Spoilers: "Graduation Day, One and Two" of BtVS and general spoilers for Angel, season one. This is the 8^th in the Transitions Series, which you can find at my website, see address above.

Rating: R.

Content Warning: references to m/m relationship, and to childhood abuse, and molestation of a child. Nothing graphic, but it is mentioned.

Summary: Wesley remembers one decision, and makes another.

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and his cronies own the characters and the concept, I'm an indentured slave to my muses.

Notes: I've always had a problem with the "nope, no contact between Sunnydale and LA, apart from the odd crossover visit." So, I kinda fixed it, and my fixing should make more sense later on. Title comes from Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me."

If You Don't, by c.moody.

The sharp afternoon light hit the computer screen in just the right way to render actually reading what was on that screen impossible. For probably the eighth time in the last ten minutes, Cordelia, supersecretary, sighed loudly and looked pointedly at her newest partner in the savior business, who just happened to be sitting around and waiting. Somehow, despite the fact that she was sitting directly in front of the troublesome windows and blinds, Ms. Chase was completely incapable of rising from her chair, turning around, and fixing the problem. Thus, the chivalrous help of one Wesley Wyndham-Pryce was elected to assist the fair damsel in not getting any actual dust on her clothing.

Wesley sighed as he rose from his chair and adjusted the blinds once more, knowing all too well that in just a few more minutes he would do so once more. At least it was something to do, as opposed to sitting on his arse and reading three-week old American magazines. My lord, what American magazines wouldn't put in print to sell copy! Just this morning, he'd found the most interesting account of a blood-sucking demon living below the streets of London, leaving zombie-like husks in their wake. Hurmph. If those poor fools only knew what was really out there, surely they would run for high ground, preferably someplace nice and sunny.

The Englishman had enough problems just staying away from one certain blood-sucking demon...though he supposed you had to give the man credit for having a soul, and a rather nice... "Damn!," Wesley cursed softly as he resumed his hard wooden seat. He'd spent far too much time in the last few weeks obsessing over every square inch of his employers heart, soul, and body, and he dared to say that he hardly needed to think about the...the vampire when he wasn't in direct contact with his undead boss, and more recently, lover.

Since their last night together, when Angel had permitted him access to his body, Wesley had been wrought with a feeling not totally unfamiliar to his own soul - guilt. When he had been 16, and he had watched his father rape his sister every other night, he had felt guilt for not saying something. On the nights that his father raped him, he just felt happier because his sister could sleep easy. It never seemed to be happening to him, and he could still convince himself that it never had. As he grew older, he had felt guilty for the twinge of sexual pleasure he felt when his father touched his sister, when somehow the twisting bodies became other than his family and he could distance himself and turn the horrific act into a sort of pleasurable voyeurism. And months ago, when the Council had so callously told him that they would not aid a vampire's recovery, for some reason, they had thoughtlessly let another bit of information slip.

Angel's soul could not be removed.

When Willow had re-cursed him with the spell Ms. Calendar had translated, a few substitutions for words the computer program had not recognized had resulted in one vampire with a permanent soul. Out of a combination of spite, prudence, and bad timing, Wesley had chosen to keep part of his communication with the Council to himself. In the chaos following the destruction of the high school and the Mayor, an injured Wesley had had little time to think about lost loves and fleeing vampires. He was rather more concerned with his broken collarbone.

Just a few weeks later, he had been on a British Airways flight back to London, to face a Council tribunal for his actions during the 'crisis.' For his loss of Faith to the powers of darkness, for his loss of Buffy to mutiny, and for his "complete and total ineptness at his profession," the Council summarily relieved him of his duties as both a Watcher and as a member of the Council in general.

What does an out-of-work Watcher do? Wesley had possessed a great deal of knowledge of arcane languages, dead demon societies, magick lore, and a variety of other matters better left to the dark. So, he had done the only thing he could think of to do. Using the minor inheritance he had gained upon his 21^st birthday but had never accessed during his years as a Watcher, Wesley had caught a flight back to America. He had landed in New York City only three months after his ignominious exit from the States.

Within hours, he had been the proud new owner of a smart new motorcyle, leather saddlebags, leather pants, a black leather jacket, and an array of black cotton shirts. After his shopping spree, Wesley had all of a thousand dollars left to feed and house himself. Then, he had set in motion the second part of his grand, well-thought-out plan.

Wesley accidently stumbled into a vampire's luncheon plans, and just as accidently managed to stake the demon with a broken bit of crate laying on the sidewalk. The rescued woman had been grateful, rich, and generous with her cash and her jewels. Throwing a wad of bills, 1005 of them to be exact, and a diamond tennis bracelet at him, the emaciated blonde had stalked off, leaving a still gasping Wesley collapsed against a brick building.

Almost three months later, he had roared into the West on his behemoth-like transportation, hungry, tired, and a bit bruised from his last paid 'demon-hunter' gig. He had kindly taken care of a small, rather pitiful Kakaakes demon who had taken up residence in the grain silo of a nice farmer in southern Wyoming. Wesley had, at the time, had some vague idea of showing up on Mr. Giles' doorstep, standing tall and proud in creaky, dusty black leather, and offering his services as a 'rogue demon-hunter,' a title he had conjured out of thin air at some point during his travels. Unfortunately, soon after he left Cheyenne, he had begun to encounter a number of oddly mutilated corpses, all clearly the work of a demon.

For about a month, he had earnestly tracked a demon oozing a glowing green essence all the way to California. Wesley had told himself as he flew across the interstates, desert and mountains flashing past, closer and closer to the sharp smell of ocean, that he wasn't really coming there to prove himself or to just show his attackers his new role in life. No, he was hard on the trail of a vicious demon, and that was that.

Wesley had a talent for self-delusion.

His talents, however, did not extend to blocking out the ear-splitting shrieks Ms. Chase seemed so very talented at. Wesley's still gray eyes blinked repeatedly as he attempted to focus his attention on the tall woman jumping and screaming in front of him.

"Wha...what appears to be the problem?"

"I...I got it!!! I really got it! Oh, oh, I've got to go...now, Wesley, watch the phones, watch the boss, I've got an audtition…" Cordelia paused for dramatic emphasis, "for a movie." In a flash, the brunette gathered up her purse and sweater and swept out of the small office with a bang of the door, leaving Wesley even more confused.

Ah, well. Perhaps this would be a good time to talk to Angel about the status of their...whatever they were, had, oh bloody hell. //Get a grip on yourself, my boy, he's just a vampire, with a soul at that, nothing to be afraid of...you know his buttons and you can push them...right?// Mentally girding his loins for battle, Wesley shot up from his chair but froze when he heard the phone ring and Angel answer.

"Buffy? Hey, I was wondering when you'd call. No, I'm alone, I just heard the door close; Wesley and Cordelia were screeching, maybe they went outside to kill each other." Angel chuckled at sometthing his one-time girlfriend said.

Locked into a horrible dream, Wesley tried to make his body move backwards. When he looked up, he whimpered in relief to see that Angel had closed his door, but had not noticed the still figure in the middle of the outer offce, and he had the blinds lowered between the outer office and his own. Wesley nearly screamed when he felt the edge of Cordelia's desk chair on the back of his legs. His body had clearly managed to do what his mind so desperately needed. Angel most likely would not see him here.

//Good, God, I’m shaking// Wesley thought to himself, a sudden wave of disgust for his cowardace and his continued silence. By God, he had never seen two people look at each other the way Angel and Buffy had. When they were near each other, a sense of calm and peace filled the air. But when they seperated...good lord, anyone with an ounce of common sense could sense the wrongness of seperating those two people. And it was entirely Wesley's fault that they were not together.

But, yet...he had a nearly overwhelming urge to pick up the phone and listen, to make sure, to hear..to..oh, alright dammit, he mostly wanted to hear his lover's deep voice filled with love for something or someone, even if it wasn't him.

His trembling hand eased the phone out of its cradle. As the earpiece came closer, he could hear the female tones of Ms. Summers filling the phone line. Grasping the mouthpiece with his other hand, he firmly placed the other end at his ear, tightly closed his eyes, and listened.

~~~~~

"No, so, maybe it wasn't that bad, but I swear...the skank slept with...someone I care about, Angel. I don't know how to feel about that. But the whole time, I just kept thinking to myself, 'there but for the grace of Giles, my friends, and Angel, go I'."

"Nah, her life was harder, and you…you don't have the same streak of viciousness in you. I'm glad, though, that you recognize your similarities. It'll keep you humble."

"Yeah, that's me humble-girl, with a side of crow on the side. I think that's pretty much it. Talk to you next week?"

"I'll be counting the seconds..okay, maybe I'll just be counting the demons or the number of times Cordelia and Wesley bicker...there's not a lot of difference."

"Gotcha. Bye, love you."

"Love you too, Buffy."

~~~~~

Wesley had his answers. And he knew what he had to do.