Oz knew why he was there. He was there to stop a Bad Thing. A Very Bad Thing. One of those Ultimate Apocalypse things that Giles used to bring up all the time. All doom ridden capital letters and deep voices. He was on his way to Tijuana when he had this itching urge to stop and see Angel. Now? Now, he knew that to have ignored his instincts would have been of the bad.
He’d called the ‘Angel Investigations’ number in a phone book, expecting to hear Cordeila’s speel on helping hopeless. When Angel answered the phone, he’d been surprised. Sort of. The strained voice was all he needed to hear. He’d rushed over as fast as he could, dreading what he would find. A California Gothic nightmare of concrete and palm trees was just the sort of place he expected out of the building. It fit Angel all too well.
So did the half-tones of the darkened lobby. So did, unfortunately, the grim expression on the vampire’s face. He was frankly surprised Angel had told him where to come. That he’d let him come. One look at his face cinched this as a Bad Thing.
Angel felt as if he'd been etched in stone... Numb to the point of nothingness. Heard the footsteps... Didn't care. Five hundred years in Hell had left him more alive than he felt at that moment... ~You're not alive, prick! You're dead. I'm the only thing that keeps your corpse vertical!~
He smiled slightly listening to his demon. It was true. He'd be dust and bones by now, if it wasn't for Angelus. His demon. Maybe he was truly crazy now... As mad and lost as his poor childe Dru, after he burned her sanity away. ~I didn't... Angelus did... But I'm Angelus... Hell on earth, and it can't be saved... Never forever.~ Angelus strained, and he could feel the walls inside him shake, and maybe this time he'd just let them fall.
Oz , brow furrowed, cocked his head. He couldn’t hear or smell anyone else around. Could smell the faint remainders of Cordelia’s perfume and... Wesley? Yeah, the other Watcher. And someone else he didn’t know. But they weren’t here. Just Angel. He padded closer, quiet on his Chuck Taylor tennis shoes, and got a better look. It didn’t help the sinking feeling.
“Angel?” At least he hoped it was Angel. He as sure he could *smell* it if he was Angelus now.
"Oz."
Angel didn't look up. He was so tired. Tired of caring. Tired of fighting. Angelus prowled around his edges whispering to him. To let go. To give in. *He* could fight for him. Make it good for him. Just like the old days. No doubt. No pain. No hell of his own making. Bring the lawyers to their dimpled knees, and show them a real hell. Burn their ivory tower to the ground. Twisted glass and scorched concrete... A fitting monument to a new hell. One they'd rule over.
Angel tightened his jaw. It was so tempting. To give over, and loose his conscious. Be free again. "You should leave, Oz." He could taste the ashes in his mouth.
“Don’t think so.” Oz stepped one step closer. “You told me where to come. I came.”
He eyed Angel. The vampire was fighting something. Angelus. Something, after all his years of struggling, had brought Angelus way too close to the surface. Angel looked like he was about to give up. Not good.
Oz knew all about wanting to give up. Wanting to let the thing inside out at last. Let it take over and consume. He just never knew he might be stronger than a 200 plus souled vampire. “Tell me.”
Angel wasn't sure who was more surprised by his laughter- Oz or himself. It was all rather surreal, as though listening to a stranger laugh. Cold and self amused. It was an Angelus laugh.
He tilted his head to look up at Oz, letting himself lounge against the cushions of the chaise. He looked at his hand... Had he grown paler? No, not yet... Laughed again. No one had ever noticed the physical differences... How he was paler... Paler than Angel. No, Angelus was paler than him. He was Angel... Wasn't he?
He looked back up at the young werewolf. "Hell. It's about Hell." Shifting his gaze, he stared into a shadow just over Oz's shoulder, and saw flames. "You should really leave now, Oz."
“No.” Oz’s word was a quiet, but forceful, statement. ~What is with the hand? Oh. Oh shit. No, it’s not that pale. Yet.~ “Hell, huh? Pretty nasty. Planning on going back?” He knew Angel would catch the unspoken threat to Angelus. He *would* send that asshole straight back. He was pretty sure that sword was over in the weapons cabinet he spied. If it wasn’t that one, he’d used fangs and claws. “I can get you a hand basket if you want.”
"Fine. Stay then." Eyes flickered gold in annoyance.
Angelus didn't like the puppyboy's threat. Big surprise there. Spike may crow like the cock of the walk, but even the Master would give Angelus a wide berth when he let go.
A small sliver of pride glinted off that thought, like a razor's edge, quickly followed by shame. Shame that he could look on those times with any pride at all. Behind his eyes, Angelus chuckled. ~No shame. You have every right to feel pride. We were magnificent! The world trembled at our rage, and whimpered for our pleasure. And it could again...~
"Pride goeth before a fall..." Whispering to himself, he smirked at Oz. Too tired for threats and promises. Too tired to care. "Going back? No, apparently I never left."
Oz’s eyebrows shot up into his spiked hair. He had no idea what he was going to do. For some reason, the Powers That Be ~Fuckers. Mean that.~ picked him to do this... whatever it was. He’d tried not to buy into their whole deal, but too long on the Hellmouth in the company of the Slayer and he had to. Which meant all he could do now was simply be. Be Oz. He nodded. He could do that.
“Yeah, I hear traffic is a real bitch here.” Lead balloon time, but then what did he expect? He moved yet one more step closer and sniffed, his own eyes flickering yellow-tinged black. “You’re fighting Angelus. I can smell him. S’why I’m here, I guess.” One more step. “Tell me what to do.”
"Yeah, I'm fighting. The question would by why? Why am I fighting?" Angel closed his eyes.
Was it worth it? To keep fighting... Not according to Holland. There was no big payoff. No big win. Just an eternity of battle with no hope. Angelus laughed. ~Been tellin' yah that for years, boyo. Just let it go... Give in and be free.~ Angel trembled. It would be so easy. Sweet oblivion.
His eyes flickered open, and locked on to Oz. "Leave. I don't need your help. I didn't ask for it. I don't want it. Just walk away. S'not worth it." He didn't even notice the brogue slipping into his voice.
“Can’t leave now. You know that.” Oz took the one last step, the step that brought him directly in front of Angel.
He was shaking inside, hearing that brogue. The wolf howled in his head, demanding to kill this unnatural thing in front of them. He shook his head sharply, clearing that away.
“You’re fighting for yourself. For your friends. For hair gel, whatever. But mostly because you don’t give up. Ever.” ~Not now, please don’t give up now. Half of why I keep on is because you have for so long.~
Oz’s throat was dry. He hadn’t actually talked to anyone lately and certainly not this much. But he would talk all night if he had to, to keep Angelus at bay.
"Maybe now's the time to start..." He looked around the lobby absent mindedly. "Empty. Everything’s so empty." ~My life. My cause. My soul. Angelus is more alive than I am... I'm just a walking corpse.~ He sighed, "I'm tired, Oz. So very tired."
And if Angel was truthful... under it all angry. Angry and Disillusioned. He almost laughed at the incongruity of it all. He was over two hundred and forty and he was angry because someone told him there was no Santa Claus. No happy ending. No hearts, flowers or winner's ring. Just more shades of gray, and heartache. More pain, and no end in sight.
“No. Don’t believe that. I don’t know what set this off, but...” Oz sighed. Tired he understood. “I get you. I’m nowhere near even a quarter of your age, but tired I get.” He ran a hand through his hair, bracelets clattering softly. “Empty I get.”
This was hard. How do you talk an old vampire out of a funk? When he first met Angel, the vampire had been broody but hopeful. Souled and waiting for his sunshine Slayer and salvation. Oz had been just a dude with a guitar and a junior witch girlfriend. Being turned into a werewolf had given him some perspective, but he wasn’t sure it was enough for Angel. Enough for this really old crisis of faith.
“Spent a lot of time in Tibet trying to get some control. Came back, found out I didn’t have it. Not like I wanted. So I get it. We both go bump in the night. We just don’t want to.” Oz snorted. “And that’s my speech of the decade.”
"Nice speech. You should save it... Use it on someone who gives a damn." Smoothly, Angel stood and maneuvered around the young werewolf. He walked toward the garden door. "Cause I don't..."
Cold and hollow, his voice seemed to echo off the empty walls of the empty room. His empty soul. Angelus laughed, and it made him shivered. Colder and colder. Closer and closer.
The old demon wanted to continue 'bonding' with Oz. He found the werewolf amusing, once the threats stopped. And wouldn't it be fun to draw out the boy's darkness. Werewolves made such nice 'pets' if you could crack them open. Seduce the beast.
Angel pressed his forehead to the glass door, and struggled. "Oz... Yah need to be takin' yahr leave, boy. Go, now. Before it's-" Rubbing his head against the glass, he stared into the night, and whispered. "Please."
“No.” Oz said softly. “You keep telling me to go so you care. Sorry. Not going.” He sniffed the air. How he could smell Angelus, he never knew, but he could. That nasty bastard was way close now. The wolf growled. “You have to still care ‘cause you’re keeping Angelus out.” He crossed over to Angel and, in a move that surprised even himself, laid a hand on the vampire’s arm. “Let me help, Angel. Whatever it takes.”
"Whatever?" Angel felt like his voice. Cracked and strangled.
The heat of Oz's hand, of his pure presence, was searing. And he was so very tired of being cold. In a blur, he twisted and slammed the younger man into the wall, pressing up against him absorbing his heat.
"Whatever? Then help me... Make me feel something. Besides despair. Besides pain. Besides the cold." With each word, he drew nearer and nearer to Oz's mouth, whispering the last against his lips. "Make me feel warm."
~Alpha. Biiiig alpha.~ The wolf laid low on it’s belly and whimpered. “Okay.” Oz whispered back and pressed his lips against Angel’s.
If this was what it took, he’d do it. No hardship here, he was firmly in touch with the liking of men. But Angel needed something more than a simple kiss to drive the darkness away. ~Angelus...~ The wolf whined. Oz hushed it. Angel was far from ‘happy moment’ right now. He pressed the kiss harder, tilting his head back and opening his lips. He could taste the despair on his tongue, feel it in the hands pining his shoulders back.
Angel took what was offered, and wrapped himself in sensation. Warm Oz. Smokey, feral tasting Oz. So very alive Oz. He pressed harder, just on the lighter side of brutal, and deepened the kiss, having to taste everything. All of Oz.
Angel’s fingers shifted and wound themselves into the neck of the werewolf's shirt, and pulled. The shirt separated and fell from the younger man's body with loud rip. In the silence, it sounded like a scream. The demon hissed approvingly, and watched from the back of his brain. Watched and waited.
Growling into Oz's mouth, his fingers started to dance over warm, breathing flesh. It seared him. Even as he broke the kiss, and buried his face in the werewolf's neck, breathing in his scent, licking at his skin.
"Oz... Help me. Make me feel. Something. Anything."
Eyes closed, face drawn into an agony of concern, Oz pressed his cheek against Angel’s hair. Only for a second. Angel needed life, not death. But life was nasty and gritty and sweat-filled. A constant struggle. Visceral.
Small, strong hands wound into Angel’s hair, pulling his head up. Oz smashed his mouth to Angel’s, clicking teeth together, thrusting his tongue in deep. Raising on his toes, he mouthed wet kisses along Angel’s jaw and neck. Yeah, like this. Guitar calloused hands slid down and struggled with the buttons of Angel’s shirt, until, frustrated, Oz ripped it open, buttons flying. He pushed his body against the cool, unyielding one before him.
Life and warmth. It flowed from Oz, and Angel could almost taste it. Angelus could almost taste it. The demon surged forward demanding Angel give him this. Give him Oz. To feed and bath in the bloody warmth of life, and leave broken remains.
Hissing, Angel lifted Oz up, pressing him into the doors behind him. Pressing him against the glass, and stared into his eyes. So deceptively small... A small sun. Harshly burning away the coldness. No, he wasn't going to give Oz to Angelus. He slapped the demon down, and growled low in his throat. No, Oz was for him. Angel crushed his mouth to the young werewolf's, and swept his tongue in, drinking from that fountain. Tasting life. Not hearing the doors strain and crack behind them.
Oz wrapped his arms around Angel’s neck. Wrapped them tight and held on for life, lust, soul and maybe a bit of love. He would sacrifice himself on a hundred alters for this. To make Angel whole after his faith-shaking revelations. To keep Angelus away. To never again face the dark nights of torture and fire and pain that evil bastard brought.
Oz never told anyone, not Devon, certainly not Willow, what he would do if Angelus ever again showed his dark face. But even he had to be shocked by this. This instant acceptance of the heavy body shoving him against the glass. The way his legs wrapped around Angel’s waist. No, not shocked. Glad. Glad he could let go just a bit. Glad he could just *be* and have it work. Glad there was no fear, no worry. Nothing but Angel’s body pressing to his, Angel’s tongue plundering his mouth, Angel’s soul resting in his hands.
Freefalling. It took a moment, a second in time, for Angel to register that the freefalling was a physical sensation and not an emotional one. He hadn't heard the glass shatter under the strain of their combine weight and strength. Twisting mid air, Oz wrapped tightly around him, Angel tried to ensure he would hit ground first, taking most of the impact. And then the ground hit them.
A woof of air escaped Oz’s lips as they hit and hit hard. Angel was mostly under him now. Under him and mirroring his own stunned expression. He quirked a smile. “That was very bodice ripper.”
Angel blinked, and then blinked again. An almost smile almost made it to his face. "If either one of us was wearing a bodice... Maybe."
“Then I won’t tell you about the time Willow made me go clothes shopping at Frederick’s with her. I thought the black one looked good on me.” Oz shrugged.
The movement made Oz hiss. It hurt. A quick check and he felt the sting from the glass. Felt the hot liquid slide of blood down his back, his right arm. Smelt the sharp tang of it in the heavy night air.
Blood scent. Thick in the air mixing softly with night blooming jasmine. It was an assault on more than Angel’s senses. It was an assault on the tattered remains of his very soul. Angelus howled, and he could feel his teeth drop and face ripple. It would be so easy... So easy to give in and take what the demon wanted. What he wanted in all honesty.
Angel flowed, more than moved, upward, gathering Oz into his lap. Again, he wrestled the demon back, and looked deeply into the younger man's eyes. No, what he wanted had to be freely given. He wouldn't wrest the choice from Oz, or himself. Wouldn't let the demon... Wouldn't let Angelus have this. Oz would be Angel's, and by his own word.
"Turn around? Let me taste you?" Deliberately, he made it a question, even though his voice had gone husky with need. Low with want.
Caught in that yellow stare, Oz swallowed. He could feel Angel’s hardness pressing into his ass. Could feel the slight tremors from Angel’s body. He nodded slowly and slid off the vampire’s lap. Glass crunched under him as he turned, legs crossing instinctually into lotus position. He bent his head, necklaces pressing into his chin. Offering not his throat or belly like he would have expected from this ferality, but his back to Angel.
Like a monk in contemplation, Oz sat before Angel, head bowed in offering. So still, he might have been a sculpture for the garden. If not for the pounding race of a heartbeat, or the younger man's scent... Oh gods, his scent. Full of life, blood and promises.
Angel found himself kneeling behind Oz. His knees spread and buried in the dirt on either side of the young werewolf. His thighs tensing as they took most of his weight. Ghosting his hands over porcelain skin, barely touching those deceptively fragile shoulders, Angel leaned over and took in Oz's scent fully. He could feel Oz’s heartbeat jump. Feel a uncontrolled shiver race over his skin. Gently, he tilted the young man's head to the side and dropped a light kiss directly on Oz's pulse line. A thank you and a promise. He'd take nothing that Oz didn't give openly.
Leaning back onto his knees, Angel sighted the wound immediately. High on Oz's shoulder a bit of glass still sticking up out of torn flesh. Glittering in the night. Angel gently plucked the shard free, and fastened his mouth over the wound, that bleed freely. And moaned.
Oz gasped as that cool mouth replaced the pain. Lacquered nails dug at the thighs of his jeans as pleasure replaced fear. He could feel the light scrape of Angel’s fangs on his flesh. Could feel the moans reverberating through his body. His head lolled back until it came to rest on one strong shoulder. The wolf howled, angry at this complacency, at this surrender. He shushed it. He was here to be taken, not to take. To allow, not to refuse. A hitching sigh fluttered through his open mouth, almost a word. Almost a beg.
In the dark corner of his mind, Angelus growled and raged, totally ignored. No, now for was for him. This gift freely given was for Angel, and he was going to savor it. Savor Oz. His blood and his body. Blood in his mouth. Warm and living, he'd forgotten how hot and thick it tasted...
Forgotten the rush. The intoxication of it. Joining them together in the oldest of dances... No, not love, but of prey and predator. But love was there. A part of the mix. How could it not be? Every beast loved it’s prey to some extent. It was just the natural order of things. Angel shook himself loose of the wound, and that path of thought. That way lay madness... And Angelus. No, Oz wasn't prey. He was a gift. A ladder out of hell. An answer to an unspoken prayer. Maybe even his salvation. But not, never, prey.
Bowing his head, Angel lapped at the blood smearing the perfection of warm white skin. A hand snaked around and settled on Oz's denim covered groin, hot and hard beneath his fluttering fingers. Like a shroud, he rested and wrapped himself around the smaller man, pressing his own still trapped erection into Oz's body. Wanting...
His mouth found a delicate ear to nip and whisper into. "Want you. Want to be inside you. Fill you. Like you have me."
Oz shivered again, hips pressing closer to the hand in his crotch. Back arching against the still clad chest behind him. Images of full moons, fangs and white white hands touching him filled his mind at the breath in his ear. Spread naked under the stars, pale bodies moving together, running side by side after. He didn’t know he was so alone until now. Until Angels’ voice captured him.
This time he did beg. “Please.”
He moved onto his hands, ignoring the fresh cuts the glass pressed into his palms, his knees. Pain, blood, life, it was all the same. All they were, even with the corpse of Angelus shadowing them.
A whispered plea. A soft voice that roared inside Angel, searing him again. In a blink, his pants were gone, ripped from his body by his own hands. His fingers blindly found the waistband of Oz's jeans and tore them open, shredding the material until he uncover hot flesh. Touched every inch. Every scalding, maddeningly tantalizing bit of skin. The heaving flanks. The smooth muscular buttocks. The long elegant cock, that fit his hand, as if made just for him. He moaned and shook slightly, running his free hand through Oz's fresh, warm blood. It would do. Ease the way some, or enough, he hoped. He couldn't stop himself now, either way. Hissing, Angel smeared his cock with the blood offering, a benediction of sorts, and started to push inside the inferno of Oz.
Oz snarled involuntarily, the wolf trying one last, desperate time, to come to the foreground. He fought it, nails scrabbling on the ground, glass cutting him further. Seeking some sort of purchase that would calm it, calm him. Lone wolves don’t get to choose. They are chosen. Chosen or rejected. Neither of them, wolf or man, knew it would hurt this much. It never had before. Never felt like he was being split and undone and ...oh... fuuuck... never felt like this. His hips surged back even as he felt the shift of his claws. Saw the night garden flare into sharp black and white relief. He clamped down on his mind, on the wolf. He wasn’t going to let it out any further.
Hand settled on slim hips. Gripping so roughly, it was sure to leave bruises. And Angel didn't care. Other priorities. Other emergent immediacies. Angelus screaming for blood and death. For Angel to rip Oz open from the inside out and feast on the pain and blood. The ecstasy of deconstruction. Destruction. It would be... Both his and Oz's. And some part of Angel wanted that.. Longed for it. The scent of pain and blood, of feral musk, pouring of the young werewolf was only adding fuel to the bonfire. Angelus howled for him to take the boy. Angel growled and agreed with his demon, then laughed slamming the door shut in his brain, blocking the beast. Oz was his... He pulled out and pushed back in, taking Oz, deeper and deeper with each stroke.
"Mine."
Head bowed, claws digging furrows in the dirt, Oz whined. Yeah, he was Angel’s. Wasn’t sure he would, could, be anyone else’s again. Even if Angel kicked him out later, he would never *belong* like this again. He rocked back, meeting each punishing thrust. Feeling Angel tell him, with his body, he understood. His shaking arms gave out and he fell forward, barely stopping his face from hitting the glass. The new angle tore a cry out of his throat. A cry that faded to a keen of pleasure.
The keening cry cut through Angel's madness. He almost thought his heart would beat for that sound. It cut him down, and grounded him at the same instant. Grounded him in Oz. Oz was his, and now, now he was becoming Oz's. Moaning, he thrusted faster, burning hotter with each cry and shudder from his Oz, each stroke. Feeling almost alive.
Oz felt it, growls rumbling up from his chest. Felt it crackling along his nerves like lightning. Felt it uncoil in his belly like a snake.
“Yours...” he gasped out, before his orgasm slammed into him fully. Head tossed back, a scream becoming a howl.
It came rushing at Angel, like his own howling demon, though it wasn't... because he was falling, not down, but up. Up out of darkness into light. Up out of pain into pleasure. Up out of hell. Synched with the body wrapped around him, Angel's own shuddered and seized, dancing with Oz in orgasm. Their howls mingling together, as they joined each other in release.
Slowly, dimly, Oz became aware again. Aware his throat hurt. Aware his knees and hands hurt. Aware he was only wearing his jewelry and tennis shoes. Now, that *had* to look interesting. He was more aware, however, of the heavy, cool form of Angel draped over his back. He shook his head, feral features sliding away. He sniffed and then a small grin lit his face. Yeah, it was Angel.
“A..” He cleared his throat. “Angel?” His voice was raw and small.
"Yeah.." Yes, he was Angel. Angelus was so far away, he could barely hear him. He was Angel, and he felt lighter than he had in centuries. Full of light. Full of life.
Nuzzling the back of Oz's neck briefly, he whispered softly. "You saved me..." The words were difficult. He was almost overwhelmed by how close he'd danced to oblivion. His moment of perfect despair. Overwhelmed with gratitude for this fearless man who brought him back. Drug him out of hell. "Thank you."
Angel gathered Oz to him, and stood, cradling the slight man in his arms. A crooked smile at the picture they must present. Bruised, bloody, and the shredded tatters of their clothes.
Oz gave him a wry grin in return. “Doing the bodice ripper thing again, huh?” He laid his head on one broad shoulder. “You’re welcome. Kinda a mutual saving thing.”
It might not have been fire-and-brimstone hell, but Oz realized his solitude had, at the least, been Purgatory. Just one step and he would have fallen. It scared him to think he had let it get that bad. Never again. He wasn’t going back to that life. ~That way lies madness. Thank you obscure Lit 101 guy.~
"Mutual is good." Angel nodded, still unable, and mostly unwilling, to wipe the grin completely from his face. He shrugged his arms, gently bouncing Oz once. "Do you mind? The bodice ripper thing? Kinda a product of my time..."
Oz chuckled. “No. Forgive me the lack of flowing locks. Though I could work up a good swoon.” He looked at Angel’s face. “Smiling is a good look for you.”
"Swooning is highly overrated... But hey, if you want to..." The grin on his face threatened to blossom into a full smile, and Angel didn't even try to fight it. Turning he started up the steps, frowning at the shattered door briefly, muttering. "Gonna have to get that fixed."
"Think I'll settle for a sigh and an ow." Oz shifted a bit. "Never broke the building before." He paused and cocked his head in thought. "Well, not that way. Much less fur this time."
Not wanting to address the question of damage, Angel nodded, and continued up the staircase towards his room. He caused a lot of damage in his time, to people and things, and if he had slip tonight, it could have been so much worse. Damage. Damaged people and damaged lives. His own damaged soul. Through the open door, he carried Oz and laid him gently on the bed. He fetched a wash cloth and a basin of warm water, and wandered back to Oz, lost in pensive contemplation.
"How badly did I... How hurt are you?" He asked quietly.
Oz paused, halfway through removing his shoes. He looked up at Angel and frowned at what he saw. The return of the brood. “You didn’t. The door did.” He tossed his shoes aside. “It’s not that bad. Cuts and scrapes. Werewolf remember? Be healed up by morning. Just keep me away from possessed French doors and Italian glass.”
"See what I can do..." A shadow of the grin, ghosted back across his face. Placing the basin on the nightstand, Angel sat on the bed next to Oz, holding the washcloth in offering. "May I?"
Oz rolled over onto his stomach. "You may."
He inspected his palms while Angel worked. He picked a few pieces of glass out and laid them on the nightstand. He wondered if the gash on his shoulder, by far the worst, would obscure any of the nail/claw marks Veruca left. Probably not. Nothing short of claws and silver scarred him much anymore. He sighed and laid his head down on the pillow, carefully holding his bloody palms off the covers.
Gently, Angel cleaned the blood and glass from the young werewolf's back and body. He moved slowly and gingerly, seeing to Oz, taking care with him. The wounds were already closing, though Oz winced softly at his examination of the worst. The shoulder.
"I'm sorry... “
“S’okay.” Oz gave him a soft smile. “Morning, gone, remember? It won’t stick around. Pretty inconsequential considering everything else tonight.” He chuckled. “Pretty inconsequential considering everything. Grand schemes and such. Did I mention I get quite chatty after sex?”
"No. No, you didn't..." Angel looked at him, amused by his verboseness. "Doesn't matter? Inconsequential?" His face smoothed out as he contemplated Oz's words outloud, concluding with absolute rock solid certainty. "It doesn't... In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter. Nothing does. There is no grand plan. No big wins, and no glorious final battles.”
Angel suddenly smiled, wide and full of light, as things started to connect inside him. "Uhm, turn over? Let me look at your hands... So, if nothing we do matters? Maybe- Maybe all that matters is what we do?"
Oz dutifully turned over and sat up, holding out his hands. “Well, yeah. I mean, what you do is the real reflection. What you do is who you are. Powers That Be and all that..” He shrugged, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter. Random Acts, butterflies and hurricanes, it’s the small things, actions, that count.”
Oz smiled crookedly at the transformation on Angel’s face. “Guessing you got that, huh?”
"I- I think so..." Angel ducked his head, bending over the younger man's hands, scoping the damage and dabbing away the blood. "Yeah, I think I'm an idiot... Finally getting the point. If there is no greater point or meaning, if there is no deep meaning to this all, then the small acts- those of kindness, are the more precious and rare. Cause that's all there is..."
Gently, he set Oz's hand down, and looked him deeply in the eyes. "Thank you. That random act... Finding me when you did, saved me. My life and soul such as it is..."
“Life and soul are right where they belong.” Oz whispered, feeling a bit embarrassed at the words that seemed to just fall out of his mouth. What happened to being Quiet Enigmatic Guy? “You’re welcome. Just glad you answered the phone.”
"In your hands..." Picking up once again the small delicate hands, he kissed Oz's healing wounds. "Phone?" He inquired, puzzled at the last quiet comment.
Green eyes locked on brown. Angel had his life and soul as surely as the vampire claimed Oz had his. “Again with the mutual here.” He said, a bit breathless from what he saw in those eyes. He snapped back to clarity. “Um. Phone. Yeah. I called, remember?”
"Oz..." Angel blinked, unsure how to go on, unsure of anything that second, except for the full body shiver that raced through him. He shook his head, in denial, trying to loose the creeping feeling. "Oz, I ripped out the phone lines... Two days ago. No calls. No call."
“But I...” Oz stared. His hands tightened on Angel’s involuntarily. “It was your voice. You gave me directions and hung up. I could tell something was wrong by... your... voice.” Oz spoke slowly, eyes wide and confused. He couldn’t help but look around, hackles wanting to rise. “I’m getting a major wiggins here.”
"Crisis of faith..." Whispering less the gods hear him, Angel look at Oz in wonder. "Maybe belief in a greater plan, a greater good, isn't required, as long as it believes in you. I don't know... I don't much of anything right now. Except- Except, that I want to help. Help people. Not for the reward, but because if there is no higher meaning, then the now is more important than anything. And it needs to be taken care of..." He freed a hand and brushed his fingertips across Oz's face, barely touching the skin. "Cherished."
“Yeah.” Oz pressed his face into that ghosting hand. “Thank you.” He muttered. To who, Angel, himself or *them* he didn’t know. He knew Angel’s Hell and his Purgatory were over, however. “It’s what you do, who you are. And they need you.”
"And you." Angel pressed his lips softly to Oz's, almost chastely.
Angel had no idea what the future held, except for hard work and hard choices. He didn't really care... He was on the path again, and he'd get back his family. His life. Because they were what was important. Wesley. Cordelia. Gunn. And Oz. Somewhere. Somehow. In his little world, his little scheme of things, Oz would stay and they would help each other... While they helped the helpless.
The End
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