Building Serenity. Wes and Angel find their own peace. Incredibly fluffy, especially the last bit. Almost overwhelming cuteness, even.

If Wishes Were Horses

Angel stood in the center of the stable and just inhaled, filling his being with the scent of Horse. It had been so long since he'd been around the beasts, he'd almost forgotten. Almost forgotten the way that his pony, the one Father had given to him as a child, had butted him in the chest whenever he thought that his master wasn't paying enough attention to him, or the way the much larger horse he'd had as an adult would sooth him after a late night and too much whiskey with a gentle whicker of greeting when he heard Liam's footsteps on the hard-packed dirt of the floor.

He reached out one tentative hand to touch the glossy coat of the nearest horse, and was almost surprised when it didn't move away. He shouldn't have been surprised- horses had always liked him, and even when he was Angelus they'd taken to him well, better than most vampires. Horses were smart creatures- they knew a predator when they saw one, and still they'd always been comfortable around the worst predator of them all.

He gently smoothed one hand down the shining neck, glancing down at the plaque on the stall door. Dancer. A fanciful name for a black beast like this one, the size of a large truck, with a huge and almost brutish head. He let himself into the stall, and saw that despite the animal's size he was beautifully put together, an athlete rather than a draft horse. This one was meant to follow the hounds, Angel was sure.

It took him longer than it should have to get Dancer (who on Earth had named him?) groomed and tacked, but then again, he was working in an unfamiliar barn. He led the horse out of the barn and into the weak sunshine, softened by the mist of rain that drifted down from a gray sky, and mounted as soon as he was clear of the constraints of the stable's ceilings, high as they were.

The green field ahead of him beckoned, and he rode in an ever-increasing circle, letting his body remember the rhythms of a horse's stride. He let Dancer increase his speed to a trot, and then to a controlled canter, and finally to a long, wild gallop down the length of the field, bent low over his neck and smiling as the wind lashed his skin. He brought Dancer back to a slow canter with little difficulty, and looped around to head back to the barn.

He saw immediately that another rider was waiting for him, and as he drew closer he realized that it was Wes, mounted on a long-legged but undeniably elegant chestnut mare. Wes was smiling, and his entire face seemed to be lit up by the curve of his lips.

"When you said that we should go to Ireland for our vacation," Wes said as soon as Angel was in earshot, "I wasn't entirely surprised. When you said that you wanted to explore the countryside, look for some old haunts, I wasn't at all surprised. But I have to admit- this surprised me."

"You look comfortable enough on horseback," Angel pointed out.

"Of course I am," Wesley said, as if that had never been in question. "My father was very old-fashioned, and an avid foxhunter. I learned to ride almost before I had learned to walk."

Angel noticed that there was nothing but pleasure in his face at the remembrance, despite the fact that it involved his father, and filed that away for later. "This one's a foxhunter," he said, gesturing down at his mount's neck. "Must have been named by someone's little girl, though."

"What is it?" Wesley asked, already on the verge of laughter as several names flashed through his head- Angel could see the thoughts behind his eyes, plain as day.

"Dancer," Angel said with a straight face, and Wesley held on hand up to his mouth to stifle his chuckles.

"This lady here is almost as bad," he said, still smiling, when his laughter had died down. "Someone named her Hades."

"The Greek god of the Underworld?" Angel asked. "Why the hell would anyone call a lovely mare like her something like that?"

"Same reason someone would call that bruiser Dancer, I suppose," Wesley said. "Trying unsuccessfully to turn reality into fantasy."

"Sounds to me like they should switch names," Angel said, ignoring the sadness in Wesley's voice, and knowing that this time the memory of his father was definitely a bad one. "She looks like a Dancer to me."

"And he looks like a Hades," Wesley said, "but we can't rename them. They don't belong to us."

"They could," Angel said. "It's not like we're lacking for money, these days."

Wesley's expression, in that first instant, was so intensely wistful that Angel felt a pain in his chest, where his heart didn't beat, but then he seemed to cast it aside, and shook his head. "We could hardly have anywhere to keep them, not in the middle of Los Angeles."

"So we get a house outside of LA," Angel promised rashly. "Nice big place, plenty of land, place to build a barn."

"Angel, we work in a law firm downtown," Wesley protested. "We can't just move into a farmhouse and ignore our responsibilities." The look in his eyes said that he was worried about something else, though.

"We won't," Angel said. "We'll commute. Besides, that's not what you're upset about anyway. If it was just that, you'd be making plans right now, because you know better to think that's actually a problem. So what is it, Wes?" Wesley was silent. "You know you can tell me. You gotta tell me, if you want me to fix it."

"It's just..." His voice, trailed off, then grew stronger and he said the rest firmly. "You said that 'we' should get a place. I wonder if you really mean that, or if it was just a manner of speech."

Oh. So that was it. "I meant it, Wes," Angel said. "Why would you think I didn't? You're practically living with me anyway- you don't exactly go back to your apartment that often except to get another week's worth of laundry or maybe a rare book- and I haven't complained yet, have I?"

"Well, not until I started leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor, to see if I could get a rise out of you," Wes pointed out. "But yes, I see your point. Still, asking me to buy a house with you is a very serious business, and I wasn't sure-"

Angel cut him off by leaning over precariously and planting a kiss on his lips. "I'm very serious about you, Wes," he said, knowing that it wasn't exactly what he wanted to say, but it would have to do. "Very serious."

"Oh," Wesley said, and blushed faintly. But he also smiled, and it was a silly and secretive sort of smile, the smile that said he was busy hugging some wonderful thought to himself, and Angel couldn't help but smile back.

Curiosity Killed the Cat

"I never figured you for a cat person, Wes," Angel said. He stared bemusedly at Wesley, who was crouched down in the pouring rain, clutching a bedraggled half-grown alley cat to his chest. "Of course, I never figured you for being insane enough to go house-hunting in the middle of a rainstorm, so I suppose that anything is possible."

"It wasn't raining when we left," Wes pointed out. He stood up and wrapped the cat in his jacket to protect it from the rain, and probably soaking his shirt in the process. Angel scowled at the cat's head, where it poked up from inside Wesley's jacket.

"You were the one who insisted that we keep going, though," Angel said. "Why was that again?"

"Because I was sure that the perfect house was right around the corner, metaphorically speaking," Wes said, gesturing at the wide expanse of land that surrounded them. "And I was right. This is it."

Angel looked around him, then looked at the house. It didn't look all that different from the other houses they'd visited that day. "How can you tell?"

"This fellow was an omen," Wesley said, stroking the cat between its ears. "We're at the right place."

Angel stared at the cat for another long moment. "Uh-huh."

"Stop being a prat and get the damned key," Wes said. "I'd like to not stand here much longer, if you don't mind."

"Fine," Angel said, since he couldn't argue with getting out of the rain, and dug the key out of his pocket. He trudged up the steps, unlocked the door, and went inside.

Then stopped dead, and just stared.

It was incredible. It was open and airy, without being overly spacious. The floor in the foyer was hardwood, a rich dark brown, and the furniture and walls were all decorated in soothing earth tones that seemed to quiet some of the white noise in his head just to look at them. He moved a few steps down the hall and poked his head through the door at his left, discovering a small but cozy kitchen with a little four-person breakfast table and a more formal dining room adjoining. Angel could picture breakfasts with Wes at that little table, and maybe even dinners sometimes, with all their friends together in the dining room. Hopefully a dinner that someone else had cooked.

Moving on, he discovered large windows gracing almost an entire wall in the living room to their right, which gave Angel pause until Wes murmured, "Necro-tempered glass," at his back. He frowned a little bit more, since he was still working his way up to enjoying what he had installed in his office, then decided that he could install curtains and argue it out with Wes later. Arguments were always worth it, as long as they weren't arguing over something that was actually serious- they usually ended in noisy and enjoyable sex.

And with that thought in mind, he wandered down the hall in search of the bedroom. This was the deal breaker, in his mind- he could live wherever the hell with Wes, as long as it had a decent bedroom. Some people might like spontaneity and lots of sex on any and every surface in the house (Spike, his mind supplied helpfully), but Angel appreciated the value of a good bed, and he knew damn well that after a long battle or even a long day at the office all he wanted was a comfortable bed and a room to enjoy it in.

He stopped in the doorway to admire the room when he found it, and tried to quash the voice at the back of his mind that said he owed Wes big for this, for ignoring his complaining and continuing on into the rain. He even owed that damn cat for being there, because Wes might not have stopped otherwise, and then they wouldn't have found this.

"I'm guessing that you've decided to take it," Wes said dryly, from behind him. Angel turned slowly, and saw him still holding the cat, which was now dry, courtesy probably of the damp towel that Wes held in his other hand. "You look like you've discovered the Holy Grail."

"The rest of the house is beautiful," Angel said, "that I will not argue. But you will understand once you have seen this bedroom."

Wesley looked amused and the cat somehow condescending, but Wes nonetheless leaned closer and peered over Angel's shoulder to look through the doorway.

"Oh," Wesley said. "You're right. When can we buy it?"

"I told you," Angel said smugly. "We have the beautiful and classy yet warm and cozy house, but the bedroom... Did you see that bed? I could get lost in that bed. And it's red and black. Red and black satin, Wes. Have you ever slept on satin sheets before?"

"Actually, I have," Wes said calmly. "I doubt you want to hear about it, though." When Angel just stared at him, looking deeply confused, Wes sighed and said, "Lilah," as if that explained it all.

Which it did, but rather than letting that ruin his enjoyment of their soon-to-be-new-home, Angel just shrugged it off and nodded to the cat instead. "He seems to like you."

Wesley smiled, the warm one that Angel always felt right at the bottom of his chest, and stroked that cat with a soothing hand, from ears to tail. "He does, doesn't he?" Wes seemed to be delighted by the fact, and Angel felt a little of his getting-Wesley-wet inspired dislike for the cat fade away. "Cats seem to take to me; I'm not sure why."

"Could be because you obviously like them just as much," Angel said, and kept his private observation to himself. Didn't say that he thought that maybe the cats liked him because he was just like them- often self-contained but still warm, and sometimes playful, and sometimes a predator, but always loving to his favored person.

Which happened to be Angel, who wasn't complaining at all.

And since he didn't mind, he stepped a bit closer and raised a tentative hand, as if to pet the cat himself. The cat raised its head, visibly tensed- and then after a moment relaxed and stretched its neck out to butt its head against Angel's hand.

Angel stroked the cat gently, and smiled almost shyly at Wesley when it purred. Angel saw the way that Wesley watched him pet the cat, and said, "We're keeping him, aren't we?"

"Oh, absolutely," Wesley said, and moved until he could lean against Angel. Angel wrapped his arms around him, almost without thinking, and Wesley tilted his head back to smile at him. "Is that a problem?"

"Not at all," Angel said, and smiled back when Wesley's hand linked with his.

Man's Best Friend

"So we thought that you should have some sort of present from us, for when you move into your new home," Fred said with a proud smile on her face, and Angel wanted to smile back but found himself absolutely frozen in shock as he stared at the wriggling little bundle that Fred held cradled in her arms.

"You got us a puppy," he said, his voice flat, and was just grateful that it didn't crack in his overwhelming shock. "Fred, you got me a puppy."

"Well, yes," Fred said, and behind her Gunn snorted. When Angel continued to stare at her, she offered weakly, "It sounded like a good idea at the time."

"Fred, what am I supposed to do with a puppy?" Angel asked patiently. Perhaps too patiently, because he saw Fred glance nervously over her shoulder at Gunn, who shook his head, and then over to Lorne, who held up his hands as if to say that he was staying out of it. "I don't know anything about puppies."

"You didn't know anything about home improvement, either," Wesley said as he came up behind him, "and look how well that's turning out."

Angel turned to look at Wesley, who was looking far too smug for Angel's peace of mind. "You're not helping here, you know," he said. "You could at least pretend to take my side."

"Now why would I do that?" Wes said, smirking a little, and Angel vowed to get him later, and do something nasty to him. Possibly even nasty in a not-good way.

"Angel, take the puppy," he said, slightly more seriously. "He's not going to kill you. He might, by some godforsaken chance in Hell, actually manage to stop brooding for more than ten seconds at a time."

"I wasn't brooding for a lot longer than that last night," Angel said in revenge for Wes' teasing, and was rewarded by the slight blush that rose to the Englishman's cheeks. "Besides, what does a puppy have to do with me not brooding?"

"Man, I defy you to look at a puppy and brood," Gunn said, speaking up for the first time. "It just ain't possible." When Angel just looked at him with a total lack of comprehension, Gunn shook his head and said, "Swear to God, man, have you ever actually come in contact with the damn things?"

"Once," Angel told him. "In the twenties. I saved it from a car and gave it back to the woman who owned it, then had to run off to keep from eating her."

"Okay, so not such good associations, maybe," Fred chimed in. "But still, she'll melt your heart. She's a heart-melter if ever I saw one."

"Gotta go with Fredikins on this one, ace," Lorne added. "You'll take one look at this sweetie and lose your heart."

Angel was going to back away, possibly followed by running away, and find a way to never bring up this conversation again, but then Fred fixed him with this look she sometimes did, and said, "Hold out your hands." He complied, because really, who could refuse Fred when she had the Look? And before he knew it, she'd deposited the puppy into his outstretched hands.

The puppy was tiny, dwarfed by his large palms, and she sat there blinking at him, her ridiculously long lashes fluttering. Her coat was a rich sable brown, and her eyes were melted chocolate, and she stared at him with sleepy trust. When she yawned her tiny little pink tongue curled in behind tinier shiny white teeth, and when she'd closed her mouth she curled up, nose to tail, like being suspended in the air in the hands of a vampire was the safest place in the world to take a nap.

Angel fell instantly in love.

He cradled her against his chest, blind to the amusement of his companions, then brought her closer to his face so he could stare at her. He'd made the movements as slow as he could, but she still woke back up and sat up again, and when he stared at her with stricken eyes, immeasurably upset at interrupting her nap, she managed to lean far enough forward to lick the tip of his nose.

"Her name is Sweetheart," Fred told him, her voice a little quieter than usual. "We got her from the pound this morning. She's a mixed breed of some sort, no one knows what, and she's up to date on all her shots and everything. She's all yours, if you want her."

"She's his," Wes answered for Angel, when the vampire didn't respond. "I don't even have to ask him."

Angel surfaced a little, and glanced over at Wes. "I notice that you aren't attached to your own particular furry companion."

"Rain is in my office," Wes said, and Angel couldn't help but smile every time he heard that name, knowing that Wes was just sappy enough to name his cat after the weather the night they found their perfect house. Then he thought of something else.

"Aren't you worried he's gonna wreck everything like he did last time?"

"Spike's watching him," Wes said calmly, as if that explained anything, as if that statement made any sort of logical sense in any universe. "I'm sure he's taking care of him."

"You let Spike watch your cat?" Angel said, and wasn't even ashamed when his voice cracked a little on Spike's name. "Are you insane?"

"Actually, Spike's quite good with animals," Fred put in before Wes could answer. "In the not-eating-them sense, I mean," she added hastily. "He went with me to pick Sweetie out. He's the one who pointed her out first, actually. Said she'd be perfect for you."

Angel closed his eyes and tried very, very hard not to think about the fact that he owed Spike, because Spike had picket out his pet. Then Sweetie licked his nose again, and he decided it was worth it, and he smiled.

He felt Wes' fingers lace with his behind his back, where no one else could see, not like everyone in the damn law firm didn't know about the two of them anyway. Wes smiled back at him, and after taking a moment to get lost in his eyes, Angel decided that not only was owing Spike worth it for this moment, it also didn't matter.

What else, on this Earth, could ever matter when Wes was smiling at him because he loved him?