Fic: Talk isn't so cheap (Angel/Welsey, G)
Title: Talk isn't so cheap
By: viciouswishes
For: mallyns, Happy Birthday
Rating: G
Words: 978
Pairing: Angel/Wesley
Summary: Set in the Where You Look Down, I've Walked Before 'verse, Angel has his first appointments.
Some days, Angel really misses Spike. Not that he'd admit that to anyone. Today, in particular, he misses Spike a lot. He knows he'd never be sitting in this office -- yellow walls with a Monet wallpaper border along the ceiling to calm people -- if Spike hadn't left.
But maybe sitting here is a good thing. A good thing to admit that being over 250 years old means you might just have a tiny bit of baggage. Baggage that you can't just punch and fuck through. No, this is the baggage that you have to deal with because you have a kid and a husband, two people you love more than anything in the world. Two people who can be crushed by that baggage, especially when piled up with their own.
Well, Angel hopes that Connor actually doesn't have any, but who knows these days with all those parenting books weighing in on how traumatized a kid can get if one time you were 10 minutes late making him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Back in Angel's day...
Okay, back in his days, things were the exact kind of fucked up which gave a person baggage before he could walk or talk. Angel once told Wesley that he thought things were simpler back then. But now he's not so sure.
When the receptionist calls his name, Angel stands and walks into the office. He swallows hard. This can't be as nerve-wrecking as he's imagined. All he has to do is talk, that's not a big deal, right?
*****
Angel paces in front of the microwave, waiting for his blood. He's starving. Even though he had two glasses of blood at dinner, it feels like hours since he's eaten.
"You're in a mood," Wesley says. He sits that the dinning room table, nursing a beer and writing in his journal. They'd put Connor to bed already for the night.
Angel opens the microwave as soon as it beeps. "I'm just hungry."
"And cranky," Wesley mutters.
Angel ignores Wesley. He knows that Wesley knows he can hear him when he mutters. Instead, Angel gulps down his blood and tries to focus on what Doctor Heightmeyer said about Wesley baiting him for a reaction. It's true that he's cranky. Between taking out some slime demons with particularly acidic skin and talking about his feelings on Spike leaving them, Angel's spent. He supposes he should just be grateful they didn't get any calls from Connor's school today.
Angel sighs as he sits down across from Wesley. His tongue runs across the top of his lip, tasting the bit of lingering blood. Sometimes, microwaved blood just doesn't cut it. Sometimes, he wants to ask Wesley; no, beg Wesley; no, take Wesley for his blood. But Angel doesn't always trust himself to stop, and since not stopping is not an option... He's going to be happy with microwaved pig's blood.
Wesley's pen scratches loudly into the paper. So traditional. Angel knows Wesley's been keeping a journal since he learned to write, but Angel wondered at what age those became Wesley's private thoughts. No doubt, those original journals were read by Wesley's father or some tutor or teacher.
Angel picks up the glass and finishes off the rest of the blood. He'll have to make a run to Bill the Butcher's early this week. Maybe he'll also pick up some lamb and make curry for Wesley and Connor. He twirls the ring on his finger.
"Okay," Wesley says, breaking the silence, "what are you brooding on?"
"I'm not brooding." But Angel already knows he's not winning this argument. He hasn't been able to disprove his brooding moods ever since Cordelia started calling him out on them way back in the early days, when it'd just been the three of them running around investigating.
"So then, penny for your thoughts?"
"Thinking about blood. Thinking about you. Thinking about the time Cordelia put cinnamon in my blood."
Wesley chuckles. He stands up and takes Angel's empty glass to the sink to rinse it. Angel knows Wesley always bitches about blood stains on their glassware. "She always had a knack for ruining food. Even food for vampires."
What they both don't say is that they'd rather have her around trying new spice combinations than laying six feet under. Well, Angel certainly has another topic to talk about. He looks up from the table when he feels Wesley's hand on his shoulder.
"Let's go to bed," Wesley suggests. "You look tired."
"You're right about that." Angel takes Wesley's hand as they move into the bedroom. Their normally neat room is a disaster. They've both been so busy, and sometimes Angel thinks they need to hire a part-time laundry person just to scrub the stains out. He kicks one of his favorite and now ruined blue shirts as he toes off his shoes. He watches as Wesley unbuttons his shirt.
Wesley who's frowning and looking at the disaster. "You should go to bed. I need to pick up this place."
"No," Angel says, "I want you next to me." He watches as Wesley frowns. "I promise you, I'll clean tomorrow. I'll even make Connor clean his room."
"Good luck with that." Wesley rolls his eyes. If their room looks like a disaster, Connor's looks like a new universe causing event. "I can't believe you're this tired with all the blood you drank."
Angel shrugs. "Long day," he offers as they settle down into bed. He reaches across to turn off the light and then kisses Wesley goodnight. "I love you."
By: viciouswishes
For: mallyns, Happy Birthday
Rating: G
Words: 978
Pairing: Angel/Wesley
Summary: Set in the Where You Look Down, I've Walked Before 'verse, Angel has his first appointments.
Some days, Angel really misses Spike. Not that he'd admit that to anyone. Today, in particular, he misses Spike a lot. He knows he'd never be sitting in this office -- yellow walls with a Monet wallpaper border along the ceiling to calm people -- if Spike hadn't left.
But maybe sitting here is a good thing. A good thing to admit that being over 250 years old means you might just have a tiny bit of baggage. Baggage that you can't just punch and fuck through. No, this is the baggage that you have to deal with because you have a kid and a husband, two people you love more than anything in the world. Two people who can be crushed by that baggage, especially when piled up with their own.
Well, Angel hopes that Connor actually doesn't have any, but who knows these days with all those parenting books weighing in on how traumatized a kid can get if one time you were 10 minutes late making him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Back in Angel's day...
Okay, back in his days, things were the exact kind of fucked up which gave a person baggage before he could walk or talk. Angel once told Wesley that he thought things were simpler back then. But now he's not so sure.
When the receptionist calls his name, Angel stands and walks into the office. He swallows hard. This can't be as nerve-wrecking as he's imagined. All he has to do is talk, that's not a big deal, right?
*****
Angel paces in front of the microwave, waiting for his blood. He's starving. Even though he had two glasses of blood at dinner, it feels like hours since he's eaten.
"You're in a mood," Wesley says. He sits that the dinning room table, nursing a beer and writing in his journal. They'd put Connor to bed already for the night.
Angel opens the microwave as soon as it beeps. "I'm just hungry."
"And cranky," Wesley mutters.
Angel ignores Wesley. He knows that Wesley knows he can hear him when he mutters. Instead, Angel gulps down his blood and tries to focus on what Doctor Heightmeyer said about Wesley baiting him for a reaction. It's true that he's cranky. Between taking out some slime demons with particularly acidic skin and talking about his feelings on Spike leaving them, Angel's spent. He supposes he should just be grateful they didn't get any calls from Connor's school today.
Angel sighs as he sits down across from Wesley. His tongue runs across the top of his lip, tasting the bit of lingering blood. Sometimes, microwaved blood just doesn't cut it. Sometimes, he wants to ask Wesley; no, beg Wesley; no, take Wesley for his blood. But Angel doesn't always trust himself to stop, and since not stopping is not an option... He's going to be happy with microwaved pig's blood.
Wesley's pen scratches loudly into the paper. So traditional. Angel knows Wesley's been keeping a journal since he learned to write, but Angel wondered at what age those became Wesley's private thoughts. No doubt, those original journals were read by Wesley's father or some tutor or teacher.
Angel picks up the glass and finishes off the rest of the blood. He'll have to make a run to Bill the Butcher's early this week. Maybe he'll also pick up some lamb and make curry for Wesley and Connor. He twirls the ring on his finger.
"Okay," Wesley says, breaking the silence, "what are you brooding on?"
"I'm not brooding." But Angel already knows he's not winning this argument. He hasn't been able to disprove his brooding moods ever since Cordelia started calling him out on them way back in the early days, when it'd just been the three of them running around investigating.
"So then, penny for your thoughts?"
"Thinking about blood. Thinking about you. Thinking about the time Cordelia put cinnamon in my blood."
Wesley chuckles. He stands up and takes Angel's empty glass to the sink to rinse it. Angel knows Wesley always bitches about blood stains on their glassware. "She always had a knack for ruining food. Even food for vampires."
What they both don't say is that they'd rather have her around trying new spice combinations than laying six feet under. Well, Angel certainly has another topic to talk about. He looks up from the table when he feels Wesley's hand on his shoulder.
"Let's go to bed," Wesley suggests. "You look tired."
"You're right about that." Angel takes Wesley's hand as they move into the bedroom. Their normally neat room is a disaster. They've both been so busy, and sometimes Angel thinks they need to hire a part-time laundry person just to scrub the stains out. He kicks one of his favorite and now ruined blue shirts as he toes off his shoes. He watches as Wesley unbuttons his shirt.
Wesley who's frowning and looking at the disaster. "You should go to bed. I need to pick up this place."
"No," Angel says, "I want you next to me." He watches as Wesley frowns. "I promise you, I'll clean tomorrow. I'll even make Connor clean his room."
"Good luck with that." Wesley rolls his eyes. If their room looks like a disaster, Connor's looks like a new universe causing event. "I can't believe you're this tired with all the blood you drank."
Angel shrugs. "Long day," he offers as they settle down into bed. He reaches across to turn off the light and then kisses Wesley goodnight. "I love you."