on his lips.
"I saw that," Doyle said, "So, are you going?"
The smile died instantly. "I guess."
Doyle immediately leaned in closer, resting his hand on Wesley's thigh. That was their solution to everything, it seemed. Got hurt fighting a demon? Touch. Mind going to pieces? Touch. Unexpected call from father? Touch. It could be anything from casual touches like this to full sex, but they needed to touch to know what was going on. Neither was very good at talking about their feelings.
"I haven't met Bess in three years." He hadn't been asked for an explanation, but Wesley couldn't stand the silence. "Even then it was just for Christmas. Phone calls aren't the same. I should come." Considering that Christmas, he shouldn't feel guilty for staying away. But he loved Bess. He really did, and there were no excuses for missing her wedding.
"Your family live in the northwest of England, don't they?"
"Manchester."
"You know what's west of Manchester?"
"Lots of things. Liverpool's not so far away."
"I was thinking more of Dublin."
This got Wesley out of his contemplative mood, and he looked up to make sure Doyle hadn't said what he'd thought he'd heard. He found one of those infectious grins that were completely intended for manipulation.
"My mum's been nagging at me again to let her meet you. Now we have an opportunity. You can drop me off in Dublin, say your hellos, and then move on to the wedding."
"You've really thought about this, haven't you?" Wesley asked, not sure what he was supposed to feel. The hand squeezed his thigh tighter.
"All the time since this morning. I don't like the idea of you going alone, and I obviously can't come with you, so this seems like the best option. Blame it on business or something. Your family never need to know."
When he said the last part, he averted his eyes. Wesley cursed inside. As if he didn't feel guilty enough about Bess, now Doyle dumped the entire closet in his lap. Not intentionally, of course. After all, Doyle wasn't foreign to keeping secrets. That didn't take the problem away. And sometimes Wesley resented that, no matter how many times he told himself he was a lucky man in many respects. When the phone bills came with a long distance number all over it, his envy made him want to rip them apart or cross out the numbers with black ink, anything, no matter how childish. It didn't help one bit to tell himself that he wasn't the one who had died and been ripped back to life, he wasn't the one who had to worry about sneezing in public, he wasn't the one who got frightening hallucinations out of nowhere, he wasn't the one... Because he was the one who was afraid to call home.
"Well, it's a thought," he said, wanting to keep his options as open as possible. Going home was a bad thing and staying with Doyle was good, so he could understand his lover's reasoning, but Dublin was another matter entirely. "But I don't know..."
"You don't have to make up your mind now," Doyle said with a shrug. "But think about it. I'll be close enough to come if you need me, and still far enough away to let you do what you need to do on your own."
Wesley didn't say anything, but he knew what Doyle meant. *Just like I've always tried to be for him.*
**********
The issue was still unresolved when Doyle walked into the Hyperion a few days later. He found the lobby empty and rang the bell, bringing Gunn from the inner office.
"Oh, it's you," Gunn said. Nothing in his tone revealed if he found this pleasant news or the opposite. "I thought it might be a client."
"You're having those again?" Doyle asked, "Is Wesley in?"
"Nope, he's talking to some warlocks about runes. He told me the specifics, but it was all in Wesleyspeak."
"I know the problem," Doyle said, sitting down. He didn't quite know why he stayed even though Wesley wasn't there, but it wasn't as if he had anything else to do - and of the entire A.I. crew, Gunn was the least likely to give him a hard time for not working there.
There was a short silence, then Gunn asked, "What's up with you and English, anyway?"
Doyle's eyebrows flew up. "We're lovers. Meaning we share a home and a bed. I'm quite certain... yeah, we definitely explained that months ago."
"And I worked months to get those images out of my head, so thank you very much for reinstating them," Gunn said with a grimace. "You know what I'm talking about. You're going with him to England?"
"No, that wouldn't do. I offered to go as far as Dublin."
"Well, yeah, same thing."
Doyle swallowed his response to that. "'Sides, he's not even answering yet."
"I think you should go with him," Gunn said with a shrug. "Actually, I think you should go with him all the way."
"Yeah," Doyle said, scratching the back of his head. "That's not going to happen for a variety of reasons. But I want to be around."
"I want you to be around, too," Gunn said reluctantly. "Him, I mean. And that's saying a lot, particularly since if anything happens, you might not even be able to..." He silenced, and made an apologetic grimace.
"Stay focused on reality long enough to help," Doyle filled in. It had taken him a long time to admit that he sometimes needed help. Strangely enough, once he had faced his own dependency on others, he had also started to feel more independent. "Yeah, that's bothering me, too, but there's not much I can do about it. And I doubt it's what Wesley's worried about. He'd hardly prefer it if I was alone in the apartment while he was away, and he knows I'm not liking it much over here. No offence."
"None taken. So if you spent some time with your family, he would feel that he was protecting you and you would feel that you were protecting him. Then what's the problem?"
"I don't know. Makes it two families he has to deal with, I guess. But I've told him mum won't give him any trouble."
"Yeah, well..." Gunn made a noncommittal gesture, unable to give any answers.
It struck Doyle at that very moment what he *hadn't* done to get Wesley to talk, but he knew better than to tell Gunn about the revealing conversations they sometimes had after sex. Theoretically, Gunn was fine with the two of them, fine enough to make jokes about his own discomfort, but he had made it clear that he didn't want any details about their love life. It was a reasonable request, and Doyle followed it - when he remembered.
"Don't worry," he said, smacking Gunn's shoulder. "I'm going to win this one, and once it's all over, he will thank me for it."
**********
Doyle leaned down to bite Wesley's nipple, very gently. He loved using his teeth on his lover, and he had to do it right away or not at all, since the tension was already building up to insufferable. Any moment now, he would turn, and having his face on Wesley's skin when that happened was a decidedly bad idea. And regardless of what Wesley said, he didn't even like doing it from the front. Okay, nipple-biting was a good bonus, but he was still awkward about turning. It didn't matter how many times Wesley investigated his demon physiology with those Watcher hands and curious Watcher mouth. But this time he relaxed and forgot about it, put it in the far back of his head where it didn't matter, because this was about making Wesley comfortable enough to talk later. Maybe that was manipulation, but for crying out loud, it was a game they had both played plenty of times before.
And then even the guilt concerning his motives disappeared, because it felt too good to care. In the moment of release, he felt the control of his face slip away, and then there was nothing in the world except the two of them, and moaning Wesley's name was all he could do.
He felt a little irritated when the feeling subsided. "Damn it," he muttered, kissing Wesley's neck as he slipped out. He was still in demon face and had to be cautious, but he didn't want to wait. "This was supposed to be for you."
"I certainly enjoyed it," Wesley said with a grin, and then there was a short pause before, evidently, the coin dropped. "Why? I thought it was for both of us."
"Well, yeah, obviously," Doyle said, slipping out of his demon features to hide his face in Wesley's collarbone. "I just wanted it to be special for you..."
A chuckle tickled his lips. "All right, Doyle, what is it you want?"
Doyle sat up, running his fingers through his hair. "You're much better at this than I am."
Wesley sat up as well. "Better at what?" At least he wasn't angry, only confused.
"I wanted us to talk about the trip. And you've been so distant lately..."
Wesley gave an amused sound and reached out a hand for his lover. Things would turn out well if that was his reaction, Doyle thought, taking the hand in his and leaning against the bedhead.
"I've been *working*. At least when you don't do your best to stop me."
"I'm just trying to make sure you have regular hours."
"In my line of work? Really, Doyle..."
Wesley seemed about to leave the topic, so Doyle squeezed his shoulder. Not very hard, just enough to remind him what this was all about. The Englishman stilled, turning his eyes to Doyle.
"I want you to come with me."
Okay, so now he was grinning like an idiot. Big deal. "Are you sure?"
"If I weren't sure, I wouldn't say it. I want you to come with me, and I only wish it could be all the way."
"Never mind that. It'll make your plane trip more fun, at least," Doyle said, kissing Wesley's earlobe to hide his excitement. Things had turned out just as he wanted it, and the grandeur of it all was that it hadn't been due to manipulation. Wesley had simply wanted it too.
There was a short silence, after his last comment, then Wesley asked, "Doyle? You do know you can't have sex on a public aeroplane, don't you?"
Doyle exploded into laughter.
**********
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