"Buffy, you don't know what you're doing." He gazed down at the slayer, who paused and looked up at him, an expression of disgust on her features.

"Get a job."

Wesley's stomach tightened at her words and the disdain in her tone. His eyes followed her as she walked out the door, then he turned back to look toward Giles. There was no sympathy on the older man's face, only cold disgust. For a moment, Wesley tried to think of something to say, but almost immediately realized there was nothing he could say now. It was done. His heart pounding in his chest, he numbly turned away and walked out the door.

He didn't even remember the drive back to his flat. As he walked in the door, Buffy's words continued to echo in his mind.

I don't think I'm gonna be taking any more orders. Not from you. Not from them... Go back to your council. Go and tell them that until the next slayer shows up, they can close up shop. I'm not working for them anymore.

So, it was over.

He pulled off his jacket and headed for the closet to get a hanger. Suddenly, he stopped. What was the point? Instead, he tossed the coat over the back of a chair, then started tugging at the knot of his blue and white striped tie and loosening his collar as he sank down into the chair. He started to run a shaky hand through his hair... an old habit he'd worked hard to break himself of. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped and began to smooth the disheveled hair back into place. Once again he stopped the motion. What did it matter anymore? Who was going to see him? Who was going to notice?

Who was going to care?

He'd come to Sunnydale - had it really only been a few months ago - with such high hopes, such pride in being chosen to be watcher to not just one, but two slayers. He had been warned to expect some reticence on the part of the slayers. The circumstances of the discharge of the former watcher and his continued presence would certainly be an obstacle Wesley would have to overcome. But he was determined to take command, gain control of his charges.

What a fool he had been.

First, Faith's fall into darkness, and now, Buffy's defection. Yes, he'd done a bang-up job, hadn't he? What was it Travers had said to him on the phone earlier that evening?

"Your performance during your tenure as watcher has hardly been what would be considered even adequate."

He knew the man was right. But he also knew that this experience had begun to change him. When he'd first arrived, he would never even have considered the idea of trying to help a vampire, and most certainly not one as infamous as Angelus.

He'd known he was on shaky ground with the council before he placed the call to his superiors. And their denial of his request was not unexpected. But he had known he had to try. Maybe it was the respect he had developed for the young slayer, or maybe it was just the need to prove himself in her eyes. To see her, for once, gaze at him with something more than simple tolerance or mocking amusement. To finally break down that wall that was always there between them. He had wanted so desperately to earn her respect and acceptance.

And despite his extensive knowledge of Angel's past, he knew the vampire was no longer evil. He had fought side-by-side with Buffy time and time again. He didn't deserve to be left to die.

Wesley had also seen ample evidence of how much Buffy and Angel loved each other. He remembered watching them dance together at the Prom as he'd danced with Cordelia, had seen the way they looked at each other. And when Angel had been poisoned, he found he couldn't ignore the pleading look in Buffy's eyes.

So, he'd made the offer to call the council, knowing full well what their answer would be.

"In case you've forgotten, Wesley, we kill vampires. We don't cure them," Quentin Travers had reminded him.

"Sir, I'm sorry, I understand your position, but this is a very extraordinary circumstance."

"I dare say! You've allowed one slayer to turn evil already, and now you're condoning this? A slayer and a vampire? It's an abomination, and it is not to be allowed."

"Yes, sir, under ordinary circumstances, I would agree, but..."

"Quit blathering on about circumstances!" Travers had exploded. "It is not council policy to cure vampires!" With that, he'd hung up.

Maybe he should have stopped there, but somehow Wesley knew that if he returned to Buffy having failed in this instance, he would never be able to win her trust. So, he'd taken a gamble and had placed the second call.

"Nigel?"

"Wesley! How are you, old sport? I understand those slayers of yours have been giving you a few headaches."

"Yes, a few," he replied impatiently. "Listen, Nigel, I need to ask a favor of you."

"Certainly. After all the years we've known each other, I believe I owe you one or twenty."

"I need you to check the council files for information on any poisons that affect vampires."

"Trying a new approach now, ay? What's wrong with the old stake through the heart?"

Wesley took a deep breath before he continued. "I need all the information you can get on those poisons, Nigel. Most importantly... the cures."

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Do you realize what you're asking?"

"Yes, I do."

"Access to those files is strictly..."

"Nigel," Wesley interrupted, "I know you can get them."

Silence again.

"Why should I want to?"

Wesley hesitated only a moment before playing his hold card. "For the sake of our friendship."

"I..." he hesitated, and Wesley held his breath. "Look, old man, I can't do it, and I think it's bloody unfair of you to ask me to. If information like that got into the wrong hands..."

"It won't go any further than me. I'll prepare the antidote myself. No one else will ever..."

"You're planning on curing a vampire?"

"Not an ordinary vampire, Nigel. He has a soul."

"My God, Wesley," the other Englishman gasped, "you're talking about Angelus! I've read the reports of him in Sunnydale and how he's ingratiated himself to the slayer."

"His name is Angel now." Wesley corrected, strangely feeling the need to defend the vampire in whose presence he still felt uncomfortable. "He isn't the same as he was before. He isn't evil. I've seen for myself..."

"After what that monster has done over the last 250 years, you want to cure him?"

"Nigel, if you'll listen to me..."

"No," the other man replied. "It's wrong and I won't do it. You're asking me to betray my oath as a watcher."

"That's not true," Wesley denied.

"Yes, it is, and I'm sorry, Wesley, but I want no part of it. Goodbye." The loud click indicated the phone call was over, but before Wesley took the phone from his ear, he heard three more clicks. He frowned and stared at the phone for a moment. Then, shaking his head, he hung up the receiver.

Ten minutes later, as he was still trying to think of another alternative, some other source he could contact, his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Let me make myself clear." Travers began without preamble. "No one goes behind my back!"

"Sir, I..."

"Shut up!"

Wesley was too shocked to do otherwise.

"You will listen to me and heed my words if you have any desire to continue in the service of the council. I'm giving you one last chance. You will convince Buffy of the folly of concerning herself with this vampire's fate. As you yourself pointed out, the attack on him is clearly a diversion on the part of the enemy. She is to concentrate on defeating the mayor. Those are the council's orders and you will relay them to her. You will make her understand, is that clear?"

"I understand, but..."

"There will be no discussion," Travers replied. "If you fail, you will be recalled to England and replaced with a watcher who knows where his first duty lies."

Nigel. Wesley knew it without Travers even saying it. Nigel had informed Travers of his call. Wesley swallowed hard against the pain of that knowledge. He'd believed Nigel was his friend, and yet the man had wasted no time debating whether or not to cut Wesley's throat for his own benefit.

"Yes, sir, I understand," Wesley replied.

And he had. A part of him even agreed. It was certain the mayor and Faith had poisoned Angel to keep Buffy occupied and unable to concentrate on dealing with the real threat. If the ascension were not stopped, who knew how many lives would be lost. Angel must be considered a casualty of war.

But Wesley also knew his slayer well enough to know she would never see it in that light. He'd had proof of that when Willow had been captured. Buffy's primary instinct was to think with her heart. It could be a strength, but it could also be exploited as a weakness. He hadn't been able to make her see that before, but everything depended upon him making her see it now.

With heavy foreboding, he had driven to the mansion that was Angel's home. It was his last chance. Everything - the lives of all those people and his own future - depended upon his being able to make her see reason.

I'm talking about watching my lover die. I have no clue what you're talking about and I do not care.

As soon as she'd uttered those words, he'd known he was lost.

Yet, he'd forged ahead. He'd tried to tell her it was the council's orders. It had been the wrong thing to say. Buffy had little respect for the council after the events surrounding the Cruciamentum and Giles being fired as watcher. Evoking their name had only served to harden her resolve against him.

He'd tried to explain, to remind her of the upcoming ascension and that they needed to be planning a strategy to defeat the mayor.

I have a strategy. You're not in it.

The words still cut like a knife as he remembered them. It was done. He had failed. Just as his father always said he would.

Rising from the chair, he moved to the small side table and poured himself a stiff drink, tossing it back in one gulp. He hardly even felt it burn its way down his throat. There was no point putting it off. Striding across the room, he lifted the receiver and placed the dreaded call to Travers. It took a great deal of effort to keep the emotion out of his voice as he related the confrontation with Buffy. As he had expected, Travers vented his fury upon him, and he stood stiffly, alone in his silent apartment, and accepted the derision. Squeezing his eyes closed, he listened to his superior's final words.

"You will leave Sunnydale tonight. Return to England on the first flight available. Your failure will be dealt with upon your arrival. I will dispatch a team immediately to deal with the aftermath of what is certain to be the catastrophic result of your dereliction of duty."

"Sir, I'd like to stay. Perhaps, I can help..."

"I believe you've done quite enough. You have received your orders. There will be a hearing to determine your future, if any, with the council."

"Yes, I understand, but..."

"Do I really need to spell out the consequences of your failure to obey my orders?"

"No, sir."

"Good." The line went dead.

Replacing the receiver, he moved back to the chair, sank down into it and lowered his face into his hands. Never in his life had he felt so completely and utterly alone. He'd grown accustomed to being by himself, feeling isolated even when there were people around him. It was something he had accepted long ago. It had been the only way to survive. But then there had been his work. His mission. His future as a watcher. He'd worked hard, studied hard. He'd been so determined to prove he could succeed. Prove it to his father and to himself.

But it had all been for nothing. His whole life was a sham. There was nothing left. Even if the council didn't sack him outright, he'd spend the rest of his life in some demeaning, insignificant job, and there would always be the knowing looks, the whispers. For the rest of his life, he would be branded a failure.

And it was only right that he should be. It was true.

It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to cry. Tonight, in the silence of his apartment, companioned only by the emptiness of his own soul, he gave in to despair.

He didn't know how long he remained there, lost within his own darkness, before something roused him. After a moment, he realized it was the ringing of the telephone. He sat listening to it ring. Waiting for it to stop. But whoever was on the other end of the line seemed to be very persistent. Finally, he summoned up the energy to rise and walk to the table.

"Hello?" His voice sounded empty and hollow even to his own ears.

"Wesley?"

"Cordelia?" he replied, recognizing the young woman's voice.

"I didn't see you this afternoon, and when I tried to call earlier there was no answer. I was wondering if... Wesley, are you there?"

"Y-Yes," he replied.

"Is... something wrong?"

"No, I..." he began, but his voice cracked.

"Yes, there is!" Cordelia exclaimed. "What is it?" She waited only a moment. "Wesley? Please, talk to me."

"I'm... sorry, Cordelia. I-I can't. I'm... I have to pack."

"Pack?"

"I'm leaving... leaving the country."

"What?! Now? But tomorrow's the graduation... the ascension. You can't leave. We need you. Don't you need to be with Buffy?"

He squeezed his eyes closed. "Buffy... we've... there was a.... disagreement. I'm sorry, Cordelia, truly I am, but I-I can't talk about it. I have to go. I wish..." He swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat.

"Wesley, please, I don't want you to go," she pleaded.

"I'm so sorry." Quickly he hung up the phone. He took his hand away, then quickly reached for the receiver again, lifted it and placed it on the table. His eyes fell on the small framed photo that sat next to the phone, and his fingers touched the glass that covered the image. Cordelia had been so beautiful that night at the prom, and he had felt so proud that she had asked him to pose with her for the photograph. How could he ever explain the calamity that was his life to her? She had been the one person who had accepted him, even liked him, and wanted to spend time with him. He couldn't deny his own attraction to the beautiful young woman. He had thought... perhaps...

But now that too would have to end. How could he ever face her knowing what a failure he was? There was no future left for him now.

You'll never succeed at anything, Wesley. You're just a weak, spineless...

His hands flew to his ears, as if they would smother the all-too-familiar voice in his mind. The mocking words were familiar as well. Knowing he'd fail. Certain he'd fail.

He dropped his hands, and practically ran for the closet, pulling out his suitcase and setting it on his bed. Yanking open the top drawer of the dresser, he grabbed a handful of neatly laundered shirts. Time to pack. Time to leave.

Time to run away.

Why?

The unbidden thought burst into his brain and froze him in his tracks. Was it because he was afraid of the apocalypse that was coming in a few short hours? Was he running away in fear for his life?

"No!" he cried, balling his fists at his sides. He had been ordered to leave. It was his duty to...

Duty?

His duty to the council. To follow orders. He was a watcher and...

A watcher's duty is first and foremost to the slayer.

Of all the things his years of training had taught him, that one thought now burned in his brain.

Tomorrow's the graduation... the ascension. You can't leave. We need you. Don't you need to be with Buffy?

Cordelia's words came back to him. Yes, he needed to be with Buffy... but Buffy didn't want him.

Get a job.

He had a job. He had sworn an oath. Was it possible that his real duty was to defy the orders of the council? The very idea went against everything he'd ever believed. And yet...

A watcher's duty is to the slayer.

But he had already failed in that duty. Travers had ordered him to leave, and no one in Sunnydale wanted him to stay.

Wesley, please, I don't want you to go.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. Reaching into the suitcase, he lifted the shirts out and placed them back in the drawer. Then, he walked to his small, well-ordered desk, took out a pen and a notepad and began to write. By the time he had finished, the sun was beginning to rise. He placed the sheets of paper upon which he'd written in an envelope and sealed it. Then, he rose and headed for the shower.

* * * * *

"Whatcha doin'?" Buffy asked as she plopped down next to Giles on the sofa. The watcher offered her an irritated sidelong glance.

"Paperwork," he replied, nodding toward the box of file folders on the coffee table in front of him. "It seems now that the council has reinstated me as your watcher, they've decided to inundate me with every scrap of paper generated by the council since I was fired! I believe it's Quentin's way of getting his revenge."

"Important stuff?"

"Well, that's the problem. Some of it, most certainly, is. The rest..." he shrugged. "But I have no choice but to weed through it all."

"Want some help?"

The Englishman's head turned instantly toward her, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Excuse me. I must be hearing things. I could have sworn you just volunteered for something dangerously close to research."

"I did," she returned, glancing away, then looking back at Giles reluctantly. "I know I've been pretty self-involved lately, what with Mom being sick and Riley... And you guys have been all kinds of patient with me, and it's time I started showing you how much I appreciate you." She looked down at her hands. "Especially you, Giles."

He frowned. "Why especially me?"

"Because... because of the way I acted all last year. I wouldn't have been surprised if you'd up and left." Buffy looked down again, not noticing the look that crossed Giles' face. "What reason did you have to stay here? I mean, I was acting like... well... you know. But when I came to you, after Dracula, and asked you to be my watcher again..." She finally lifted her eyes to meet his. "You've always been there for me, Giles. Even when it wasn't your job."

"It hasn't been a job for a long time now," he replied softly.

"Yeah, I know." She smiled at him. "Anyway, it's high time I did my share. Besides, I might find something interesting!"

Giles gave her a doubtful look, then smiled as she grabbed a file and opened it.

* * * * *

"Mmm," Giles mumbled. Buffy looked up at him, noting the frown of concentration on his features.

"What? You actually found something interesting?"

There was no answer.

"Giles!"

"Hmm?" he glanced up at her. "Oh, sorry."

"I asked if you found something interesting."

He paused for a moment before answering. "As a matter of fact, very."

Buffy frowned, then rose and moved behind the sofa to gaze over his shoulder.

"'Final Report. May 1999'," she read aloud, then her eyes opened wider when she saw the name on the page. "Wesley's report?" She shook her head. "Yeah, I can just imagine what he had to say!"

"Somehow... I doubt it," Giles said quietly.

"Let me see." She leaned over the sofa to grab for the paper, but Giles moved it out of her reach.

"I'm not sure that would be appropriate."

"Oh, come on, Giles."

"Wesley never intended for you... or me, for that matter... to ever see this."

"That bad?"

Giles shook his head. "No, it's just..."

Buffy's gaze fell on another piece of paper still in the folder lying beside Giles on the sofa. Quickly, she reached out and grabbed it.

"Buffy!"

She ignored him as she read the title of the typewritten page. "'Telephone transcription'? Wow, big brother, much! Do they bug and transcribe all their phone calls?"

Giles shrugged. "They are... thorough. Sometimes, obsessively so."

"You can say that again!" Buffy's eyes narrowed. "Giles, the date on this... It's the night before graduation... the night before we fought the mayor." She read down the page, her eyes growing larger the further she got. Reaching the bottom, she quickly turned the page to continue. Slowly, she walked back to her chair at the table and sank down, her eyes never leaving the paper in her hands.

"Buffy?" Giles called, but she only shook her head. She turned another page, read it, then the next, before finally looking back up at her watcher, a shocked expression on her face.

"Buffy, what is it?"

"Giles, I think I need to read that report."

* * * * *

"Hi," she whispered as she smiled up at the slayer and her watcher.

"Maybe we should come back later?" Buffy suggested, nodding at Wesley.

Cordelia shook her head. "No, it's okay. He'll be waking up soon. He's been asleep for a while now."

The young stranger stood to greet them.

"Oh, Buffy, Giles, this is Charles Gunn. He works with us."

"Nice to meet you," he smiled at them.

"Hi," Buffy returned the smile, as Giles reached around her and offered his hand, then she turned and moved to the side of the bed, gazing down at Wesley. Cordelia moved up beside her.

"He gonna be okay?" the slayer asked in a small voice.

"Yeah," the other girl responded, the relief evident in her tone. "But it was way scary for a while there." Buffy heard the small tremor, an echo of the fear she'd heard when she spoke to Cordelia on the phone the night before.

"He was just tryin' to tell the man I was his friend," Gunn whispered quietly behind her, "and he almost died for it."

The slayer looked back and saw Giles place a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "But he didn't," the older man reminded him. "That's the important thing."

"Mmm?"

She turned back at the sound emanating from the bed to see Wesley's eyes blinking open. She watched as he squinted, focusing on the figures beside his bed, and smiled at the puzzled frown that came upon his face.

"Buffy?"

"Hey, you remembered."

Wesley continued to stare at her. "What... what are you doing here?"

"We came to see how you're doing," she replied, nodding behind her. "Giles is here too."

The watcher stepped up to the foot of the bed. "Hello, Wesley. How are you feeling?"

"Better," he replied. "I..." His eyes turned toward Cordelia, and Buffy watched as her hand seemed to move involuntarily to stroke his hair.

"Buffy called last night," she told him, "while I was home getting cleaned up, and I told her what happened."

"Ah," he replied, but the questions still remained in his eyes. Buffy knew he couldn't help but wonder why they had suddenly turned up at his bedside, but she also knew he wouldn't put voice to those questions.

"We were worried about you," she told him. "Decided we'd just pop on down here and see for ourselves how you were."

A warm smile spread across his face. "That was very kind of you... to be concerned, but I'm doing fine."

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "You still look a little peaked to me. You'd better start taking care of yourself."

The questioning gaze returned. "Buffy..." but he stopped, and the slayer took pity on him.

"I... I needed to talk to you, Wes."

"Uh, maybe we should step outside?" Gunn offered.

"No," she replied. "I think you and Cordy should hear this, too." She lifted the folder up and opened it.

"Here," Gunn said, pushing his chair closer to the bed and stepping back to lean against the window sill.

"Thanks," she replied, sitting down. Giles took another chair a little further away from them, while Cordelia claimed the one near the head of the bed, her arm resting on the mattress.

Buffy lifted out the stapled sheets of paper. "I know I was probably never supposed to see this, but I'm glad I did." Giving Wesley one last look, she began to read.

"This will be my final official act as a watcher. I realize that long before you receive this report, I will either have been summarily discharged from service to the council or I will be dead. In either case, I felt it my duty to commit to paper my final thoughts concerning my tenure in this posting and my observations regarding the young women I was sent here to guide."

"That's... that's my report," Wesley gasped, and she nodded.

"The council sent Giles a whole box full of stuff they'd collected since he was fired. This was in it."

Wesley's eyes moved toward the older Englishman.

"I hope you'll forgive me for sharing it with Buffy, but you know our slayer. When she sets her mind to something, one can try to refuse, but..." He shrugged with a wistful smile.

Buffy saw Wesley's eyes widen a bit as his lips silently repeated Giles' word - our.

"I-I don't understand," Cordelia injected.

"This is the last report Wesley made to the council. It was written the night before graduation."

"Actually, it was more the morning of," Wesley supplied.

Buffy's eyes met his. "After what happened at... at the mansion. When I told you I wasn't going to work for the council anymore."

Wesley nodded. She looked back down at the paper.

"It's quite a detailed report. All the things that happened those last few weeks. I won't read the whole thing, but there are some parts I think are very important." She began to read again.

"I do not dispute the fact that I have failed to accomplish the goals set for me by the council. I have also failed in my duty to the slayers. I accept responsibility for both, but I also have come to realize that succeeding in both would have been impossible. That I was beyond my depth in the situation with Faith is indisputable. My actions, which I believed at the time to be appropriate and justified, only served to drive her further into the darkness into which she had already fallen. She was a sick girl who should have been helped, not punished. Perhaps, had I not interfered, the others might have been able to reach her before it was too late. I can only hope that somehow her young life can be salvaged, though I fear it may be too late for her."

Cordelia leaned forward and grasped Wesley's hand, casting a protective and decidedly unfriendly glance toward Buffy.

"You also had a few things to say about me," the slayer smiled.

"I'll bet," Cordelia said under her breath.

"Cordelia," Wesley whispered. "It's all right."

"As for Buffy, I will state now that she is a most remarkable young woman. Willful and headstrong, yes, that is certainly true. But she is also mature beyond her years. She has good instincts and the courage to back up her convictions. Her skills are already well beyond those of most slayers as recorded in the council's records, and I believe, should she have the chance to fulfill her destiny, she has it in her to become one of the finest slayers ever chosen. It would have made me quite proud to have been her watcher."

Buffy looked at Wesley again for a moment before she continued.

"Unfortunately, that is something I could never be. Buffy already has a watcher - one who has done a remarkable job of guiding and supporting her. I was assigned to the position, but I could never take his place. I tried, and I failed."

The slayer saw Wesley look toward Giles, a smile touching his lips at whatever expression he found on the other man's face.

"In part due to my failure, Buffy has chosen to dissociate herself from the council, and I have been ordered to leave Sunnydale to return to England tonight. This is something I find I cannot do. Even though I realize now that Buffy could never accept me as her watcher, that doesn't change the fact that I am a watcher, that I have sworn an oath, and in that oath, my first duty is to the slayer and the people she protects and defends. In order to fulfill that duty, I must disobey the orders of the council and accept the consequences. I will remain in Sunnydale and offer my assistance, in any way I can, to Buffy and her friends in fighting the mayor and stopping the ascension. If that offer is rejected, which is not at all unlikely, I intend to be at the graduation and to find some way to contribute to the fight. There is a very good chance that I will not survive this battle, but I could not live with myself if I turned my back on those I have sworn to help."

"Oh, Wes," Cordelia whispered, then she looked toward Buffy, her head lifted proudly. "I told you he was classy," she reminded the slayer.

"Yeah, you did," Buffy replied, "and you were right." She smiled at Wesley, then continued to read.

"I could never have anticipated that I would be called upon to decide between my duty to the council and my duty to the slayer, but now that I am faced with that choice, I find it an amazingly clear and easy one to make. The Council of Watchers exists to serve and support the slayer, not the other way around. It is she who is the chosen one, she who must lead the fight. I intend to follow that lead. As a watcher and as a man, I can do nothing else."

Buffy looked directly into Wesley's eyes. "You wrote this after all those things I said to you. You defied the council... for me. You knew that morning when you walked into the library that staying... coming and offering your help meant you'd be fired."

"I told you, I wasn't there for the council. I just wanted to help. And you let me."

"Yeah, after saying all those awful things..." She looked up at the ceiling. "Wes, I came here to apologize to you for the way I..."

"Buffy, you don't have to..."

"Yes, I do," she replied firmly. "And since I treated you so rotten in front of everyone, it's only fair that I apologize in front of your friends. They should know what kind of a man you really are."

"We already do," Gunn said quietly.

"I bet you do," she nodded, her eyes never leaving Wesley's. "And that puts you way further up the smart ladder than me. I never looked past the tailored suits and the starched shirts, never listened beyond the council's orders, to see there was a person there. Now, in my defense, you were a royal pain in the ass, Wes, but..."

He laughed, then grimaced, one hand moving to his wound, but the smile returned. "So were you."

Buffy's eyebrows shot up, and she heard Giles chuckling behind her.

"Okay, guys, I'm trying to be sincere here."

"And you have a particularly excellent way of going about it," the older Englishman commented.

"All right already!" She looked back at Wesley. "I just wanted you to know, I'm sorry, and that I know now, way late, how hard you tried to help me... and to help Angel."

A flicker of something akin to pain filled Wesley's features for a moment, then was gone so quickly that Buffy wasn't sure she hadn't imagined it.

"There was something else in the file. The council had your phone bugged, and they kept transcripts of all your calls, in and out."

Wesley's mouth dropped open, then he closed his eyes and sighed. "I should have realized... The fact is, I suspected as much - all those odd clicks on the line - but wrote it off as my just being paranoid." He frowned. "You mean they actually sent you those transcripts?"

"I don't believe Quentin intended any of us to ever see them - or the report," Giles replied.

"The point is," Buffy interrupted, "I know just how hard you tried to get the cure for the poison. You really stuck your neck out."

"I failed," he replied.

"No, the council failed," Giles told him. "They were too entrenched in their rules and traditions, and too concerned with maintaining control to take into account any more... human factors. If they had shown just a fraction of the compassion you showed, they might have avoided spending the last year and a half cut off from the very reason for their existence."

"What was in these transcripts?" Cordelia asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

Buffy turned to her. "Wes tried to convince Travers to give us the information about the cure for the poison that was killing Angel. He refused. But Wesley didn't give up. He tried to enlist a friend of his to help him get the information, but..."

"He betrayed me to Travers," Wesley finished.

"I don't think he had much of a choice," Buffy replied. "There was a handwritten note on the last page of the transcript I think you should see." She handed the paper to Wesley. Cordelia quickly reached behind her to the bedside table, retrieved his glasses and handed them to him. He read silently to himself.

"Come on," Cordelia prompted. "What does it say?"

Wesley looked from her to Buffy. The slayer nodded.

"I have taken the liberty to include this file because I believe you should know the truth. I knew the council had tapped Wesley's phone. I knew that Travers would know of our conversation, even without my telling him. If I had kept silent, it would have meant the end of my career as well. I was a coward. Wesley was not. Having now seen for myself what - and who - he was fighting for, I begin to understand. Perhaps you shouldn't have missed with that sword after all, but I hope someday you - and Wesley - can forgive me. Nigel."

He looked questioningly at Buffy. "Sword?"

"Long story. I almost skewered him. Kinda glad now I didn't."

"Yes," Wesley said thoughtfully. "So am I."

"I think Angel should know too," she told him. Wesley looked first toward Cordelia, then Gunn, then back to Buffy. "Angel is... he's going through something right now. I don't believe he'd be very... receptive to a visit."

Buffy frowned. "What is it? What's going on?"

Wesley shook his head. "I'd... rather not go into it, Buffy. I'm not trying to hide anything from you, it's just... Angel has to work through some things for himself. In the meantime, I believe all we can do is give him space. If you were to approach him now, it would... complicate matters. I'm asking you to trust me."

She desperately wanted to ask, no, demand to know what it was he was talking about, but she furiously fought to reign in her curiosity. She was no longer a part of Angel's life. It was better if it stayed that way. "All right," she replied. "If you think it's best. But when the time comes, he should know what a friend you were to him, even back then."

"He will," Cordelia replied firmly.

"We should go now and let you rest," Buffy told him as she stood up.

"You don't have to..."

"We need to be getting back to Sunnydale tonight," Giles told him. "Another crisis."

"Yes, yes, I... understand."

"Life on the hellmouth," Cordelia muttered. "God, I miss that... not!"

"We got our own fun times right here in the big city," Gunn added. "Sewer beasts, kids growin' eyes in the back of their heads, zombie cops..."

"Gee, maybe that's why I feel so at home here," Cordelia quipped.

Wesley smiled. "Kind of makes you miss the simplicity of the old days when all we had to worry about was city officials transforming into demons and destroying the world."

Buffy stared at him. "Yeah, I'm getting all misty-eyed as we speak!" Her expression grew serious. "Listen, Wes, I just wanted to say again, I'm sorry. You were a better watcher than I deserved. I know we can't go back, can't change the way things went down, but, I hope we can make a fresh start... as friends?"

"I'd like that."

She grinned. "You call me when you get out of this place and maybe we can get back down here and have a little celebration."

"If we can fit it in between apocalypses," he returned.

Buffy stepped closer, leaned down and placed a kiss on Wesley's forehead. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Thank you, Buffy, for coming."

"Get well, and I'll be talking to you soon."

He nodded.

"Try and stay out of trouble for a while, will you?" Giles told him with a grin as he grasped the younger man's hand firmly.

"I try, but it never seems to work out somehow," Wesley replied.

"Wesley, I want you to know... I'm also very sorry. I didn't give you much support, and I certainly knew the kind of pressure you were under from the council."

"Buffy was always your first priority. That's as it should have been. You've always been a good watcher to her... and a good friend. You have nothing to apologize for."

Giles looked away for a moment, then back at Wesley. "I'll be glad to have a trusted colleague to consult... from time to time."

"So will I."

"Take care."

They said their goodbyes to Gunn, then headed out into the corridor. "I'll just see them out and be back," Cordelia told Wesley, nodding to Gunn who moved up next to his friend.

"Buffy," Cordelia called, then hesitated. "I know we've never really been... close, but, thanks. That meant a lot to Wesley."

"I owed it to him," the slayer replied, then she pressed the folder into the other girl's hands. "You should read it all for yourself. There were five phone calls in the transcripts. The time entry on the last one he received was about a half hour before the time he wrote on the top of his report." She smiled knowingly. "I don't believe I was the only reason Wesley chose to stay in Sunnydale."

Cordelia's eyes grew large, then as Buffy watched, they seemed to grow brighter. "Thanks," she whispered, her voice full of emotion as she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around the slayer.

"Take care of him."

"I will," Cordelia replied firmly, then she turned and gave Giles a hug before heading back into Wesley's room.

"Cordelia certainly seems to have matured since she left Sunnydale," the watcher remarked.

"I think we've all grown up a little," Buffy replied. "And maybe learned to appreciate some of the things... and people... we tend to take for granted." She reached out and took his hand.

"Let's go home."

"Indeed."

* * * * *

It had been a long night, and Angel was ready for some well-deserved sleep. Things were still a bit shaky between him and his friends, but they were slowly finding their footing around each other again, and, he hoped, beginning to be a team again. Even Cordelia had begun to cut him a little slack since he'd bought her those new clothes.

He took off his shirt and was about to head for the shower when something on his bed caught his attention. Picking up the brown envelope, he read the note, in Cordelia's handwriting on the front. "Angel, read this." Well, that was to the point, and, at the same time, cryptic. Leave it to Cordy. Curiosity roused, he opened the envelope, took out the folder inside and began to read, his shower, and his fatigue, soon forgotten.

A half hour later, he laid the pages down on the bed beside him, considered only a moment, then grabbed his shirt, putting it back on as he headed for the door. As he came down the stairs, the lights in the office went out.

"Hey, Wes!" the vampire called to the figure in the semi-darkness at the far end of the main desk. "Headed home?"

"Well, yes, I thought I would. Why? Was there something..."

Angel shook his head as he walked across to the other man. "Nothing in particular. I just thought... you know it's been a while since we did the breakfast thing. I thought... maybe... you'd like to come upstairs. You know... for bacon and eggs? toast?"

"Cordelia and Gunn have already left."

"I know. I thought, just you and me..."

Wesley's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Well..."

"Maybe we could talk, you know, like we used to. I... I've missed that."

The sincerity in his tone seemed to touch something in the Englishman, and the corners of his lips turned up ever so slightly.

"If you'll let me make the coffee."

Angel smiled. "Sure," he replied. "Just one thing. Don't put catsup on your eggs. It's gross."

"You think that's gross, try eating across the table from someone who's guzzling down a glass full of blood!"

Angel put his hand on Wesley's back as they headed toward the stairs. "Okay, I'll use the big crockery mug. You can't see through it."

"How considerate you are," Wes replied, no longer trying to hide the smile that now spread across his face.