"I brought tea," Cordelia replied lightly, squeezing past him with practiced determination, and making a mental note to ask him if he could get the wrinkles out of her beige top. Later, when he was in a better mood. It was a real shame that rent control and a roommate who didn't use any of the utilities still didn't leave enough in the budget for regular laundry service. Of course, at the moment the chances of getting Wesley Wyndham-Pryce to do her ironing were about as likely as Angel doing stand-up.

Wesley stayed in the doorway for a moment, then with a sigh nudged the door shut and stumbled back to the couch. She sank, as far as she could, into the stiff-backed chair that stood adjacent to the sofa, dropped her purse on the floor, and put her shopping bag on the dark wooden chest which served as his coffee table. "English breakfast," she continued, pulling a box of tea bags from the plastic. "And crumpets. Well, not really, they didn't have crumpets. But I got bread. You can pretend."

"Thanks," he answered with no hint of it in his voice, and retrieved an ice pack from the floor. He wedged it against his back with a sofa cushion, and eyed the growing pile in front of her. "What's that?"

"Bath salts," she proclaimed proudly, holding up a pink-laced sachet. "Good for sore muscles."

He stared at it blankly for a moment, then groaned and leaned more firmly against the ice pack, closing his eyes.

"You're welcome," Cordelia said firmly as she rose from the chair and, stepping on his foot for punctuation, made her way to the kitchen with the groceries. She plugged in his electric kettle, retrieved a mug from the dish drainer, and busied herself with tea while keeping an eye on him.

"How is Bethany?" he asked finally, not opening his eyes.

"Snug in bed, is my guess." She flipped a spoon into the sink, and carried the mug carefully back to the couch. "It's handy the way she brings her pajamas wherever she goes."

Wesley opened his eyes -- and his mouth -- but settled for sitting up straighter and taking the offered drink. "Angel can take care of himself," he said carefully, after a pause.

"Bethany certainly can," she answered automatically, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears. For a moment, she'd *been* Bethany. She could still smell the sour air in the alley, and the bile in her throat as she watched their leers... "Drink your tea," she continued, absently.

Wesley put down the mug, perhaps more firmly than he intended, and a little of the tea sloshed over the side. "Thank you for the provisions, and the house call, but you needn't stay."

"Jeesh, you've got some bedside manner." She picked up one of the bags of bath salts. "Wait, I guess that's me. Whatever. You make a lousy patient." She smiled brightly. "I'll run a bath for you."

She'd already started up from the chair when he bolted forward, grabbing the packet from her hand. "No thank you," he said firmly. He sank back into the couch, and rubbed his shoulder with a grimace. "I can manage. Surely you must have other errands to tend to. Overseeing Gunn's welfare, perhaps?"

Cordelia frowned at him. "That's a low blow even for you, Mr. Unemployed Watcher."

He frowned back, until comprehension dawned. "I didn't mean... I wasn't talking about money," he protested. "I'm sure that Gunn's assistance is worth whatever Angel decides to pay him."

She grinned in satisfaction; score a point for her, even if the argument was a day old.

Wesley tossed the bath salts back onto the table. "I just meant that you seem inordinately concerned with Gunn's well-being."

"Not just me," she shrugged, and pointed heavenward. "The Powers That Be."

He continued to frown, and a smile crept across her lips.

"What?" he demanded.

"You're jealous." She leaned back in her chair, nearly purring with contentment.

"I am not."

"You are. I can identify at least twenty monsters by sight, and the green-eyed one is definitely on my list."

"I am not jealous," Wesley protested, rubbing his shoulder again. "It's just..." He sighed. "I've been unemployed. Tortured. Blown-up." He ticked them off with one hand. "It hasn't been a good year."

"Not to mention being forced to listen to Angel sing Barry Manilow," she added blandly.

He groaned. "Look Cordelia, I know these past few months haven't been easy for you either. I just feel..." He hesitated, then said with exasperation, "You seem to be handling this all very well. You seem *happy*." His lips twitched unwillingly. "Vision Girl."

"Don't you mean Bosom Girl?" She waved a hand, dismissing the sting. "Look Wes, so what if you're totally lacking in street cred and don't have your own hubcap axe? You are a vital member of Angel Investigations. When we need someone to read a spell, you're there. You're the go-to guy for two-wheeled transportation. And we won't starve, as long as you can hustle twenty bucks out of some loser at the dartboard."

Wesley moved the ice pack from his shoulder to his forehead. "Cordelia, your idea of a pep talk is rather ill advised."

"Gunn is an extra pair of hands -- so what? I'm just trying to say that we need you." She leaned forward and put a hand on his knee. "We all do. So call off whatever war you've got going on inside your head between self-doubt and self-pity." She smiled, gently. "We do need you."

He lowered the ice pack and contemplated her polished nails, bright against the dull fabric of his pants. When he looked up again, his expression had softened. "Cordelia --"

"Besides," she continued, drawing her hand away and standing up, "if you weren't around, who would I have to fight with while Angel snoozes the day away? And the night, lately."

Wesley swallowed whatever he had been about to say. A troubled shadow crossed his face. "Yes, I've been meaning to talk to Angel about it. It seems a bit odd that --"

"Later, Wes," Cordelia said firmly. "Give yourself a night off. For once." She scooped up her purse from the floor and, on her way up, planted a light kiss on his cheek. Before he could say anything more, she was at the door. She gave him a short wave goodbye. "Enjoy your bath."

Yes, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was definitely blushing.

Maybe she'd be able to get him to do some ironing after all.