Hell Is What You Make It

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