Title: The Torn Dollar

Author: Dollar Bill (hee)

Email: Goldy05403@yahoo.com

Pairing: Lilah/Wes with hints of Wes/Fred and Lilah/Angel

Disclaimer: Sometimes called the only good part of 'Tomorrow' Wes and Lilah were never done wrong by the writers at ME, much as it pains me to admit.

Spoilers: Major spoilers for 'Home' as well as most of S4.

A/N: My first Lilah/Wes fic. Be gentle. *g*

A/N 2: New spoiler sources say that Lilah may be back next year! Woo hoo!

Dedication: To DG for putting those two together in the first place. Glad the man is currently enjoying unemployment but… he *did* write 'Tomorrow,' as bad as the rest of the episode was. To Alexis Denisof and Stephanie Romanov for being fantastic actors with hot, HOT chemistry. If they even THINK of giving JM AD's place in the credits… I'll kill Joss. I really will. Most importantly to Laura (aka. Salix Ardens) for reading and betaing this fic, despite the fact that she now thinks my head is a very scary place. If you like wonderful Willow/Tara fic, go check her out!

Wesley crouched down to light the final candle. It was on his night table by his double bed, surrounded by the soft glow of the other candles. His small room, on floor 3 Section G of Wolfram & Hart, was covered in the glow of softly licking flames. The room smelled faintly of lilies and daffodils. Soft music played in the background and a bottle of champagne lay waiting on the kitchen table.

He sat down heavily on the bed and looked wearily at his watch. He had five minutes. She was coming at nine… and lawyers were nothing but punctual.

For not the first time that night he wondered just what the hell he was doing. Whatever the fuck his relationship with Lilah was… it wasn't romantic. There was no poetry, no soft music, and certainly no gift of champagne lying on the table.

He and Lilah played a game. It was always to see who would break first, whose stony countenance would crack. Let a little feeling in, a little emotion, and you lost. That was the game he played with Lilah. To give her flowers and chocolate would make him lose.

She knocked on the door. Serene, but with a loud impatience all the same. Lilah was a woman that knew what she wanted and how to get it. She never lost.

But then… Wesley knew that he was the first thing she'd ever learned to care about. And maybe, maybe that changed something.

Though, now that she was more or less a walking corpse, their relationship was back to being a little bit greyer than Good hitting Rock Bottom and doing Evil.

He answered it slowly, knowing that she hated to be left waiting.

He opened the door, his damn eyes softening (shit) at the sight of her. She was wearing a black mini-skirt and the top buttons on her white blouse were left open. She was sultry and sexy—she was Lilah Morgan.

She took one look into the room and snorted. "Oh, Wesley. Wesley, Wesley, Wesley. You're getting attached. I knew this would happen eventually."

He regarded her stonily. "If you don't want it, turn and walk away."

Lilah pretended to ponder it for a minute. "Sounds good," she answered after a pause, turning her back.

He lunged after her, grabbing her by the arm. "Come the fuck in, Lilah

She grinned and turned slowly around to face him. "I knew the bad boy was in there somewhere. This is just never going to work if you start serenading me."

Wesley shut the door behind her, leaned against it for a minute. "This has enough trouble working, as it is."

Lilah chuckled, circling the room. "My, my, my," she said appraisingly. "You really did go all out."

Wesley blinked. "Your cold dead heart is probably warming up to it."

She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Gee, that was almost sweet."

Wesley snorted, moving deftly over to the champagne bottle and popping the cork with quick hands. He took a long drink from the end of the bottle, inwardly cursing the sudden nervousness he felt, before passing it to Lilah. "Ladies first."

She grinned and took the bottle and wine glass that he handed her. She perched herself on the table, elegantly cradling the glass between two painted fingernails. "So what's up with this, Wes?"

He practically grabbed at the champagne bottle when she handed it back his way. He fumbled nervously at his collar. Far away, his voice was making a reply, "I thought I'd try something different before fucking your brains out." Her question was something that he, himself, had been pondering upon getting all the romantics. Which he had, incidentally, borrowed (stole… but that was beside the point) from Angel—happiness curse or not, the vampire did know something about the art of seduction.

She had one chiselled eyebrow raised in the air, trying to figure out if she was amused or turned on by the reply. Probably some mixture of the both, Wesley supposed.  She'd once told him, or at least his head saw her tell him, that they'd never know if what they had was love. Some part of Wesley had been relieved by the statement—another part deeply regretted her loss.

Now she was back.

Glancing at the gaping outline of a closed wound on her throat, Wesley frowned. As back as one could be. And some deluded part of his brain, the same part connected to his dick no doubt, thought that maybe it was time to *try* this, whatever it was.

He still carried a dollar bill in his pocket.

He took it out now, smoothed it down on the table that she could see it. Lilah looked at in surprise before glancing back at him. She laughed and jumped down from the table. "No. Why can't you get it through your head? You *CAN'T* save me. NOTHING can save me. I'm here because of that. You and me… you, you need someone that's ultimately good. Fred."

"This isn't about Fred," Wesley answered quickly, too quickly.

Lilah immediately picked up on it. Her eyes hardened. "Everything comes down to Fred for you, Wesley. She's perky and bright and fights the good fight. You'll never tell her that you did me for months—and enjoyed it. That you still want me, that you grieved for me when Cordelia killed me."

Wesley smiled very slowly, stalking towards her where her chest was heaving with exertion. He leaned in dangerously. "Lilah… you're almost jealous."

Her eyes flared and she slammed her champagne glass back on the table. She picked up the dollar bill, tore it in half, dropped it, and squished it with the toe of her boot. Wesley watched in dispassionate silence. "This," she said quietly. "Is what we are."

Wesley glanced at her. "You owe me a dollar."

Lilah chuckled, looking at him approvingly. "I'm not jealous. You and Fred would never work… your real personality would eventually shine through."

Wesley felt himself getting irritated. "Don't you think," he said in a tight voice, "we've progressed past the point of petty insults? I can't faze you," Wesley smirked, his eyes letting her know that he *could* and *had* fazed her. "And you certainly can't faze me."

Lilah examined her nails, pretending that she hadn't heard a word of what he'd said. Wesley decided that was fine with him, she would answer when she deemed it appropriate. He rolled his head back and forth, stretching his neck and slowly started unbuttoning the collar of his shirt.

Lilah watched him silently. "I do care about you," she finally admitted.

Wesley concentrated on his buttons. "I know." He looked back at her, "I just don't know how much."

She shrugged, looking off into space. "Beats me. I'm evil, remember? I can't love."

"Can't… or won't?"

"Shut up, Wesley," she snapped. "You're not my fucking shrink and don't you dare get ahead of yourself."

He sighed. "I guess we'll never know."

Lilah squinted. "What the hell are you blithering about?"

Wesley refused to answer the question. He knew that she had been there that time—before he had raised that axe over her head. He knew that she probably couldn't remember it, and that it had been some kind of image he'd dreamed up in his head. It didn't change it, though. Everything that she'd said was true.

Lilah poured herself another glass of champagne. "Good stuff," she told him. "Nice and light—romantic."

She was making fun of him, he knew it, and he wouldn't rise to the bait. Where did that leave them? They pretended to hate each other, and they'd never know if they loved each other. He slipped his shirt off and folded it neatly and slowly to give himself more time to think. He placed it at the end of the bed and stood up, finding himself face to face with Lilah.

"What?" she smiled. "You think that you could bring me here, give me a little drink, play a little music, and I'd fall straight into your bed?"

"I think you'd fall straight into my bed if I lived out in the middle of a shit field, "Wesley answered mildly.

Lilah nodded approvingly, her fingers beginning to tease open the top of her blouse. "I think I'm beginning to really like you, Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

"Shut up, Lilah."

****

Wesley awoke sharply in the middle of the night. He turned over slowly, not in the least bit surprised to find Lilah still curled up next to him. The only time she was remotely affectionate was after sex.

Plus, she was always tired.

He watched her a moment in fascination. Her chest didn't move up and down under the sheet, but her skin was slightly flushed and warm to his touch. A little more than a walking corpse—Wesley reflected ironically.

Tenderly, he traced a lock of hair behind her ear and wondered, vaguely, what it would be like to be in a real relationship with Lilah Morgan. Would he ever see a warm, kind side to her? Was it possible that his love could change her into a better person?

He brooded into the quiet night before climbing silently out of the bed. He threw on his boxers and stumbled into the bathroom. Lilah never stirred—she was a sound sleeper. Always elegant, even in slumber. Wesley had never heard so much as a snore or moan pass her lips.

He stared at himself in the mirror, touching the rough stubble on his chin. He knew he could probably use a shave. He splashed some water on his face, knowing that he wouldn't go near a razor. He stared back into his face in the mirror and thought.

Wesley wondered what it would be like to watch Fred sleep for hours. It would be endlessly fascinating to him, to see her chest move up and down with her slow breathing. He wanted desperately to know whether she snored or talked in her sleep. He wanted to see her hair splayed out around her pillow, getting messier as the night wore on.

Gunn intimately knew how Fred slept. Though, whether Gunn had ever taken the time to really watch, to really learn how his lover slept was another question altogether.

Wesley walked back into the room, unsurprised to find Lilah sitting up in bed and calmly staring at him. She was unashamed at her nudity, not bothering to hide anything as she lit a cigarette. She puffed at it while staring at him.

"I've never seen you smoke before, Lilah," he remarked, leaning against the bathroom's doorway.

Her hands shook slightly as she took the cigarette out of her mouth. "I smoke when I'm dealing with a particularly gruelling case. Or after sex."

Wesley didn't miss her implication in the last sentence. After sex with people that weren't him. "I don't want that in here."

"Oh, Wesley," Lilah chastised in the smug tone that she knew drove him crazy. "After everything—still believes smoking is evil."

Wesley took three steps to the bed, tore the cigarette out of her mouth and mashed it against the wall. "I said, I didn't want that in here."

Lilah leaned back and looked him up and down, clearing admiring him. "You're pissing me off."

"Those things will…" Wesley trailed off. "Kill you," he finished, somewhat lamely.

"Yeah," Lilah acknowledged. "Amazingly, so will a little piece of wood, if jabbed at your throat. Life is short, Wes. And it sucks. Have a cigarette."

 "I'm glad you learned something from making a pact with the devil," Wesley snapped, feeling the old anger creep its way into his blood.

Lilah sighed and settled back into bed. She beckoned to him. "Still a few more hours until we have to go back to the daily grind. You could maybe… I don't know… hold me, or something."

Wesley softened a little and climbed in next to her. He gathered her up into his arms, the movement almost gentle and loving. She quickly fell asleep, clearly relaxed in his bed. He stared into the darkness wondering.

Was it love?

***

Fred smiled at him. Her face always managed to beam and look like it was bursting into full bloom. It wasn't a smirk, or a grin that was silently mocking. It was an actual smile—one that told how happy she was to see him.

"Wesley!" she said happily, quickly taking him by the arm and pulling him into her work office.

Wesley followed her, though at a much more mellowed pace. He idly observed the den that she had made for herself in the basement of Wolfram & Hart. Scientists buzzed around her, checking and testing knicknacks there and here. She stood beaming in the middle of it all, a clipboard slung around her neck as she yelled out peppy orders to her crew.

Wesley loved her.

"We're checking out this new weapon for Angel," she gushed, happily. "It can sense energy and tell the difference between bad energy and good energy."

She held up a little metal sphere with a red light in the middle of it. Wesley unconsciously took a step backward. "That's, uh, nice, Fred."

"It has different patterns for different energy. Really, really bad energy glows red, whereas medium, average energy would blink on and off."

She has no idea, Wesley thought. Of what being in the middle was. She didn't understand what the grey was. There was black and white. Good and Evil. They were opposites—nothing halfway for Fred. He loved her, but he wondered at what cost his happiness with her would create.

She was staring at him. "Wes… are you okay? You seem sullen. Well, sullener than usual, anyway."

Sullen. Was what he was sullen? Or just a man lost in the world, trying to claw his way out and not knowing where to turn? He tried to smile. "I sometimes wonder if being here, at Wolfram & Hart… if it's the right thing." Lies… all lies. He could never tell her the truth.

Like how he had woken up that morning and Lilah had been gone. And he actually missed being able to wake up… still holding her in his arms. For a minute, he wanted, desperately, to make her breakfast. Pretend that things between them were… real.

She blinked and thought the question over. Wesley could hear the wheels going in her scientist brain head and knew that she'd never seriously considered the question before. It was like her, not questioning things. When he had made off with Connor and Justine had put him in the hospital—he had been bad to her, then. Someone Fred should pity, try to be kind to, but bad nonetheless. And now she accepted him back, without a second thought, thinking that he was good again. Thinking that he wasn't in the middle of the night taking refuge in the arms of his enemy.

"I… I don't know," she finally answered. "I feel that what we're doing here is right." She looked at him, her eyes bright and full. "I feel it in my heart, Wes. We're helping a lot of people. More than we ever could have imagined. That's worth using Wolfram & Hart for."

God… how he loved her. For her heart, for her optimism, and her unshaken faith in doing good in the world. She was everything that the human race should, and failed, to be.

He touched her hand gently and said the only thing that came to mind, "Can I make you breakfast?"

TBC