TITLE: From L.A. With Love

AUTHOR: Eloise

RATING: PG13

DISCLAIMER: Joss and ME own Wes, and all things Angel. I'm only playing with them. I promise not to hurt them. Honestly. I also do not own James Bond. Still wish I did.

SPOILERS: through episode 4.2 – Ground State

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Chapter 8. Title nicked from Ian Fleming. This was a while coming, work has been hectic and although I had this planned out, there were a lot of loose ends that needed tying. I hope I got them all. I have really enjoyed writing Bond!Wes and will miss him very much!

Chapter 8: Live and Let Die

He stood at the edge of the motor launch, the gentle coastal current lapping at the side of the boat. It was the only sound since Gunn had cut the engine about a quarter of a mile ago. They had planned this carefully, using nautical charts Wesley had no reason to find familiar, and Gunn now moved the rudder to guide their drift.

'You ready, English?' he spoke softly, as if anything above a whisper might be overheard.

'As I'll ever be,' he replied, and turned to smile at the other man.

Gunn was standing at the ship's wheel, fingers resting lightly on the dark wood.

'You sure this is the place?' His brow furrowed slightly as he squinted across the bay, a fingernail moon barely reflected in the swaying water. 'I don't see anything.'

'Spike's map was unambiguous. And I can't imagine they would advertise their existence.'

What was he expecting? A periscope topped with a flag reading "Spurt Headquarters: serving evil since 1970"?

'No. You're right. It's just… well, you're on your own. I can't go with you. The Powers that be said it had to be you alone.'

Wesley turned to stare at him. 'The Powers that Be?'

'Yeah, man. Giles. The company, you know? Said you're the only one that can do this. Don't understand it myself. Don't see why I can't help you… especially after what happened…' his voice tailed off, and Wesley could see him trying to avoid his eyes.

'What happened?'

Gunn would tell him. Gunn was a friend, a man you could trust. He wouldn't lie to Wesley. Gunn turned to him, and his face was sharply defined despite the insipid moonlight. Lines of anger at his mouth, his eyes glittering darkly.

'Don't do this, Wesley. I don't have time.'

tight hot anger curled in his stomach, throat razor-blade raw, the bottle seized in slick fingers and tossed across a room

'We don't have time.' Said with a harsh finality which forbade further questioning.

Wesley grabbed the handrail and clung on desperately, fighting the dizziness that threatened to topple him into the ocean. What had he done? He looked deep into the black depths and wondered if Angel was down there. Was hit by such a strong feeling of déjà vu that he actually dropped to his knees on the hard wooden deck.

Gunn was suddenly beside him, pulling him up by his elbow, shaking him not unkindly.

'Hey, there. Come on, Wes. You've got to focus. Saving Angel.'

Wesley gave a high-pitched manic laugh. 'Oh, yes, saving Angel. It's always about Angel.'

Gunn's hand was still on his arm, patting him tentatively, the way one would quiet a spooked horse.

'It's the mission, Wes. It's what you have to do.'

Wesley looked up at the sky, at the glowing crescent of the moon, at the stars which suddenly seemed to glitter more brightly.

'I'm so tired, Charles.' If he could just rest now, close his eyes and sleep for a while…

'No!' Gunn's voice was loud in his ear, his grip on his forearm painfully tight. 'You can't give up, Wes. You have to keep going. For the mission. For Angel. For yourself.' The last words were whispered so quietly Wesley wasn't actually sure he'd heard them.

He straightened up, and squared his shoulders, as if Gunn's words had renewed him, given him the strength he needed to continue. He could do this. He could save Angel. He just wondered who the hell was going to save him.

He removed the aqualung and unzipped the wetsuit he had worn over his clothes. Dark long-sleeved cotton knit shirt and black trousers. He undid a small waterproof rucksack, removed a pair of shoes and slipped them on, then put the half-full mini aqualung into the bag. The silver laser pen Fred had given him went into an easily accessible back pocket and he shoved the folded wetsuit into what he imagined was a torpedo tube. He was ready.

Entering the undersea lair of SPURT had proved disturbingly easy. He had been intercepted only by a few inquisitive dolphins, who had nudged him gently and then passed by, clearly considering him no threat. There were no frogman guards around the underwater perimeter, no harpoon wielding minions ready to turn him into shark bait. But even as Wesley made his way silently along the dark corridor, he had the distinct feeling that he was being watched.

He kept a silent count in his head of the doors he passed, trying to mentally recall the plans Gunn had shown him of the headquarters. They had decided that Angel would probably be held in one of the mid level rooms, sandwiched between the lower levels where the desalination plant and power source were situated, and the upper decks, which were far too accessible through the glass bubble dome.

He had reached twenty-three when he heard it. A tiny sound, hardly more than a whimper; it appeared to be coming from door twenty-four. He stopped outside and tried the handle very carefully. It did not give, but the whimper from inside rose in pitch a little. Okay then.

He unscrewed the cap of the pen, and fiddled with the dial on the laser, then aimed it directly at the door lock. There was a hum of energy and the laser connected with metal, heating it till it softened and glowed dark red. With a final crackle, the lock became useless, and the door clicked quietly open.

The cell was dark. Not the dark of the night above the waves, where the lights of the city were always reflecting back to earth. Not even the dark of the midnight ocean, where bright stars glittered on silver scales of schools in the tide.

No. This was the dark of cupboards under stairs, of places where the light could not reach. This was the dark of unspoken fears and private nightmares, the dark that swallowed you whole.

He shivered and stepped into the cell. He fought the hammering of his heart, finally managing to control his shallow arrhythmic breathing. It was therefore somewhat disconcerting to hear the rapid panic-filled gasps which continued in the cell. For a moment he was gripped by the thought that this was not Angel; Angel did not breathe, and then he remembered that everyone else in this mirrorverse was human rather than demonic, so it was fairly likely that this version of Angel would be too.

'Angel?'

He kept his voice low, and tried to sound as calm as possible. There was no discernible reply, but a gasp led him towards a wall. The dim light emanating from the outer corridor outlined pale wrists fixed to the wall by wide metal restraints. He twisted the dial on the pen once again, and a thin shaft of light pierced the gloom, the cuffs finally falling uselessly to the wall. Now released, a heavy body slumped against him, and Wesley felt the strange sensation of another's heartbeat twinned with his own.

'Angel? Come on, we've got to get out of here.'

He half-dragged, half-carried the other out into the relative illumination of the corridor, and propped him against the wall.

Angel looked terrible. He was pale, paler than Wesley had ever seen the vampire, and looked as if he was near starvation. The edges of his ribs were well defined under Wesley's fingers and his eyes were so sunken as to appear almost black. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and Wesley suddenly realized he was dehydrated. He reached into his satchel and produced a canteen of water. The dark eyes reacted to that, and Angel opened his mouth a little, but was unable to produce any intelligible sound.

'Ssh, it's okay. Don't try to talk. Just drink.' Wesley held the canteen at an angle, so that the water trickle could be easily controlled. But Angel was desperate and he reached up and gripped Wesley's forearm firmly, tipping the bottle higher.

pain, sharp and clean and vivid lanced his arm and then strong suction that was penance and punishment and pleasure

Wesley jolted his arm away from the grasp easily and swayed briefly on his feet.

'No, too fast, Angel. You'll make yourself sick. You must take it slowly.' There was no answer from Angel, but he raised his head and looked directly into Wesley's eyes. And there was an anger there that made him shiver.

'It's for your own good. Honestly.'

'Oh, now, isn't this touching. The errant knight come to rescue the brother he betrayed.'

Lilah leaned casually in the doorway, watching them with interest, while several minions frolicked about in the corridor behind her, fiddling with an assortment of deadly weapons.

'Now, then, Mr Pryce, it's about time you met the boss.'

If they did intend to kill him tonight, Wesley mused; he hoped the afterlife treated him as well as it had Richard Wilkins. Or indeed the man that currently sat at the table in front of him. He was looking extremely well for a man who had been the oldest vintage at Darla and Drusilla's lawyer tasting party.

He swung the high wing-backed chair round to face him, then clasped his hands formally on the pointlessly vast expanse of desk in front of him.

'So, Mr Pryce, we finally meet.'

'Er… yes, Mr Manners.'

'That is but one of my many pseudonyms. Here I am known only as Blowhard, head of the Special Unit for Revenge and Torture.'

It was something of an effort, but Wesley managed to meet the man's eyes without collapsing into hysterical laughter.

'And I see you've already met my number one. Triple X. I gather you two know each other quite intimately.' There was a strange little strangled sound from Angel and Lilah gave a Cheshire cat grin.

'I… we… that is to say…she…ow!' His voice rose to an uncontrolled squeak as Lilah ran her nails over Wesley's backside, pinching him firmly.

'Oh, yes, Alexei and I are very familiar with each other,' she purred silkily. 'Sorry about the little going-away present I left in your bed.'

'Oh, yes, you sound so apologetic,' he retorted sarcastically. She smiled again and stroked a fingernail down his cheek.

'But I am. I'm really going to miss Anansi.'

'Enough of these pleasantries.' There was a note of impatience in Blowhard's voice. He clapped his hands imperiously. 'Nob-job!'

To Wesley's eternal gratitude, this was not a request directed at him, but a call for another's presence. A small, immaculately dressed gentleman of oriental origin entered the room, and approached the desk with a truly impressive display of obsequiousness. Wesley vaguely remembered his name as Park. Gareth, or was it Kevin? A low level real estate lawyer with Wolfram and Hart.

'Ah, Nob-job.' Blowhard smiled in a fatherly way, which set alarm bells ringing in Wesley's head. 'Gentlemen, this is Nob-job, my head of security.'

Park opened his mouth to speak, just as Lilah placed her hand on his arm. 'Unfortunately, Nob-job is mute.' Park's eyes glowed black with anger, but he didn't dare contradict his superior.

'Yes, Nob-job is responsible for security here. Making sure we don't allow intruders, keeping prisoners under lock and key, that type of thing.' Blowhard's voice was pleasantly calm.

Park was beginning to back away from his boss, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.

Blowhard shook his head with a paternal displeasure that Wesley found uncomfortably familiar.

'Oh, Nob-job, you disappoint me. You know we don't tolerate failure in this organization.'

With that, Blowhard slipped his hand under the desk and the floor under Park's feet fell away. The man made a silent lollipop-shaped 'o' of surprise and disappeared, his final destination revealed in a sudden splash, followed by the violent threshing of water.

'Such a shame. I was really hoping to keep the sharks hungry.' His smile was mild and innocuous, and sent tendrils of pure dread around Wesley's heart. He now understood why this man had been head of Special Projects at Wolfram & Hart.

'Ah, well, he'll have whetted their appetites. Sushi before the entrée.'

'I take it we're the main course?'

Blowhard nodded; a schoolmaster pleased with the deductions of a favourite pupil.

'You're right, Lilah. He is a clever boy. And we do have some vacancies to fill. What with Nobjob's termination; and then of course there's Lindsey. I'm thinking he could do with a hand about now.' He paused and fixed them with a steely glare. 'What do you say, Mr Pryce? Care to join us?'

Wesley fought the trembling in his knees and raised his chin defiantly. 'Never. I'd never betray my friends.'

Blowhard's laugh was chilling. 'Oh, but you have. Every man has his price, if you'll forgive the pun. And you've already paid yours, as your friend here will confirm.'

What the hell was he talking about? Wesley turned to look at Angel, who was staring at Blowhard, his face ashen. But he did not speak.

'No? I can't persuade you?' Wesley shook his head once, very firmly. 'Very well.'

He pressed another button on his desk, and a metal panel in the wall slid open to admit several heavily armed henchmen. Wesley eyed their weaponry and then glanced again at Angel, who appeared to be having trouble remaining upright.

This was not going to end well.

There was something about being strung up over a tank of shark-infested waters which brought out the worst in Wesley. Made him sound horribly shrewish and childishly petulant, when what he truly wanted was to be strong, silent and stoic. Like Angel. He wasn't sure if Angel was being heroic, or if his silence was simply the result of a physical inability to speak. Whatever the reason, Angel was quiet in the face of certain death, while he was almost whining in annoyance.

He supposed that one specimen didn't really constitute shark-infested waters, but as Blowhard had so helpfully explained, the other sharks had gorged on fillet of flunkey. Wesley looked down at the sleek angles of the predator slicing through the water, and realised that one tiger shark was more than enough to finish them off.

'And as the acid eats through the remains of my unfortunate head of security…'

Here Blowhard paused to smile at the irony of his choice of title for the decapitated corpse which now floated in a tank of mild sulphuric acid.

'… the counterbalance will be lessened and you will drop inch by inch until you are fully immersed. And the more you struggle, the more appetizing you become.'

Wesley looked up at their bound wrists; the rope already reddening, cutting off his circulation. It wouldn't be long before the first drops of blood hit the water. He was thoroughly pissed off.

'Really, Blowhard. What do you hope to gain by this? Do you expect me to talk?'

Blowhard looked directly at him and smiled nastily.

'Talk? Why no, Mr Pryce. I expect you to die.'

And with a final well-practised grin he turned on his heel and was gone.

Wesley sighed and made a few futile attempts to loosen the ropes around his wrists. He felt the bite of the rough hemp against his skin, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, the rope slackened imperceptibly.

'Angel!' he whispered urgently, the ghost of a plan forming in his mind. 'I think I may be able to loosen the ropes enough to get one hand free. But you'll have to hold my other hand. Do you think you can manage that?'

There was no answer. Tied as they were, back to back, it was impossible to see Angel's reaction to his request.

'Look, just squeeze my fingers if you understand.' A jolt of hot pain shot through him as Angel laced his own fingers though his battered hand, and he gave a high pitched squeal which should have embarrassed him more than it actually did.

'Ow! Okay, I'm going to try and pull my hand free.'

It was painful beyond description, but he finally managed to slip his hand free. Angel grabbed his other hand firmly, and Wesley felt the bones in his wrist begin to separate as his remaining hand supported the full weight of his body. He gritted his teeth and shoved his hand into this pocket, finally retrieving the laser pen.

He grunted with exertion and twisted his body round slightly, the nerve endings in his forearm shrieking with agony.

'Right. Now, um, you keep holding on to me, while I free my other hand.' There was no reply, but the cool hand clamped tighter around his own. He directed the laser beam upwards, praying that he didn't carry out another accidental amputation. A few moments later he felt the rope jerk and break, and he was gripped tightly.

So far so good. He now had both hands available, but was not exactly sure how he would carry out the next part of his lunatic plan. It had seemed simple enough when he pictured it in his mind. He reached round to unfasten the satchel on his back, but the angle was all wrong, and all he succeeded in doing was dropping the contents of the bag into the tank below.

The water churned violently, and the tiger shark made short work of the canteen and the neoprene canvas. The mini aqualung, however, proved more of a challenge for the fish.

It was perfect. Wesley wriggled round to face the beast, one hand gripping Angel's, the other he used to place the laser pen between his teeth to hold it steady while he adjusted the dial.

Both their arms were tiring now, and the main rope to which Angel was still attached was descending little by little towards the surface of the water, as their gory counterweight gradually dissolved in acid. Wesley glanced over to the tank, in time to see a rather chewed arm detach itself from the torso.

The rope dropped. The swift movement took Angel by surprise and he clutched at the rope above, letting go of Wesley's hand. Somehow, by sheer luck, Wesley managed to wrap his legs around Angel's midriff as the momentum of the drop carried the rest of his body downwards.

He was now hanging upside down, his legs wrapped around the middle of Angel, his hands and head swaying a few feet from the water. The laser pen was sinking slowly to the bottom of the tank.

'Oh, bloody buggering hell!' he began, then added a few more fairly descriptive epithets to fully describe his feelings on his current predicament.

'There's something about a man swearing in an English accent that just gets me hot.'

He focused on the not unpleasing figure of Lilah Romanova, who stood at the edge of the tank, his Walther PPK aimed at his head.

'Oh, go ahead; put us out of our misery.'

She cocked the pistol and fired.

Perfect shot.

The bullet ripped into the pressurized mini aqualung and the device and attached shark exploded with impressive force. Wesley bore the brunt of the explosion, essence of rotting fish enveloping him entirely, as chunks of shark splattered his face and torso. He untangled his legs from Angel's waist and dropped into the tank, diving deep enough to avoid the unpleasant chum which now floated on the surface of the pool.

He made it to the edge of the tank, and accepted the perfectly manicured hand that was offered.

'Lilah…I…er…not that I'm not grateful or anything, but why?'

She placed her finger over his lips and shook her head, a small smile on her face.

'No time for that, now, Wesley.' She motioned with her head. 'Angel still needs saving. Or had you forgotten?'

He turned and saw his friend still suspended from the rope, watching them with dark eyes.

'God, no. I hadn't forgotten.'

He ran to the other side of the tank and grabbed the rope, bracing himself as he countered the full weight of the other man. He lowered him gently into the water, then used a convenient placed book hook to pull him to the side.

'Angel, are you alright?' He worked at the knot above the wrists with aching fingers, and finally the rope slackened and Angel was free. But he was definitely taking this taciturn brooding thing a bit too literally.

'What's wrong? Can't you speak?'

Angel shook his head, and Wesley was not sure if it was in agreement or denial. Beside them, Lilah was clicking the safety back on to the Walther.

'Rather ironic, really. Christ saved by his Judas. Now get your asses moving, before Blowhard realizes you've escaped.'

She slipped her hand into her own pocket and produced a small computer chip.

'Here. That will access one of the mini subs. I'll make sure you escape undetected.'

He took the proffered chip and the gun and put them into his hip pocket. Lilah gave him a wickedly seductively smile and drew him close, her warm breath millimetres from his ear.

'Oh, Wesley, is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?' she purred, setting his nerve endings on fire.

He pulled away, his hand on her shoulder. 'Lilah, why?'

She did not answer immediately, stepped back and dropped her eyes to avoid his gaze. 'Let's just say it's for old time's sake, Wes.'

'Come with us.'

He had no idea why he said it. But something in him wanted to believe in her, to believe in the possibility that she could be saved.

She laughed, and the sadness in her voice made his heart ache. 'Don't be stupid, Wesley. You know I can't. My place is here. With Evil Incorporated. I have obligations, deadlines to meet…'

He grabbed her hand roughly and kissed her. Hard enough to bruise.

'Come with me.' No longer a request, but an order.

'Wesley.' Patiently, sincerely. 'You know I can't. Stop asking me. Please.'

It was the please that did it. He released her, and she ran her hand through her hair, shrugging her shoulders back a little too nonchalantly. She tossed him a too bright smile, and kissed the tips of her fingers to him.

'Don't go thinking about me when you're gone…'

'I wasn't thinking about you when you were here'

The strange bitter words floated in his mind like a foreign language he had learned a lifetime ago. He reached over and placed his hand on her forearm.

'Thank you, Lilah.

'Go on. I'll make sure he's kept busy. I'm very good at distractions.'

Wesley looked at her in genuine admiration.

'Oh, Triple X, of that I have no doubt.'

She was true to her word.

They had no trouble finding the sub and making their getaway. They had now surfaced a few miles from the agreed rendezvous point, and Wesley had sent a signal for Gunn to meet them there.

Angel sat silently in the cramped cockpit of the sub, and his lack of communication was starting to worry Wesley. Perhaps the prolonged dehydration had done irreparable damage to his vocal chords. He moved closer to better examine his throat.

'Angel, can you speak? Do you think you could try?'

His mouth worked for a few moments and then finally his voice came in a rough rasp that sent a shot of pain across Wesley's throat.

'Happy now?'

There was no mistaking the animosity in his friend's voice, even in that harsh whisper.

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you…'

'Bit late for that, isn't it, Wesley?'

Wesley leaned away from him, shocked by the hostility in his eyes. 'What do you mean?'

Angel laughed, but there was no humour in the sound.

'You've forgotten already? '

And then Wesley got it. This was the thing, the unspoken terrible thing that had occurred between him and Angel back in LA, back before his accident, the thing that everyone alluded to, but no one ever actually told him about.'

'What happened, Angel? I don't remember, honestly. I woke up from the accident and I'd forgotten everything that happened in LA.'

The laugh this time was disturbingly unhinged.

'You don't remember? Stealing my son? Betraying me to Holtz and letting him take Connor into a hell dimension?'

He wasn't sure which part of that statement horrified him most.

'Connor is… um… was your son?'

'My baby.' Angel spat back viciously.

'And Holtz?'

'I killed his family. He swore an oath to avenge their deaths.'

So, to recap. He had kidnapped Angel's baby son and handed him over to his mortal enemy, who sent him into hell. He backed away from the other man.

'I trusted you, Wesley. And you took my son.' The voice was firmer now, strengthened by justified anger and pain.

'And you will pay.'

Before he could react, Angel's hands were at his throat, squeezing more tightly than was humanly possible. He scrabbled at the fingers ineffectually, choking desperately as his trachea was crushed.

'You son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for what you did! You took my son!'

The world darkened and little spots of light danced before his eyes.

'You think I forgive you? Never! You're gonna die, you hear me?

No use fighting any more. Angel was right. He was going to die.

'You're a dead man, Pryce, a dead man!'

He almost smiled at the sudden revelation.

He already was.

'There he is. Mr Wyndam-Pryce? Wesley?'

He could hear someone calling him from far away, as if he was swimming underwater, his ears deafened by pressure. He struggled to regain consciousness, fighting to make his way up from the depths of the ocean.

'Wesley, can you hear me? Come on, you're almost there…'

The voice was calm and soothing and he was so tempted to open his eyes and discover that he was finally at peace…

'We almost lost you there, Mr Wyndam-Pryce.'

Wesley gave in and opened his eyes, and was slightly disappointed to discover that he was not, as he had fervently hoped, in heaven, but in a depressingly familiar intensive care unit. On the upside, the doctor who was poking him with a variety of instruments seemed to be fairly optimistic about his condition.

'Yes, you gave us quite a scare. But your vitals have settled down now. How are you feeling?'

He opened his mouth and was pleasantly surprised to discover that his vocal chords were undamaged.

'Um… okay?' Was that an acceptable answer? He paused before he asked the next question. 'Er… would you mind telling me where I am?'

The doctor frowned slightly. 'You're in hospital, Mr Wyndam-Pryce.'

'No, I mean what country am I in?'

'Oh. USA. LA? Does that help?'

Wesley breathed a sigh of relief. 'Immensely, thank you, doctor.'

The doctor resumed his examination. 'You're a very lucky man, Mr Wyndam-Pryce. We almost lost you a couple of times.'

Wesley widened his eyes at his definition of luck.

'Oh, yes. You crashed just as you were arriving. The paramedics were bringing you in and you coded. Your other friends had just arrived.' The doctor shook his head, as if he was unable to comprehend it. 'Never seen anything like that before. Your friend, Gunn? Just started thumping you on the chest and screaming that you couldn't die, you couldn't give up. Took three security guards to pull him off you.'

Wesley blinked. Gunn didn't care any more. Didn't want to hear his side of the story. Gunn had tried to save him. It made no sense at all.

'They're all here, you know. Your friends. You have a lot of friends, you know. And some of them don't get on too well.' The doctor smiled at him. 'Thought we were going to have to call security when your girlfriend arrived.'

'My wha… my girlfriend?'

Another knowing smile. 'Miss Morgan? I think that was it. Your friend who called the paramedics wasn't too happy about her being here.'

'Angel's here?'

'Out in the waiting room.' The doctor paused, looked as if he was thinking something over. 'I shouldn't really allow this, but would you like to see them? Perhaps your girlfriend, and Mr Angel?'

Wesley nodded, glad that the choice had been made for him.

He heard them before he saw them. Voices low, but the venom uncontrolled.

'You shouldn't be here! Wesley doesn't need you! He's got friends to look after him.'

'And some friends your little team turned out to be. Turned their backs on him the first mistake he made. And you? Don't get me started on your little pillow talk!'

The doctor opened the door to his room reluctantly.

'I warned you. While you are visiting with him, you do not stress him. Do I make myself clear?'

Lilah pursed her lips and nodded. 'Fine.'

She threw the word out as a challenge to Angel, who folded his arms over his broad chest.

'Fine.'

Wesley wondered which of them would put out their tongue and go 'nah nah nah nah nah' first.

'Hey,' he whispered.

Immediately they were both beside the bed, Angel's hand on his right arm, Lilah lacing her fingers through his left hand.

'Wesley.' It was Lilah who spoke first; in a tone he had not heard from her before. 'You stupid idiot! What the hell did you think you were doing in that sewer?' She sounded about three words away from tears.

'Wes, you okay?' Angel's cool palm rested against the heat of his skin.

'I'm fine, really,' he said, addressing both Angel and Lilah. 'I did it, you know. The mission, I completed it.'

That shut them up, if only for a moment. Angel looked down at him, familiar confusion lining his brow.

'What mission? What do you mean, Wes?'

'Saving Angel.'

Lilah rolled her eyes. 'I knew it. You just can't keep out of trouble for five minutes!' She was actually waving her finger in Angel's face. 'You do it on purpose so he has to keep rescuing you!'

Angel looked even more mystified. 'I wasn't in trouble. I came looking for Wes in that sewer.'

'What sewer?'

Now they both turned to look at him, suddenly concerned.

'Don't you remember? You were in the sewer, battling the demon, and then you went off along one of the tunnels and hit the trip-wire.'

'No, no, we were in the submarine. You were telling me about Connor.'

'Um… no submarine, Wes. It was definitely a sewer.'

Lilah smacked Angel on the arm. 'Shut up! Can't you see he's confused?' She softened her voice and stroked the palm of his hand lightly with her fingers. 'It's alright. Do you know where you are?'

'I'm in hospital. In L.A. Definitely not in London.' The look of terrified concern that they exchanged then was priceless.

Angel cleared his throat nervously. 'Do you know… er… who you are?'

He couldn't resist. He just couldn't.

'Of course I do. The name's Pryce. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.' He paused dramatically. '007.'