•••

“Come on, Wil!” Cordelia cried, pounding on his bedroom door. Impatient, she flung it open, determined to drag the vampire out.

“Delia, luv, hand here?” Wil said, standing in front of his closet, wearing a bath towel slung low on his hips. Cordelia paused to admire the alabaster skin before moving to stand next to him.

“You know, men are supposed to be the quick ones when it comes to clothes,” The brunette remarked, smirking at Wil.

Wil snorted. “Yeah, and you’ve never seen Angel poking through the closet.”

“Actually, I have. Not a pretty sight. If the world found out…” She sighed, and then tossed a few garments on the bed. “Now, get dressed. Lorne needs our support for the grand reopening.”

Wil obediently got dressed while Cordelia left to harass his Sire. He was looking forward to the evening; Caritas had been trashed by Gunn’s old friends soon after his arrival in L.A. and he’d never gotten to see the place. He’d met the Host, though, and he and the green demon got along very well.

“Wil! Wow, that looks great!” Fred complimented, bouncing around the lobby. She was going to sing tonight, more Patsy Cline if possible. “So, we’re ready to go?” Everyone but Gunn nodded the affirmative. Cordelia sneered at him, mocking his inability to face Lorne.

“Yeah, come on. We’ve got places to go!” Angel laughed at his seer, herding the five of them to his car.

“Angel!” Lorne yelled over the din of laughing patrons. The demon was clearly happy to see the intrepid demon investigators. He waved them toward the bar, setting out each person’s favored beverage. “There’s a table for you over there,” he pointed. “Where’s Charles?”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Guess. ‘Somebody’s got to work!’” She mocked, doing a dead-on impression of her surly coworker.

Lorne shrugged. “He’s got to come back sometime.” The Host was quickly drawn away by other customers. The demon community had rallied around him in the aftermath of the human attack and he’d had no problem rebuilding the nightclub. At the moment, a scaly, grayish demon was belting out a fairly good rendition of ‘Jesse’s Girl’ on the stage, while the audience cheered supportively.

“Wow. Lorne really outdid himself,” Cordelia remarked, cataloguing the renovations.

“Indeed, one would never know that dozens lost their lives senselessly just a few months ago,” Wesley said, watching the stage.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Way to be depressing there, Wes.”

Fred looked over at Wil. “So, Wil…you’re the only one who’s never sung here, right?”

The blonde vampire snarled. Leave it to Fred to mention something like that. “Um…I don’t know. I’m not much of a singer…”

Angel laughed. “Don’t lie, childe. You used to out-sing professionals.” He remembered Spike shaming the most prominent of the continent’s voices, shortly before draining them dry.

Wil blushed. This could go very badly. He didn’t particularly want to sing, especially since Lorne would read him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what the demon would see. So much had changed since he’d arrived in L.A.

“Well, then, you simply must perform for us, sweetcheeks,” Lorne said, surprising the group. He’d managed to sneak up on the vampires, something he’d been trying to accomplish for a while.

“No,” Wil said resolutely.

“Wil…” Angel warned. There was no way his blonde childe would get out of this, even if he had to force him up there. It was, to Angel, like a follow-up visit to a therapist—he needed to know how Wil was doing, and Lorne could tell him.

“I.don’t.want.to,” Wil spat back, becoming surly.

Angel’s best Sire voice rumbled out of his mouth. “Now. Wil. Sing.” He lifted an eyebrow in warning. Wil cursed, and then shoved out of the chair, stomping to the stage. “Just when you think you’ve got them raised right…”

Cordelia snorted. “They go and charm your socks off.” She grinned at Angel’s expression. “What? You didn’t think we’d notice? The two of you are like…like…help me out here, guys,” Cordelia searched for the right word.

“George and Gracie?” Lorne supplied. Angel groaned. Shit, shit, shit.

“Fred and Ginger!” Fred picked up the string. “I mean the dancers. Ginger from Gilligan’s Island is cute and all, but far too dumb for my tastes.” Wesley’s jaw dropped at the statement. Then his eyes crossed as he pictured Fred, his Fred, and Ginger, on the beach…

“Rhett and Scarlett?” Cordelia said. “No, they broke up. Bad comparison.”

“Enough!” Angel growled, his eyes flashing. The friends looked over at him in surprise. Apparently his personal life was off limits today.

The truth was, he didn’t want to think about it. Yes, he and Wil had grown very close. But both of them were in love with someone else. At least Wil was. Angel’s feelings for Buffy would never go away, but he had consigned them to the past long before she'd died. Her resurrection had affected him far less than he would have expected. Wil, though, didn’t have the years behind him for recovery. Angel refused to consider a close relationship when his childe was attached to someone else. He was simply too possessive of his lovers to share any part of them.

While Cordelia and Fred were embarrassing Angel, Wil was scrolling through the music selections. What to sing…to get this over with. His friends appeared next to him on the stage, making suggestions for his choice.

“Let me guess, you’re looking for Sex Pistols?” Angel said laughingly. “I doubt Lorne’s got them in there.”

Wil glared at him, flicking an obscene gesture at his Sire.

“Oooh. Do ‘Wind Beneath My Wings!’” Lorne suggested, suddenly way too close to a gamefaced, growling Wil.

“Oi, mate. I got a soul, I didn’t lose my knackers.” Apparently Wil was channeling Spike this evening. Everyone took a step back.

“Um…I’m guessing Faith Hill’s out of the question?” Cordelia said tentatively.

“I can do this myself, thank you. Just go away and let me get this over with, hmm?” Wil snarled, shooing them off the stage.

After a couple more minutes, he found what he was looking for. /Sex Pistols, indeed./ He was amazed at what companies would put in prepackaged karaoke collections.

The gang focused their attention on the slender blonde perched on a barstool, glowing under stage lights. They looked at each other in confusion as the first strains of music flowed from the speakers.

“I loved you for a long long time. I know this love is real. It don’t matter how it all went wrong. That don’t change the way I feel. And I can’t believe that time can heal this wound I’m speaking of—” A smooth baritone drifted from the stage, entrancing the audience. “There ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure for love.”

Angel’s eyes closed at the words. It was a sad song, remembrance of things lost. It was definitely not what he expected, even considering his childe’s soul.

“I’m aching for you, baby. I can’t pretend I’m not. I need to see you naked in your body and your thought. I’ve got you like a habit and I’ll never get enough—” The dark haired vampire’s face froze, blocking his raging emotions from surfacing. “There ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure for love.”

“All the rocket ships are climbing through the sky, the holy books are open wide, the doctors working day and night, but they’ll never ever find that cure for love—there ain’t no dream, no drug—there’s nothing pure enough to be a cure for love.”

“I see you in the subway and I see you on the bus. I see you lying down with me and I see you waking up. I see your hand, I see your hair, your bracelets and your brush. And I call to you, I call to you, but I don’t call soft enough—There ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure for love.” Wil looked over at the table briefly. “I walked into this empty church—I had no place else to go—when the sweetest voice I ever heard came whispering to my soul. I don’t need to be forgiven for loving you so much. It’s written in the scriptures, it’s written there in blood. I even heard the angels declare it from above—There ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure, there ain’t no cure for love.” He finished quietly, returning to flop down in his abandoned chair. He smiled as Cordelia patted him on the back, cooing over his voice before wandering off to chat up a former client who owed them money.

Lorne glanced from Wil to Angel and back again. This was way too complicated for opening night. “Fred, honey, why don’t you and Wes do that Patsy Cline number I showed you?” He urged the pair to the stage, wanting to talk to Angel and Wil alone. When he returned to the table, Wil was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s blondie?” Lorne asked the stoic vampire.

Angel looked up. “Getting a drink, I think.” He winced at the rhyme. “So…”

Lorne grimaced. Seeing Angel tense up, he quickly reassured the vampire. “Oh, he’s fine—The Powers didn’t send down any warnings of gloom and doom. His heart’s a mess, though.”

Angel snarled despite trying to hold his emotions in check. He was being irrational; hearing that his childe was still consumed by the Slayer made him angry. The song had been heart-rending for him. “Buffy…”

Lorne shook his head. “Not even close. Hells, not in the picture, broodboy. Oh, he still loves her, but he’s come to terms with that.” He watched Angel carefully. What he’d really like is to get the dark-haired vampire up on stage. A flash of light hair caught his eye, and Lorne stood to catch Wil.

“Wil! You bad boy. You are never getting out of here, not with that voice. I’m considering chaining you to the stage,” Lorne said, trapping the vampire at the bar.

“Right. So, the verdict?” Wil asked, not really wanting to know.

Lorn smiled. “You really should go after him.” He grinned at the look of astonishment on the blonde’s face. He walked away, focusing on the odd couple on the stage. Fred had a nice voice, but absolutely no clue how to sing. Wesley understood the basics of singing, but wouldn’t win any awards in the voice department. They were charming, not to mention perfect together. Of course, that couple would just fall together with no help from him. At the rate Angel and Wil were moving, humans would be colonizing Pluto before they hooked up. At least they weren’t getting any older. Of course, they might just figure it out on their own soon enough. Stranger things have happened.

Angel watched Wil settle back cautiously. The blonde was avoiding his gaze, focusing totally on his friends as they butchered Patsy. /Wesley? Fred? Cordelia?/ Wil didn’t really know anyone outside of their group, and Lorne.

Wil glanced at his Sire. Angel looked frustrated and unhappy. He wondered why. /Maybe Lorne told him something he didn’t want to hear./ Wil knew that Lorne would tell Angel what he saw in Wil, since the younger vampire was pretty much Angel’s responsibility. /Christ. He didn’t tell him…/ No wonder Angel was so upset.

Angel saw Wil look at him, but was careful to ignore the stare. The look of utter despair shocked him. He began replaying memories…

The remainder of the evening sped by, with everyone but Angel making a requisite trip to the stage. The older vampire avoided the ordeal by promising to sing next time, and he and Wil dropped Wesley, Cordelia and Fred off at their apartments. Cordelia had taken to keeping Fred with her several nights a week, forcing her to live away from Angel. After a couple of months, the young woman began to look forward to her ‘sleepovers.’