__Dancing On Thin Ice__
By Kath



There were a lot of weirdos in L.A.

Of course, Steven had already known that. He'd been there a bunch of times before, on day trips with his Mom when he was a kid, and the occasional road trip with his buddies after he'd turned sixteen. Heck, they'd even spent his 18th birthday there last year, cruising Sunset all night in the mustang convertible they'd 'borrowed' from Alex's older brother. He'd gotten free drinks at a few bars, danced with a pretty girl at some nameless club, and a woman way to old for him, wearing a very short skirt and too much makeup had offered to take him into a nearby alley if he paid her twenty bucks. It had been cool.

Not that Steven was a partier. In fact, he loved school. He'd gotten practically straight A's all through high school, participated in the drama club, and had played on the varsity baseball team. He knew his parents would have paid for any college he wanted to go to, but Steven didn't want to put that big a burden on them, so when UCLA offered a full scholarship it had seemed like a no-brainer. He'd even taken a night job at a Starbucks in West Hollywood to help pay expenses.

Apparently all the weirdos hung out at Starbucks. In the past four months, Steven had seen his share of homeless people muttering to themselves and scraping together enough change for an espresso, flaming transvestites in full makeup, and even a few celebrities, who pulled up in their fancy cars and could barely be bothered to stop talking on their cell phones long enough to place an order. And then there were the ones who didn't fall into any specific category. Take, for example, the guy in there tonight. This was the third night in a row he'd come in, ordered 'just plain coffee' and gone to sit alone at one of small tables in the corner. This wouldn't be any big deal, except for the staring. Steven nudged his coworker Amy, who was just finishing with a male customer at the counter next to him. She was slim and blonde and was maybe a year or two older than him. She kinda reminded Steven of his ex-girlfriend Tracy, except for the pierced tongue.

Leaning in, Steven tried not to be real obvious as he spoke quietly. "Hey, Amy. What's with that guy over there?" He nodded towards the corner table. "You know him?"

Amy glanced over and shrugged. "Nope. Why?"

"He keeps staring at me."

She laughed, digging a playful elbow into his ribs. "Maybe he thinks you're cute."

"Ha ha, very funny." Steven glanced over his shoulder. Yep, the guy was still there, still staring. "This is the third night in a row. It's creepy. What should I do?"

Amy reached under the counter, pulled out a full plastic garbage sack, and flashed him a bright smile. "You could take out the garbage for me, so I won't have to go into that dark, scary alley by myself."

"Forget it, Amy. That innocent act stopped working on me a week after I started here."

She shrugged again. "Okay. I'll take it out and you can go see if Stalker Guy wants a refill."

Knowing she'd beaten him, Steven snatched the bag from her hands and sent her a menacing glare. Her laughter following him all the way to the back door and into the alley.

* * * * *

Wes watched as the boy disappeared into the back with a trash bag, and frowned. This was the third consecutive evening he'd found himself drawn to this establishment, and he still had no concrete evidence as to why. It certainly wasn't for the coffee, which remained largely untouched in its Styrofoam container on the table in front of him and was no doubt lukewarm by now. As painfully stereotypical as it was, Wesley really did prefer tea.

Wesley remembered how he had stumbled into the coffee shop two nights before, bleary eyed from a full day researching texts, followed by the rousting of several K'Thwl demons from a warehouse in Chinatown. All he'd wanted was some caffeine to keep him going long enough to make it home.

"I'd like a coffee please."

The cashier heaved a sigh, as if he'd heard that line before. "We've got lots of that around here. There's espresso, cappuccino, decaf, half-caf -"

Wesley pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly and interrupted the litany. "Just... plain coffee." He idly contemplated his server as he watched him bustling about behind the counter. He was thin, not too tall, and had light brown hair just long enough to hang boyishly into his eyes. He couldn't be more than nineteen or twenty and was probably a college student, Wes mused. He found himself mesmerized by the boy's movements, and only realized he'd been staring when the boy pressed a hot cup into his hands. Their fingers touched and Wes felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his hand causing it to jerk, nearly spilling his coffee. He looked up in alarm, but the boy was already moving away. "I - thank you."

Shaken, Wesley retreated to a corner table, where he quickly took a large gulp of his coffee. He must be more tired than he thought, he reasoned. His eyes traveled across the room again, where the boy was now laughing and joking with his blonde coworker, and he felt an odd lurching in the pit of his stomach. Yes, sleep was what he needed, and perhaps something more in his belly than half a bag of stale potato chips, stolen from Gunn's desk drawer. Finishing off the rest of his drink, Wes crumpled his cup and threw it in the waste can on his way out the door.

He wasn't sure what excuse to give himself when he returned to the cafe the following night. Or the next afternoon while in a meeting with Angel, when he caught himself checking his watch for a third time - wondering when the boy might be starting his shift...

"Am I keeping you, Wes? Some place you gotta be?"

"What? Oh. No, Angel. I'm sorry."

Angry that he'd allowed himself to become so distracted, Wes was determined to put an end to it tonight. What bothered him the most was that this was so uncharacteristic of him. It wasn't as though he made a habit of mooning over barely legal young men. He didn't even find the boy attractive, at least not in the conventional sense. Recognizing his chance to investigate further, Wesley abandoned his coffee, slipped out the door and headed for the alley.

* * * * *

The hinges on the lid for the old dumpster out back squealed loudly as Steven tossed it open. Making a face at the odor drifting out of it, he quickly tossed three bags of trash into it and hefted the heavy lid back into place with a clang. Wiping his hands on the apron around his waist, Steven turned to head back inside but stopped short when he saw a shadow creeping along the far wall, half lit by the street light on the corner. Stepping into the small pool of light provided by the bare bulb hanging above the back door, he looked for a rock or board, something he could use as a weapon if he had to. He settled for a slat from the broken crate leaning up against the wall.

When the shadow turned into the man from the corner table, Steven was only partially relieved. "What do you want?" He held the piece of wood in front of him.

"Excuse me, I'd just like to talk." The man held up both hands in front of him, as if to show he meant no harm.

Steven relaxed a little more and let his hands fall to his sides. The guy was taller than him, but he didn't look or sound very threatening. "Look, mister, if you're some kind of pervert, I'm not interested."

The man flinched a little, then he came closer, stepping further into the light until he was only a foot or two away. "I promise you, I just want to talk..." He leaned forward, squinting a little. "Steven."

Steven panicked, then he blushed, embarrassed, when he realized the man had simply read his name tag. "Okay, guy, talk." He tried to add a little swagger to his voice, but wasn't sure he'd succeeded.

"Wes."

"Huh?"

"My name is Wes. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Do I -" He was studying Steven's face intently, and Steven felt his cheeks heat up again. "I realize this is going to sound horribly clichéd, but have we met before?"

Steven couldn't help rolling his eyes, but he did take a closer look. "Nope. I hink I'd remember a tall British guy following me around."

Wesley shifted uncomfortably. "I can assure you, I don't normally make a habit of it." He cocked his head to one side and regarded Steven with a half smile. It was probably an attempt to be friendly, but Wesley's eyes were intense, as if he were trying to see inside him, searching for something. It made Steven nervous.

"Look, Mr... uh, Wes, you seem like an okay guy, but -"

Before he could continue, they were interrupted by a low snarl, coming from further down the alley. Another man sauntered into view, only this guy looked strange. Ugly. He had weird bumps on his face and his lips were curled back, revealing really sharp teeth. Steven stumbled back, but before he could say or do anything, Wes spun on his heels, his arm swinging out to connect with Ugly Guy's chest. Something shot out of Wesley's coat sleeve and the next thing Steven knew, he was staring at a pile of gray dust and their attacker was gone.

* * * * *

"What... how...?" Steven was gawking, wide eyed first at Wesley, then the pile of ash and back again.

Wes flexed the appropriate muscle in his shoulder and felt the sharpened stake disappear back up his sleeve. Sighing, he adjusted his jacket and placed a hand on Steven's shoulder, gently guiding him towards the open doorway.

"I'm sorry you had to see that. I think it best you go back inside, in case he wasn't alone."

"But...but... What was wrong with that guy? Where did he *go*?"

"I really don't have time for long explanations right now."

Steven shrugged off his hand and turned belligerently. "Well, you're just gonna have to make time then, because I want to know what just happened."

Surprised by the boy's determination, Wesley hesitated, before continuing. "All right. What you just witnessed was a vampire attack - yes, vampires are very much real - and I used this," Wes triggered the weapon again and brought it up so Steven could examine it closer. "To stake him in the chest and turn him to dust."

Steven reached out and ran a single finger along the wooden blade. Rather than the fear or disbelief Wesley was accustomed to, Steven looked awestruck and somewhat excited.

"Wow, that's so *cool*!"

Of course, Wesley had forgotten to take into account the exuberance and innocence of youth. "That well may be," he began, steering Steven towards the doorway again. "But, it is also extremely dangerous, and -"

"I've dreamed about him before," Steven blurted out, looking over his shoulder at the spot where the vampire had stood.

"- it would be better if you just..." Steven's words sunk in. "Excuse me?"

"Well, not *him* him, but people who looked like him. Vampires, I guess. Although I didn't know that's what they were at the time."

"I see," Relief flooded Wesley. Of course. "It's possible you've encountered vampires before. Your parents may have even been clients of ours. That would explain why I -" He cut himself off. There was no reason to mention the nagging belief that he knew Steven from somewhere, nor the intense need to protect him that had lurched to the foreground, with the vampire's attack.

Steven was shaking his head. "Clients? No, trust me. Nothing interesting ever happens where I grew up. Just boring old suburbia."

"In times of extreme trauma, a person's brain suppresses memories it is not ready to handle, a violent attack for example. These memories then tend to manifest themselves in other ways. Such as dreams."

Just then, a voice called out from inside the doorway. "Steven? You'd better stop loafing out there and get your butt back in here. I'm not closing up by myself."

Steven grinned sheepishly. "Guess I'd better go. But I want to hear more about all this vampire stuff. Uh, can you hang around, or... maybe I can meet up with you sometime? I'm done with classes at 3:00 tomorrow."

Wesley shook his head. "I think it would be wise if you simply put this behind you, and forgot it ever happened." Steven was looking at him eagerly, but Wes knew, innocence, once lost, could never be regained, and he didn't want to see that happen.

"Aw, c'mon. The most exciting thing in my dull life happens and you just want me to forget about it?"

Remembering how Buffy's friends - the 'Scoobies' - had been so determined to stay by her side and assist her despite their lack of superior strength or training, and recognizing a similar gleam in Steven's eye, Wesley relented. If the boy was that interested, he could at least educate him and possibly keep him from getting killed. "Very well. Come to this address at 4 o'clock tomorrow." He scribbled his home address on the back of one of his business cards.

"Cool, thanks!" Steven snatched the card from his hand and gave him a half wave before bounding back inside.

After a cursory investigation to convince himself there were no more vampires lurking in the shadows, Wesley went back to where he'd parked his bike and headed for home. That night he dreamt of a sharp blade slicing his throat, his blood soaking the cold, hard ground beneath him where he fell, and of overwhelming waves of loneliness. He awoke bathed in sweat, so convinced the dream had been real that he had to examine himself in the bathroom mirror. Splashing cold water on his face, he groaned. It would be a long time before he fell asleep again tonight.

* * * * *

"You're insane. You know that, right?"

Steven was sitting at one of the smaller tables in his dorm cafeteria with his roommate Eric, shoveling food into his mouth as though he hadn't eaten in a month. He bit off a large bite of toast, then tried to talk around it. "What are you talking about?"

Eric wadded up a used napkin and bounced it off Steven's head. "Gosh, I dunno. What have *you* been talking about for the last three days? How about you letting some weirdo talk you into going to his apartment alone, probably so he could -"

"Wes isn't a weirdo!" Steven defended quickly. Swallowing his toast, he then leaned forward in his seat, and lowered his voice. "He's really smart and he's been teaching me... stuff."

"Stuff?" Eric raised an eyebrow. "You mean all that comic book crap about vampires being real and you being a superhero who goes around hunting them down? If you really believe that, you're crazier than I thought."

Steven had met Wesley at his apartment as planned, a few days ago. He'd gone over how vampires could be killed and ways Steven could protect himself to avoid getting attacked, and then he'd gone on and on about how Steven, under no circumstances, should try to go looking for vampires on his own. Steven had nodded at all the right places, while his attention was really drawn to all the cool looking weapons Wes had on display around his apartment. There were a few knives and a small axe mounted on one wall, and what looked like a couple of swords sticking out of an umbrella stand by the front door. Some of the other things Steven didn't recognize, and could only imagine what damage they could do.

Wes had allowed him to ask a few questions, then practically thrown him out the door, as if he couldn't wait to get rid of him. Undeterred, Steven had skipped work the next night and shown up again, determined to convince Wesley to take him along on one of his vampire hunting missions. Wes had allowed him to ask more questions, but had totally refused to listen to Steven's pleas. Muttering something about 'innocence lost' he'd firmly closed the door behind him yet again.

Disappointed, Steven had gone back to his dorm room, blurted out the whole story to Eric, and they'd been having this same conversation ever since.

"But, I'm telling you they *are* real. I saw one with my own eyes! And I didn't say I was a superhero. I said it would be neat if I taught you about vampires too and we could be a team. We could go out at night and -"

Eric stood and picked up his tray. He frowned down at Steven. "Look, dude. I get that you're excited about *whatever* you think you saw, but this isn't high school anymore. Some of us have a full class load this semester and finals are coming up in a few weeks, so I hope you'll get why I don't share the enthusiasm. I think this guy is feeding you a load of bull, but if you want to hang out with him... well, I won't say anything. Just be careful."

Frustrated and a little hurt, Steven watched his friend walk away. He knew, deep in his gut, that Wes was telling him the truth. He'd just have to work harder to convince him he could handle it.

* * * * *

If anyone had told Wes a year ago that he would miss the daily grind of demon hunting, the aches and pains and bruises, the tang of vampire dust at the back of his throat, he would have thought they were crazy. It was amazing how an entire life could change in a year.

Now Wesley's back was stiff from sitting at his computer too long, and his head thrummed with an almost constant pounding, brought on by endless meetings with clients he had once considered the enemy. Of course, he trusted Angel and understood - well, no, he *accepted* - his radical decision to take over Wolfram & Hart, but had come to believe, of late, that he himself was becoming rather superfluous in the grand scheme of things. With the discovery of Gunn's brain 'upgrade', Angel had been turning more and more to Gunn for advice, and while Wesley certainly didn't want to deny his friend the chance at self-improvement, he simply couldn't trust anything offered by Wolfram & Hart, or the Senior Partners. Wesley also didn't relish the idea of being pigeonholed in the role of 'Book Guy' - as Fred so fondly referred to him - again. There were times when he missed the freedom of running his own agency, despite the unfortunate circumstances that had brought about its advent.

It was for all these reasons that Wes now found himself on yet another dark street corner, flashlight in hand, ready to do battle with whatever evil lurked in the nearby shadows. He'd received a call early that evening from Jones, one of the men who had taken over day-to-day operations of the Wyndam-Pryce agency in his absence. It seemed there was a particularly nasty bugger on the loose that they had neither been able to identify with the reference books Wesley had left them, nor kill. Rather than spending more time trying to identify the demon based on third person description and ancient texts - and really, he'd done enough of that with Cordelia to last him a lifetime - Wes had decided to go out and see for himself.

There was a soft noise to Wesley's right and his pistol was in his hand instantly. He swung both the gun and the flashlight in that direction, only to lower the weapon a moment later. "You might as well come out. I know you're there."

Steven stepped out and gave him a sheepish grin. "Hey."

Wes regarded him coldly. "What the hell are you doing out here?"

"I followed you." The boy actually had the nerve to look proud.

"Then you can just turn around and find your way back home." Wesley brushed past him, eyes and ears still alert for the demon he was hunting. "I don't have time to play babysitter right now."

Steven followed after him. "I'm not a kid, y'know. I can take care of myself. And I want to help. Look," He held out two crudely sharpened pieces of wood. "I even brought my own stakes."

Wesley noted Steven's eager smile and determined stance and realized that, short of escorting the boy back to his dorm room himself, there was no way he could ensure he would really leave, and came to a decision. "Very well, only I want you to take this." He reached under his coat and removed a short sword from its sheath. He held it out, waiting for Steven to take it.

"Cool! Uh, what am I supposed to do with this?"

"You're *supposed* to stay behind me and stay out of trouble, but if something attacks, swing the sharp end at it and aim for its head."

"A-Attacks?"

"Shhh," Wes held up his hand. There was a grating sound of metal scraping across asphalt, then a manhole cover rolled into view. It spun in a lazy circle, finally settling at Wesley's feet.

"Wha-" Steven began again. Wes shot him a look and he snapped his mouth closed again with an audible click.

When the demon appeared, bringing with it a horrible stench, Wes instantly recognized it as a migratory subspecies of Se'irim. Standing eight feet tall, it had razor sharp claws and teeth, and a thick, leathery skin impervious to most conventional weapons. Immediately behind it came a second one, no doubt its mate.

"Get behind me, Steven!" The boy was standing rooted to one spot, eyes as wide as saucers. Wesley grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away, just as the closest Se'irim lunged. He immediately fired six rounds into the creature's chest, while at the same time triggering the collapsible sword at his wrist. "Steven!" He shouted again. "My car is parked around the corner. I can hold them off but I need you to make a run for it." Once he got the boy to safety, he'd be able to focus all his attention on the battle at hand. Steven finally snapped out of it and Wesley could see him moving out of the corner of his eye. Only, instead of running, the boy had stepped forward next to him and raised his sword.

"There's two of them. You need my help."

He had to give the boy credit for bravery. The second demon had circled around them and now made a sudden swipe at Steven's head. In a surprisingly agile move, the boy raised the sword, still gripped tightly in his fist, and blocked the attack. For some time after that it was all Wesley could do to concentrate on not getting his own head ripped off. The Se'irim before him was however soon oozing green fluid from several deep wounds and, judging from the howls of protest coming from the other demon, Steven had landed a few successful strikes himself. It wouldn't be enough to kill the beasts, but it might be enough to slow them down.

He felt Steven turn, his back now pressing up against Wesley's. It was a smart move - one he and Gunn had perfected - allowing them to move in tandem and protect each other better. The boy was quick, and clever with his sword. Obviously he'd had some sort of training. Wes called over his shoulder to him, while fumbling inside his coat pocket. "I think I can kill them, but I need a moment."

"Okay!" Steven moved away, bringing his sword around in a wide arc that almost completely severed the arm of his attacker. When it fell back, he jabbed wildly at the second demon, temporarily holding him at bay.

Wes pulled out a thin leather case and unzipped it with his teeth. Inside lay a row of vials, each containing a different colored substance. Selecting one with a deep rose hue, Wes popped the rubber stopper and began smearing the thick ointment along the blade of his sword. Motioning for Steven to move closer, he also did the same to his weapon.

"Mortis inquam prodigium! Death at my hand, demon!"

Saying a silent prayer that this worked, Wes struck at the beast's neck as hard as he could and felt the blade slide through its tough skin as though it were butter. The severed head flew off and rolled to a stop a few feet away, before it and the body dissolved into a puddle of green goo. Following his example, Steven quickly did the same, and soon there were twin puddles slowly oozing their way towards the nearest storm drain.

* * * * *

Steven danced around the edges of the green puddle, trying to get a closer look without getting his shoes all goopy. The fight had begun and ended so suddenly that his body hadn't quite caught on yet to the fact that it was all over. His heart was pounding and his nerve endings tingled like they were on fire. Brushing his hair from his eyes, he saw Wes walking towards him and broke into a huge grin. "That was so cool! How did you do that?"

Wes was staring at him intently and didn't answer. Following his gaze down to below the waist, Steven felt a blush rise to his cheeks, and he tried to casually hide the bulge in his pants with the sword in his hand. Unable to help himself, he took a quick peek at Wesley and saw he wasn't the only one with a problem, and that made him feel better. Must be a heat of battle thing, he guessed.

"If by 'cool' you mean lucky you weren't killed for doing something as stupid as coming here, after I explicitly told you not to', then yes, I suppose it was."

Steven tried to look contrite. "Okay, you're mad. I get that. I'm sorry." He couldn't contain his excitement any longer. "But, Dude! Did you see me? I was awesome!" He waived the sword around, trying to mimic moves he hadn't even known he possessed.

"It was... impressive," Wesley admitted finally. "I didn't realize you'd been formally trained."

"I haven't, I swear. I guess I'm just a natural." Steven bragged, pleased by the praise, however small. Wesley was pursing his lips in a way that Steven was quickly learning meant disapproval, but his head was spinning, trying to make sense of all that had happened. He felt if he didn't keep talking he'd burst. "What were those things anyway? I thought you said vampires looked like people."

Wes wiped his blade on a rag from his pocket and allowed it to retract back into his sleeve. "They weren't vampires. They were Se'irim demons."

Steven's mind added that bit of news to the ever growing list, and it occurred to him that Wesley hadn't been all that surprised to see them. In fact, he'd been pretty well *prepared* for them. "Demons? As in, there are other demons out there besides vampires that you didn't tell me about?" he accused.

Wesley's eyes met his calmly. "Yes."

"And you didn't tell me because...?"

Wesley reached over and took the sword out of Steven's hand, wiped it down and slid it back into place beneath his jacket. He then started to walk away.

Seething, Steven shouted after him. "You don't have to keep things from me. I'm not a kid, you know. I told you I can handle it!"

Wesley stopped in his tracks and slowly turned to face him. His eyes blazed angrily. "This isn't a game, Steven. I live in a dark world. It's rarely pleasant. I've seen men, woman, young children slaughtered where they stood. Whole families wiped out. Becoming aware of its existence means taking a responsibility for it, for protecting the innocents. It means giving up any hope of normalcy: family, friends...meaningful relationships..." Wes looked away and Steven wondered who he was thinking of, who he'd lost. "You say you're ready, but you have no idea."

Steven watched him turn and walk away and kinda felt sorry for him. The guy was obviously living with a lot of pain. He was also wrong. Steven knew, deep in his bones, that he could help, that this was what he wanted, but that it was going to take more than mere words to convince Wesley of that. He'd just have to try harder.

* * * * *

Upon arriving back at his flat, Wesley immediately headed for the bathroom to retrieve the first aid kit. While his leather jacket had protected him from all but a few abrasions and cuts, his first concern was for Steven. While most of his wounds were superficial, there was a nasty gash down the center of his chest, probably inflicted by the demon's claw, and he wanted to get it treated immediately, to avoid a risk of infection.

He paused at the sink long enough to splash water on his face and stared bleakly at himself in the mirror. God, he hoped he'd managed to convince the boy to forget all this. He was too young, too smart, too *happy* to end up like... "Me," he finished aloud to his impassive reflection. "I believe the word you're searching for is 'me'."

When Wesley rejoined Steven he was still standing calmly in the middle of the living room where he'd left him, the post-battle adrenaline rush having apparently worn off at last. He appeared to be deep in thought. An image of the boy, flushed and sweating and hard, rose to the surface and Wesley, appalled to feel himself getting aroused again, quickly forced it from his mind. "Let's get those tended to, shall we?" he announced, perhaps a bit too loudly.

Steven jumped a little, then smiled agreeably and pushed up a sleeve, revealing several shallow lacerations. Wesley could feel his eyes on him as he bent over the wounds, daubing on antibiotic ointment and applying a bandage. At last, Steven broke his silence. "Are you still mad at me?"

Wesley straightened and attempted a smile. "No, I -" He stopped, his vision blurring. There was something about the way Steven was standing there... it was... familiar. An image of another Steven superimposed itself over the current one, almost like an incredibly vivid deja vu, followed by a sharp pain behind Wesley's eyes. He shut them tight and pressed the heels of his palms to his eye sockets, trying to relieve the pressure.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" Steven's voice sounded panicked.

As quickly as it had occurred, the pain was gone. Shaken, Wesley cautiously opened his eyes. The double vision was gone as well. "I'm fine. It was just -" He didn't know how to explain it. "Perhaps I received a blow to the head during the battle and don't remember." Seeing the look of alarm on Steven's face, he attempted to reassure him. "I'm fine, really. I just need to finish dressing your wounds."

"Okaaay, but after that I want to look at your head. You might have gotten hurt too." Steven scolded, mimicking Wesley's tone.

Wesley dipped his fingers into the jar of first aid cream and scooped out a generous amount. Pushing aside the remains of Steven's shirt, he was overcome with another attack of dizziness. Instead of smearing the ointment on gently, as he had before, he found himself pressing his entire palm to Steven's chest. He heard Steven gasp and felt the jar slip from his fingers, and then his whole world went gray.

When his vision returned, Wesley was still standing with his hand pressed to Steven's chest but everything else - the room, their clothing - had changed. Steven's skin was warm and smooth and he could feel his chest rise and fall with every breath.

"It will be okay. It'll pass," he heard himself saying. Steven was staring at him rather intensely and Wesley gave in to the impulse to reach out and touch the boy's cheek. He then let his fingers dance along the edge of his jaw line, the tips catching slightly on the very beginnings of facial hair.

Without warning, Steven lurched towards him. Bringing both hands up to capture Wesley's face, he pulled him in for a rough, hard kiss, and Wesley's world exploded.

* * * * *

Wesley's eyelids fluttered open and Steven leaned forward, resting a concerned hand on the man's shoulder. "Wes, are you okay?"

"What - where am I?"

"You're on your couch. You passed out."

"I did?" He was struggling to sit up, but Steven stopped him, kneeling down so it was easier to talk.

"Hey, take it easy. Yeah, you put that stuff on me and you..." He trailed off.

"What did I do, Steven?" Wes prompted when it looked like the boy wasn't going to continue.

Steven sat back on his heels and chewed his lip nervously. "You...you kissed me, and then you kinda fell over.

"I *what*?!" Wes did sit up now.

"It was okay," Steven was quick to add. "I didn't mind so much. I-In fact, you could do it again, if you wanted." He reached out and rested a hand on Wes's inner thigh. He'd had time to think about this while Wesley slept. Wes was lonely, and obviously attracted to him; he didn't think the man would say no.

Wes was staring at him with pained eyes. "I couldn't... I *can't*." He ran a shaky hand through his hair. "God, what's happening to me?"

Steven felt a pang of pity for him "I don't know, but maybe I can help." He slid his hand up higher. He could feel Wesley's penis growing hard again.

"No!" Wes knocked his hand away and struggled to stand. "You need to get out of here, Steven. Something's not right. We may have become infected from the demons' blood, or perhaps someone has performed a spell..."

Steven snorted and leapt to his feet. "You're not my father, and you can't tell me what to do." He straightened his back and crossed his arms defiantly over his chest. "Or not do," he added.

Wesley came towards him and grabbed his arm, probably to toss him out, but instead of resisting, Steven allowed himself to be pulled forward. Grabbing Wes by the shirt front he yanked him down and kissed him, hard. It was difficult because Wes was so much taller than he was - which wasn't a totally new thing for him, since he'd dated one or two girls taller than he was while in high school - but Steven did have the element of surprise on his side.

As he'd predicted, Wes resisted briefly, then gave in, his mouth opening to Steven's easily. His breath was hot and his beard scratched Steven's cheek, but it wasn't nearly as strange as he'd thought it would be. Steven reached out and pressed his hand to Wes's erection and Wes groaned into his mouth.

"Wait." Wes pushed Steven away from him. Steven was about to protest, when Wes yanked the remains of Steven's shirt over his head, then removed his own. "That's better." He ran his fingers down Steven's bare sides, making him shiver.

Steven discovered *he* was getting hard now, something he hadn't expected. Impulsively, he reached to unbuckle Wes's belt and popped the button open. Sliding his hand inside, he wrapped his fingers around Wes's hard cock and pulled it out. The hand in his hair gripped harder and started to pull. "Hey, ow. Take it easy, dude."

"Sorry," Wes mumbled. Wes was now kissing and biting at his neck, which Steven thought was really weird, but it was making him hot, so he wasn't going to complain. Not that Steven hadn't done things before, but Wes was obviously way more experienced in the sex department.

"Do you think," Wes continued between nibbles. "That we could move this to somewhere more comfortable?" Without waiting for an answer, he began backing the both of them to the sofa, where he fell back onto it, dragging Steven down with him.

Steven was now straddling Wes's waist and things were getting seriously uncomfortable inside his jeans. Wes must have read his mind because, before he could do anything about it himself, Wes's hands were there, unfastening and unzipping. Wes ran a single finger down the underside of his erection, and Steven's hips bucked wildly. In retaliation, he leaned in and rubbed his cock against Wes's. At the same time, he experimentally teased at Wes's nipples, making them hard.

Wes moaned and let his head fall back against the back of the couch. His eyes were closed and he was panting. "Mmm, don't stop. Oh God, Connor --"

* * * * *

Wesley's eyes snapped open and he froze. The instant the name left his lips, the weight of the world came crashing in on him. He remembered it all: Holtz, Justine, his betrayal. "Oh God, *Connor*."

"*No*!" Connor pulled back. "Don't call me that. That's not who I am anymore. I'm Steven now."

Wesley ran his hands over his face, horrified at what he'd - they'd - almost done. Through the haze and confusion of two conflicting sets of memories, Connor's words finally sank in. "How long have you known?"

Connor's face was hard, and Wesley couldn't help wondering if the sweet, innocent boy he'd met a week ago was irretrievably lost.

"Not the whole time," Connor admitted slowly. "I did lie to you, that first night. You looked familiar but it wasn't until later that I figured it out." He settled back, his weight pressing uncomfortably on Wesley's thighs. "When I was a kid I used to have bad dreams all the time, monsters chasing me, all the usual stuff. But sometimes there were people, shadow people. At first I couldn't see their faces, but later, when I got older... It was almost always the same: two men fighting - one dressed all in black, the other older, scarred - and they were pulling at me, trying to rip me in half."

"Holtz and Angel," Wes murmured.

Connor nodded. "There was a third man, harder to see. He was always in the shadows, but at the last minute he would come and rescue me, take me away." He paused. "It was you. I just didn't recognize you without your glasses. Then, when I came here the first time, I saw the picture you keep on your desk."

"The one of Cordy, Angel and myself?"

"Yes. That's when I remembered I'd seen you all in my dreams, and knew I had to find out more. That's why I came back, why I followed you tonight. But it wasn't until you touched me here," He pressed his hand to his bare chest. "That I remembered everything."

Wesley took a moment to take it all in. "And you still wanted... this?" He indicated their positions and their partial nakedness.

Connor shrugged. "Sure."

"Why?"

"Because you belong to him, Angel, and I knew it would hurt him."

"I do not *belong* to anyone, least of all Angel," Wes objected, his anger flaring now that he could remember the way his friends had treated him the year before. At least this explained both his and Steven's - no, Connor's - strange dreams, and the reason they'd been drawn to each other. Subconsciously they would still have known what their conscious minds had been made to forget, he reasoned.

"He's the one who did this, you know."

Wesley was very aware of the fact that Ste- Connor was still sitting on his lap, but the boy didn't seem to have any interest in moving, and Wesley couldn't bring himself to force him to. "Connor, I realize this situation is confusing, and that a lot has happened between you and your father, but Angel loves you. He would never -"

"I was there. I remember. He *killed* me," Connor insisted. "And don't call him that. The only father I want is the one who raised me for the last nineteen years."

"The father will kill the son," Wesley whispered, not really hearing whatever else Connor said. He was remembering a conversation he'd had with Angel, concerning prophesies. 'Oh, come on, Wes, after everything we've seen the past couple of years? -The father will kill the son.' Funny how he could remember Angel's exact words, such a long time later.

It made sense. Angel would have wanted Connor to have a normal life and had apparently gone to great lengths to make it happen. And, in typical Angel fashion, he'd made the decision unilaterally and at the expense of everyone else, including his friends.

* * * * *

Once Connor knew that Wesley believed what he'd told him, he slid off his lap and allowed him to stand. Tucking himself back into his jeans, he watched impassively as Wes paced the length of the room a few times, and didn't even flinch when he struck out, punching a hole in the far wall.

"What are you going to do now?"

Wes turned on him, eyes blazing. "Do? How the bloody hell should I know what I'm going to do?" He began to pace again. "How could he do this to me, to all of us?"

"Because he's evil." Why could no one see that but him?

Wes shot him an angry glare. "And you attempted to get me to have sex with you to make your father angry. Explain to me how that makes you any better."

Walking over, Connor extended his hand, lifting Wesley's damaged one to examine it. Running a thumb lightly over the scraped knuckles, he felt a disturbing need to try and comfort him. *Steven* would want to comfort him, he reminded himself, not that he could go back to being that person again. He knew that now. Still, maybe he should try harder. "You're right. I'm sorry."

When Wesley didn't immediately pull back, Connor slid his hand slowly up Wesley's arm.

"What are you doing?" Wesley asked, suspiciously.

Connor looked up at him. "I would still like to have sex with you."

Wes blinked. "You do realize our heightened attraction was no doubt a side effect of whatever spell was used to cause our... amnesia, for lack of a better word."

"So, you don't want me anymore?" Connor moved to rub his other hand along the inseam of Wes's pants and heard his breath hitch.

"I did - I didn't say that exactly," he gasped, as Connor then slid his hand inside the cloth of his shorts.

"Have sex with me now. You can decide what to do about *my father* later." He leaned in and licked one of Wesley's nipples.

"If he finds out, he'll kill me." Wesley's hands were already resting on Connor's hips, slipping beneath the waistband.

Connor smiled. "Not if I kill him first." Their eyes met for a long time, then slowly, Wes returned his smile, and Connor knew he'd won.

* * *