"Angel."

It wasn't a question, simply a statement of his name, and as the vampire
recognized the voice on the phone, feelings rose in him and concern laced
his voice.

"Oz? What's wrong?" Angel stood at his desk, walking around it to leave his
office.

"Can I....nevermind." the line went dead and Angel swore loudly, causing
Cordelia to look up from her desk.

"Who was that? A new client?" she asked absentmindedly.

Angel ignored her, hurrying down the stairs. He punched *69 on the cell he
was carrying, and listened as the recording listed a number. Pressing 1 to
call it back, he waited as it rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And finally was picked up. "'lo..." Oz's voice said slowly, as though he
were speaking through molasses.

"Oz? Where are you?" Angel said, utterly failing to conceal the concern in
his tone.

"In."

The vampire waited, knowing there would be more.

"My......van." Oz said. He felt numb. He knew where he was, but somehow
couldn't express himself as usual. Well, he was pretty silent most of the
time, but it was never hard to talk. Now it was. Something had snapped in
him, after the Willow/Veruca fiasco, and he just felt.....slow. And
depressed. Not knowing what else to do, who else to turn to, he'd called
Angel.

All through high school, well, at least since he'd gotten involved with the
Scooby gang, Angel had been what Oz had thought about when things got too
rough. He thought about how much the vampire had been through, and how he
was still trying, even after all the crap.

But now.....

"Oz? I'm coming to get you." Angel said, slightly irrational, seeing as how
he only knew that Oz was in his van. The detective moved smoothly back up
the stairs and out into the Los Angeles night, not noticing that Cordelia
had gone in the interim.

He turned into a side street near the Hyperion and came upon a parked
Econoline van. There had to be more than one in the city, but Angel gambled
on it being Oz's, and he was right.

Putting away his cell phone, Angel opened the drivers side door of the van
and barely caught Oz as he slid out, his body limp. The vampire slipped his
hand under the smaller man's knees, lifting him to his chest and cradling
him like a child.

Oz's eyes slowly opened and took a bit to focus on Angel's face, when they
did, the musician smiled. "Angel." just before his eyes rolled back in his
head and he dropped into unconciousness.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Back in the building, Angel took Oz down to his bedroom and laid his gently
on the fourposter, removing his shoes and the overshirt he wore over the
white teeshirt. He allowed himself to caress the hard muscles of Oz's chest
before cursing himself and moving to an armchair where he picked up a book
of poems and began to read.

Several hours later, he sensed movement from the bed and walked over there.
Oz sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Angel." This time it was a question.

"What's going on, Oz? Your hair's not dyed, your nails aren't polished for
once, and where are those slogan teeshirts I'm so accustomed to seeing on
you?" Angel said softly, sitting on the side of the bed.

To his surprise, but slight pleasure, the natural brunette began to cry,
curling up on his chest, clutching at his thin wifebeater. Not knowing what
else to do, Angel wrapped his arms around Oz, and let him cry out the months
of anger, sorrow, and pain.

^^^^^^^^^

Still more hours later, they sat across from each other, silent, Oz watching
as Angel painted his nails with the latest shade, a pale blue that was,
appropriately enough, named Angelic.



THE END.