New All Over

Author's Note: In this fic, Deep Down never exactly happened. But I did take some inspiration from it, like the Justine thing. But mostly, it's different. Starts out a few weeks after the finales, but goes on to see what happened five years later.

A few weeks after Grave and Tomorrow

He gulped down his last shot of whiskey, slammed down his money and left the bar. He rammed his hands into his pockets, bowed his head and walked slowly down the streets, not much caring whether he took the long or the short way home.

It would be empty when he got there just the same.

He wasn't drunk. He hadn't been for a few days. Every time he got drunk, he always woke up to find Lilah Morgan there. That was the worst hangover in the world and he didn't want to repeat it.

He ran a hand over his hair and down over the stubble on his chin. He had let himself go, no longer shaving and he couldn't find his glasses for the life of him. He hadn't seen his glasses since before the hospital.

The night was warm, but he shivered. He had been losing weight, not really bothering - or even caring - to feed himself regularly. It was an old habit. Sometimes he was buried so deep in something that he forgot to take care of himself.

But in the past, Cordelia always noticed. He remembered how she would push a sandwich in front of him with a frown.

"If you don't take care of yourself," she would say. "I guess I've got to."

But there was always a smile, like she didn't mind. It was his personal opinion that she liked taking care of everyone.

Though, of course, Angel always came first. Always had, always would. Wes understood that, it was fine, really. If she didn't want to see him, that was probably for the best. After all, he and Cordy did nothing but bicker and he wouldn't miss it because he didn't need her or anyone.

No way.

Not at all.

He wouldn't miss anything.

She had never been to LA. Not properly. Last time she was here, she sat for half an hour in large echoing silence. She had left that night with Wesley and Cordelia, Angel tailing them in his car. So, in reality, apart from a fleeting glimpse of the town, she had never really been here.

She liked it, it was pretty. The lights, the people. A woman could get lost in this town, just disappear and no one would be able to find you again.

And that was what Willow wanted, she wanted to go away, forget about Sunnydale.

Xander had taken her back to Buffy's house when she had calmed down. Giles had told her about a coven that would be able to help her use her magick properly. It would be hard, he warned her, a lengthy process. He couldn't be sure it would work out, but it was worth a try. She had nodded, making all the right noises.

But that night, while the rest of them slept, she slipped out with a bag of clothes and a photo of Tara and caught the first bus out of town.

She didn't care if she was running away, all she knew was she didn't want to go to England. She didn't want to work on anything, spend months on end with people who would fear her. She didn't want that. And that meant she couldn't stay in Sunnydale. If she didn't go to England, her friends would think she wasn't trying to change.

The point was, she didn't want to be scary veiny Willow again, but she also didn't want to stay anywhere where people would look at her and remember that. So she left, deciding LA was the perfect place for a lost soul such as herself.

And she was working on her magick. She was using lots of meditation techniques and so far, she was doing fine. She had spoken to a fair few magick shop owners and she was using their advice.

She was doing fine. She didn't need to go to England with Giles.

She didn't need anyone to help her help herself.

She was fine.

He passed a motel on his way home and stopped. He ran his eyes over it for a moment. It looked run down, dirty, cheap. But even from out here, he could hear the sounds of people. Wonderful people with their arguments and loud music and stupid, stupid normal lives.

A place that was full, practically bursting at the seams. A place where he could forget about his empty apartment, the cold, dead rooms inside. The constant smell of Lilah's perfume. This was a place, where for one night at least, he could forget about what happened, what he had done. Somewhere he could just close his eyes and sleep without dreaming. Without nightmares of a knife, dark green pillows and friendly but cold voice.

He walked inside, requested a single room, handed the woman his credit card and mounted the stairs to his room.

He slipped the key into the door and paused. Two doors along from his room, a young woman stood, struggling with her shoulder bag, keys and small bag of food. She was slim, looking like she hadn't eaten properly in days. Much like himself. She had long red hair and pale skin. There was something familiar about her.

Seeing she needed a little help, he approached her cautiously. He should ignore her, just go into his room and let her help herself. But a little bit of the old Wesley reared up and nudged him toward her.

"May I help you?" he asked, his voice low and rasping.

"Oh, thank you. I - hey, wait. Wesley?"

She frowned at him, her face falling for a second before her mouth climbed into a smile.

"Willow Rosenburg?" he asked.

"Yeah," she beamed, trying to juggle her bags to reach out and shake his hand.

He took her grocery bag from her and shook her hand briefly. She unlocked the door and reached out for her grocery bag.

"Thanks," she said.

"No trouble," he answered with a shrug and turned to leave her to her business.

"Hey," she called out. He turned slowly. "You wanna come in? I've got Oreo's."

He was about to decline, but then he recognised something in her eyes that he thought mirrored his own. She had that same hesitant manner, almost adorable nerdish-ness, but there was an aura of power. A slight edge of steel that startled him once he noticed it.

And against his better judgement, he nodded and followed her into her room.

It all came out. After a while.

She asked him why he was staying in a motel, asked him how Angel was. Slowly, bit by bit, he told her the story.

About Fred, how he had fallen for her, but was too scared to admit it. About Billy, how that set back his intentions to approach Fred after what had happened.

He filled her in about Connor, Darla and Holtz; almost smiling at her wide-eyed, slack-jawed shock.

He told her about the ballet, never meeting her eyes as he told her how he came to the end of the hall to check on Gunn and found him kissing Fred.

He went on to tell her about the prophecy, about wanting to save Angel and Connor. He told her how he fucked up, how Angel tried to kill him. How his closest friend picked up a pillow and pressed it over his face as he struggled weakly.

"This isn't Angelus talking to you, it's me, Angel. You know that, right?… Good. That's good…. You took my son. You took my son! I'll never forgive you, never... I'll kill you! You're a dead man. You hear me! Dead!"

She looked at him with pity when he told her about that, about Fred and Lilah and he couldn't stand it. So he started to ask her what she was doing here - vacation? Business? Her face crumbled into tears and she haltingly told him everything.

With trembling fingers, she handed him a photo in a silver frame. A beautiful girl smiled shyly at him. She was blonde, large blue eyes and an obvious shy manner. He looked up at Willow in question and she sobbed out that the girl was Tara, her girlfriend, the woman she loved. Tara was killed, Willow told Wesley, and she lost it.

She poured out everything. Right from when she resurrected Buffy. She told him all about her addiction, the final straw for Tara that was the memory spell. How her addiction intensified with Rack, how she went cold turkey after hurting Dawn. How hard it was, but how it paid off, because Tara - her beautiful Tara - came home.

She told him how much she loved her, how everything was ok when Tara was there.

"The only thing Willow was ever good for... The only thing I had going for me ... were the moments - just moments - when Tara would look at me and I was wonderful. And that will never happen again."

And then she told him about how Tara was shot. How after that, she went crazy. Sucked dry every book in the Magick Box. Went on a rampage, flayed a guy alive, kicked Buffy's ass.

Tried to end the world.

She told him she ran away and why.

They sat in silence after that. Willow sniffed every now and again, wiping her eyes, cradling Tara's photo in her lap.

She fell asleep against him and not wanting to wake her, he stayed with her.

He knew Angel had gone. He knew what had happened, having found Justine. Willow merely raised an eyebrow when he admitted Justine was locked in his closet. She didn't ask why he wanted to save Angel; she seemed to get it without having it explained her. He was grateful; he was drained from the admissions the night before.

Willow offered to help him. Said she could use her power to locate and raise him.

And that night, they did. He watched from where he was steering as her hair turned black, as she shook with power.

He dropped the anchor when she called that she knew where Angel was. She chanted in Latin, voice wavering, eyes huge and black as he reached out to touch her.

"No!" she cried. "I've almost got him. I'm ok!"

With a metallic groan and sucking splash, the coffin rose eerily from the depths. A shiver ran up Wes's spine and as the coffin lurched onto the deck, he reached out, grabbing Willow and pulling hard. She fell back against him and together they fell to the floor. He held her shaking form as her hair slowly faded to red and her teary eyes cleared. She smiled up at him.

"Better than last time," she breathed. "I was close. I nearly went over the edge. You stopped me," she squeezed his hand and wiped her eyes. "Thank you."

He smiled back and there was a thump from the coffin before them.

"Shouldn't you let him out?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered; standing slowly and levering open the lid of the coffin as Willow watched from a distance. Angel struggled in his bonds, but having only been deprived of blood for a few weeks, he was lucid enough to see beyond flimsy visions.

"Wesley?" he gasped, struggling up, shivering.

Without saying a word, Wesley handed him the blood they had brought with him, leaving Angel so he could go and steer the boat back to shore. Willow sat with Angel, silent company.

They drove him back to the hotel and Wes helped him inside to the thin arms of Fred. Willow briefly outlined what had happened, before leaving them with Wes.

The whole night, Wes only said seven words to Angel and his old friends.

"If anyone asks," he warned. "You haven't seen Willow."

Angel went to thank Wes and Willow the next day. But Wes's apartment was empty and had been for some time, the door of the closet wide and empty. A few books were missing from his bookshelf, but they were still full to bursting. A note rested on a twisted pile of books on Wes's desk.

Take what you need.

And Angel knew that was it. He would probably never see Wesley again.

Five years later

Wes wasn't sure he would ever like New York, or enjoy it as much as he had LA. But it was home. More than the apartment had ever been.

They had moved to New York about a month after leaving LA. After finding Angel, they had returned to their motel and Willow had mused aloud that he could probably go back to work. But he had put a stop to that train of thought, saying he wouldn't want to.

"Rather like you," he had told her. "I don't want to be around people who will only see the person who screwed up."

So she had shyly suggested that they leave. "We make a good team," she had reminded him and he had to admit she was right. So they left that night for his apartment where he set Justine free and packed up a few things. She found the keys for his motorbike and had raised an eyebrow at him.

"You have a motorcycle?" she had asked.

"Yes, I -"

"Cool," she tossed the keys to him and that was that. They were leaving town with a motorbike and barely a bag between them.

They had travelled all over, finally settling in New York because it was the farthest they were ever going to get from California and therefore, LA and Sunnydale. And it was the perfect place to set up business. They found a small set of offices and put down a deposit, slowly setting up a business in the cramped space.

And now, five years later, the Rosenburg-Pryce Agency was flourishing.

As were Wesley and Willow.

"Love, have you got the Hammond file?" he asked, peering at her over his glasses.

"Um…" she frowned for a moment, before lifting up the packet of doughnuts on his desk and handing him the file. "You mean this one?"

He had the good grace to look embarrassed and she kissed his cheek gently and ruffled his hair before going to make another coffee.

He watched her. Watched her untie her hair, let it fall around her shoulders before ruffling it and tying it up again.

They had been very drunk, of course, when they kissed. Which was the only reason he could think of that the gay Witch didn't push him away. In fact, she pulled him closer. The next morning, he woke up with one of those hangovers. The type where there's more than a headache to worry about.

But somehow it worked out. After days of stuttering, avoidance tactics and more, he kissed her again. She responded and that was how it started.

That had been three years ago.

She handed him the coffee and he smiled gratefully. He had to admit, he was a lot happier than he had been. And Willow was doing well with her magick; they had tracked down an elderly Latin-American Witch who was helping her.

And she was right; they made a damn good team. For the first three years, he bore the brunt of the fighting, with magickal back up. But then a certain blast from the past blew into town.

And Faith made three.

Faith sauntered into the office and sat down. She snatched a doughnut from the box on Wes's desk and smirked when he pulled the box toward him and frowned at its emptiness.

"You snooze, you lose," Faith shrugged.

"Is that why you never win anything?" he sniped back.

She rolled her eyes and chuckled as Willow sat on Wesley's lap. He wasn't entirely sure how the Faith thing had happened either.

She didn't like to talk about LA, but apparently, she didn't enjoy working with Angel after her release so she moved on. It was pure coincidence that she stumbled across the Rosenburg-Pryce Agency.

Her first words when she entered the office and found Wes and Willow in a tight clinch had been, "Hey, weren't you gay?" And Wes was afraid to ask whom exactly she meant.

After that, she never really got round to leaving. So Wes and Willow had to get used to it, because they helped people and despite Faith's faults, she wanted to change. And change she had. Wes had grown to like her, as had Willow, who in a moment of madness admitted, "Y'know, she's pretty hot."

Which obviously didn't go down too well with Wesley. But he had gotton used to the fact that they would watch TV together in the flat above the office and she would comment on the women.

He really should get round to asking her why she was with him when he seemed to be the only member of the opposite sex she found in the least bit attractive. But he probably wouldn't, lest he remind her and lose her forever.

"Hammond's got more trouble?" Faith asked, peering at the file Wes was reading and sprinkling it liberally with sugar.

"Yes," he sighed.

"Well, that's what you get when you deal with magicks," Willow shrugged. "You start selling spells to the business people and you're asking for trouble."

"Which, when you think about it, is a bonus for us," Faith pointed out.

"As I very rarely say this, you might want to make a note, Faith. She's right, Willow. Hammond's problems are what pays the rent most weeks."

"Hey, can I go see him?" Faith asked. "I'll do it all right, Wes. I'll take all the details for the computer and stuff."

"Why the sudden interest in the non slice-and-dice side of the business, Faith?" Willow asked.

"Oh, don't tell me you haven't noticed?" Faith said.

"Noticed what?" Wes asked distractedly, not looking up from the file.

"The guy's a hottie!"

Wes looked up then, smiling - dare he think it - affectionately at Faith. He slipped his hand into Willow's and shook his head as he returned to what he was reading.

Life, he decided, was new, but was also pretty damn good.

The End.