Giving Thanks
by
Brenda

Title: Giving Thanks
Author: Brenda
Fandom: Angel fandom
Category: Hurt-Comfort
Rating: PG-13
WARNINGS: Violence
Season: Angel S2
Spoilers: Post First Impressions.
Summary: Cordelia is determined to show Wesley a proper American Thanksgiving. Malevolent demons are, as usual, determined to kill them.
Characters: Angel, Wesley, Cordelia, Gunn.

"Wesley, you're dripping demon goop all over the counter. I just cleaned there."

"Well, excuse me, Cordelia. But if someone would have helped me carry in all these books perhaps I would have a free hand to clean up the demon goop currently dripping from my ruined jacket."

"And why did you have to take all those books anyhow?" Cordelia demanded, pointedly not offering to relieve Wesley of his load. "I mean, it's not like we could use them to hit the big scaly demons."

"One never knows what one may encounter in the field," Wesley replied with that superior air that always made Gunn's teeth itch. Wesley nodded gratefully as Angel came to his rescue and eased some of the heavier books out of his grip and laid them on a clean spot on the counter. "It's best to be prepared."

Gunn automatically tuned out C3PO and stick figure Barbie as he cleaned his ax and they continued to bicker. Bitch, bitch, bitch, bicker, bicker, bicker. That's all those two seemed to do. It brought back memories of him and Alonna. Except that they were really brother and sister, and these two were...what? A couple of white, middle class spoilt kids from what he'd seen so far. Cordelia was always going on about shopping and clothes, and Wesley was a skinny-ass English guy with a snotty accent and too much book learning. Not that either one of them were snobs, he conceded. But they weren't exactly the people he wanted backing him up in the field either. He was used to everyone on his team pulling their own weight. Again, he conceded that Cordelia carried the burden of the visions, and he'd witnessed what they did to her; and Wesley seemed to carry around a demon encyclopedia in his head, which had saved them all from quick, painful deaths at one time or another, but they weren't much at fighting. They did have a system though, as Gunn was coming to understand. Cordelia and Wesley looked out for each other in the field, pulling each other out of the way of talons and fangs, and Angel looked out for both of them. Gunn didn't like the idea of his attention being split between fighting demons and watching out for those two, but he had found himself doing it anyhow, even though he knew Angel was too.

"Hey!" Everyone looked up at Cordelia's exclamation, Angel and Wesley both ready to rush to her side. But she was smiling, not grabbing her head in pain. "Do you know what next week is?"

Angel and Wesley exchanged a look, and Wesley went back to carrying his books to their proper bookshelves and Angel went back to cleaning his sword.

"It's Thanksgiving!"

Gunn frowned at his axe. His first Thanksgiving without Alonna. Not that they'd had a proper Thanksgiving since their folks were killed, but at least they'd been together. He'd been with family.

"We should celebrate."

Wesley turned around to look at her, but Angel shrugged. "Okay."

Cordelia scowled. "Don't sound so enthusiastic. Are you going to be like this all through the holidays, Scrooge?"

Angel gave her a look as he carefully replaced his sword in the weapons cabinet. "I'm not Scrooge. But after the first hundred or so Thanksgivings..."

"Oh yeah, I guess you've seen a few of them, haven't you?" Cordelia turned immediately to Wesley. "But I'll bet you haven't, have you, Wesley?"

"Me? No, living in England one tends not to celebrate American holidays, Cordelia."

She folded her arms and refused to be put off. "Don't give me that, Mr. Stuffy-shirt. You were in this country last year, weren't you? When you were off hunting rogue demons."

Gunn sat up a little straighter. This was new. "Rogue demons?"

Wesley turned around from placing the final book in its proper place and gave Cordelia a stern look. "That's just Cordelia's very little joke, Gunn. When I left my employment in Sunnydale as Watcher, I took up the profession of rogue demon hunter." Gunn noticed how he puffed out his skinny chest as he said this and smiled as if reliving fond memories. "I spent six months traveling around the country, hunting demons." He paused. "Sometimes I even got paid."

Gunn tried to picture this guy turning into a bad-ass Easy Rider on his motorcycle, crossing the country and fighting demons on his own. Nope. Couldn't do it.

"So what did you do last year for Thanksgiving?" Cordelia pressed. "You must have been somewhere to celebrate it."

Wesley frowned as he tried to remember. "November, November," he murmured. "Not New Orleans. That was in the summer and the weather was dreadful. Oh yes, I remember. I'd been tracking a Gott'hob demon through the desert. Nasty little bugger too. I was in a small town in Arizona." He made rueful a face. "Unfortunately I didn't realize it was a holiday until it was too late. I was far off the interstate and there were no motels there, no place was open to eat, and I'd neglected to replenish my supplies in time..." He trailed off, deep in his memories, and didn't see the way Cordelia's mouth had tightened or the look on Angel's face as he watched him. Then Wesley brightened and looked around with a smile. "But on the bright side I did have my first encounter with an American rattlesnake."

The silence that followed that announcement was broken by Cordelia's grim, "We're celebrating Thanksgiving."

"Absolutely," Angel said immediately.

Cordelia pointed at him. "And you're invited too."

Gunn thought about it for a moment and decided there were worse ways he could spend the holiday. "Be happy to come. But I won't be able to be there until the evening. There's a soup kitchen in my neighborhood and I always help out there on Thanksgiving, giving out dinners to the homeless."

"Really?" Wesley came out from behind the counter. "Would you like some help?" When everyone turned in his direction he merely shrugged and explained, "When I was crossing the country, there were a few times, well, many times actually, when the kindness of strangers was the only thing that provided me with a hot meal, or actually any meal at all. It only seems right I repay that somehow."

Gunn was surprised at the offer, but nodded his thanks. "Yeah, we can always use help at the soup kitchen."

"Then you can probably use another pair of hands too." When everyone's gazes turned to Cordelia, she ignored them and sat down at her computer. "I'll work on our menu. Everyone has to bring something. I'll get the turkey. I can put it in the oven and Angel can watch it while the rest of us hand out meals, and then we can all come back to my place to have Thanksgiving dinner." She read out loud as she typed, "Turkey, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, corn, green beans, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie." She glanced up at Wesley and said firmly, "There are no rattlesnakes on Thanksgiving, Wesley. I don't know where you get your ideas about American holidays. All I can say is that you must have some pretty strange holidays where you come from."

As Angel walked by, Gunn heard Wesley murmur to him, "Someday I shall have to tell her about Hogmanay."

"You're making that up!"

And it was back to bitch, bitch, bitch, bicker, bicker, bicker...

***

"Those two helpers you brought are doing a fine job."

Gunn looked up from filling trash bags and grinned at the man everyone called the Preacher. He may or may not have been a real minister, but that made no difference to Gunn. He looked out for the homeless folks the best he could in this neighborhood and that made him a man of God in Gunn's books. "Not bad for a couple of white folks," he agreed, looking over to where Cordelia and Wesley still had a smile and a friendly word for everyone, even after being on their feet all afternoon and handing out countless meals. Many of the homeless had been wary of the white guy with the unusual accent at first, but he persevered as he probably had many times before in his life, and now he was getting nods and replies when he went around dispensing coffee to the adults and juice to the children.

"The lord doesn’t care what color your skin is, Charles," the Preacher reproved mildly. "I lost a number of my volunteers this year, and I'd say those two were angels sent in our time of need."

Gunn bent over the trash bags again to hide his grin. "Something like that." It had been a busy week at Angel Investigations, and he'd been called in several times to help out. Each time he showed up Cordelia was talking about Thanksgiving dinner or handing out assignments for Thanksgiving dinner. Angel and Wesley usually traded resigned looks when she came up with yet another project for them, but Gunn noticed they pretty much indulged her in anything she wanted to do. She seemed genuinely happy and enthused about the holiday, and perhaps it was infectious or perhaps they just enjoyed seeing her so happy after watching her suffer when the visions hit.

He was on his way to the back door to toss the bags into the dumpster when a shriek from out front made him drop the bags and run back in. There was a small knot of people gathered where Cordelia and Wesley had been, and he pushed his way through. Wesley was on his knees, cradling Cordelia who was grabbing her head and moaning in pain. Oh crap, he thought. Not today.

Gunn dropped down beside them, and Wesley said urgently, "Help me get her into the back."

They half-carried Cordelia into the back of the shelter and settled her on a chair the Preacher hastily provided. "Could you get her a glass of water, please?" Wesley asked him. "And if you have some aspirin? She gets terrible migraines."

As the Preacher hurried away, Wesley knelt beside Cordelia. She was gripping his hand tightly, and he ran his other hand gently up and down her forearm in a soothing caress. "Cordelia," he said gently, "what did you see?"

Gunn could see the tears shining in her eyes, and he wasn't sure it was from the pain. "A family. Mother, father, little girl, a baby. And demons. Lots of demons."

"Where?" Wesley pressed, covering her hand with his.

"Big building." She took a deep, unsteady breath and squeezed her eyes shut. "Simmons Scrap Metal."

"I know it," Gunn said immediately. "A car graveyard, only a couple of blocks from here."

"Hurry," Cordelia whispered, her voice catching. "Oh god, hurry."

Wesley fished in his jacket pocket and brought out his cell phone, pressing it into Cordelia's hand. "Cordelia, can you call Angel? We're going to need him."

She took the phone with shaking hands. "Yes. Go, hurry."

Wesley gave her hand one final squeeze, then was on his feet, his face set in determination. "Let's go. We'll do what we can until Angel gets there."

It didn't sound like much of a plan, but Gunn didn't argue as they raced out of the shelter to his truck. No one was getting eaten on Thanksgiving in his neighborhood.

The scrap yard was enclosed by a metal link fence and locked with a chain, and they wasted valuable time cutting the chain and getting inside. They could hear the screams as they jumped out of the truck and began pulling weapons out of the back. They ran to the open door to the old metal building, and Gunn was prepared to charge in when he was brought up short by a firm hand yanking him back.

"What the hell? What's wrong with you?" Gunn snapped. "We need to get in there."

"I need a chance to identify the demons first," Wesley answered steadily. "We have to know what we're walking into. We can't help those people if we get killed within the first thirty seconds because we don't know what we're up against."

It only took Gunn a grudging moment to realize that without the indestructible Angel to go in first, it did make sense. "Hurry," he growled.

Wesley nodded sharply and led the way inside. They really didn't have to worry about being quiet as the screams were reverberating off the metal walls, but they were careful nonetheless, not wanting to be seen by the demons. Wesley stopped and held up his hand. Gunn stopped right behind him, gripping his axe in readiness as Wesley carefully looked around a corner. He pulled back sharply and swallowed. "Good lord," he whispered. "Firgalli demons."

"What are --"

"Baby eaters," Wesley explained, looking a little sick. "The mother has a baby in her arms. A Firgalli will kill anything that gets between it and a baby."

"How do we --"

"Slice and dice. But watch out for the claws. The venom won't kill an adult human, but it will make you wish you were dead." And with that, Wesley rushed inside, his deadly adz already swinging. Gunn followed with a bloodcurdling shout.

It didn't take long Gunn to work out they were all going to be dead very soon unless they came up with a plan. He'd never seen a Firgalli demon before and he sincerely hoped he never ran across one again. They were at least seven feet tall with heads that were dog-like in appearance, and they communicated in growls and high pitched howls. At least Gunn assumed they were communicating. There were five of them, and he and Wesley had managed to get between them and the family Cordelia saw in her vision. The father was a man probably in his late twenties. He didn't look like someone who would win many fights, but he had a broken piece of wood in his hands with a piece of material wrapped around one end that he'd set on fire, and he'd been using that to keep the demons back, so he could think on his feet. There was a little girl of about five or six years old clinging to her mother's jeans and crying; and the mother, petite and young looking, had a baby pressed against her chest. The demons circled around, swiping at them with their claws as they ducked and swung their weapons to keep them at bay. They wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer. The father was already tiring, and if one of them went down there would be a stampede.

"Gunn." Wesley sounded out of breath as he ducked another lethal swipe and landed a blow that made one of the Firgalli howl in pain. "This isn't working."

"No shit."

"Firgalli aren't that bright and they're not that fast. They don’t need to be when their prey is so weak and helpless. I have an idea."

"I'm listening, English," Gunn grunted, swinging his axe to keep a demon away from the father.

"We can't keep fighting in these close quarters. They're minutes away from wearing us down and going through us to get the baby. I propose to take the baby and give them a chase. They have pack animal mentality, so they'll stay together. I can lead them outside where we have room to maneuver. It's dusk now, and Angel won't have a problem being outside."

As plans went, it was better than what they had now, but only marginally. There was just one adjustment Gunn would make. "I'll take the baby."

"I need you at my back. And I need you to get their attention so I can make a break for it." There was a pause. "Gunn?"

"I'm on it." It did make sense. And he'd seen Wesley run; for a skinny white guy he could move pretty fast.

The woman was almost hysterical as she gripped her crying baby even tighter. "You can't! I won't let you take him!"

Wesley managed to keep his voice calm and reasonable even while evading slashing claws. "If we stay here, these things will kill all of us to get to your baby. If I take him, I can lead them away where we have a better chance of fighting them. They won't hurt you; they'll come after me."

"Carol." The husband was panting with exertion. "I can't keep this up. He's right. Let him lead them away. You and Jenny can get to safety and we can fight them. Honey, we don't have a choice."

"You must make up your mind now," Wesley told her urgently. "We don't have any more time."

Carol was openly sobbing. "Don't let those monsters get my baby."

"I won't. I promise."

Gunn hoped like hell Wesley could keep that promise.

"Gunn, get ready. When I tell you, do whatever you can to get their attention; I'll take the baby and run. Ready?"

"Ready."

"Now!"

Wesley couldn't see what Gunn did. He heard a yell that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and a sharp yelp from one of the Firgalli. And then there was an opening for him. He snatched the crying baby from Carol's arms, slipped between the demons, and ran. There was a roar of rage from one of the demons and a claw brushed the top of his hair as it came close to scalping him. He pounded outside into the dusk and made a sharp right. It didn't matter where he went as long a he stayed within the fenced compound and didn't lead the Firgalli out into the general populace. That way led to full scale slaughter. The scrap metal yard was a chaotic resting place for junked automobiles, equipment, buses, and anything containing salvageable metal pieces. There were little dirt roads leading through the mounds of junk, and Wesley ran toward an old VW van that had once been brightly painted in psychedelic designs and now seemed to be held together by rust. There was no back door, and he carefully laid the baby inside, wedging him between the remnants of the seat so he couldn't wriggle out. It didn't matter about the crying; he knew the Firgalli could smell them both and would soon be there.

He heard their snarling before he saw them. Three of them turned the corner on all fours, heading straight for him. Once they got closer they raised to their back legs, their claws ready. In the distance he could hear Gunn swearing and a demon howling. Then there was a high-pitched yelp of pain and then silence. The other Firgalli seemed to know what happened, and for a moment all action ceased as they turned their fur-covered faces to the sky and howled in unison. The sound sent chills down Wesley's spine. But the sound was no more chilling than the look on Gunn's face when he came into view. His axe and clothes were covered in yellow demon blood and called grimly, "One down."

One down. Three in front of him. As Wesley squared off against the Firgalli, the significance of those numbers hit him the same instant he heard Gunn's desperate warning. "Wesley! Behind you!"

Before he could turn, five claws dug into each arm between his shoulder and elbow in the most indescribable explosion of pain and he was lifted off his feet and dangled in front of the other demons like a prize.

"Wesley!" Gunn was frantically trying to fight his way through two of the Firgalli while the third faced Wesley, one clawed hand raised.

With a surge of panic Wesley realized he was about to be eviscerated. It was the death the Firgalli reserved for their most hated enemies. As the demon approached to deliver the lethal blow, Wesley tried to ignore the excruciating pain in his arms and brought up both knees, lashing out in a frantic kick at the demon. It didn't knock him over, but it did ruin his aim. Instead of having his insides ripped out, Wesley felt a white-hot burning pain across his chest as the claws ripped flesh. A tiny part of his mind that was keeping track of such things reminded him that the venom would start to take effect very quickly and he would soon be no help at all to Gunn. His plan had failed and he had failed, and they would all die here in this junkyard on Thanksgiving Day.

His vision was already becoming blurry and there was a hissing in his ears. He could still hear fighting in the background and the sound of Gunn swearing and shouting. When the demon he'd thwarted raised his clawed hand again, he realized he was already too weak to raise his legs for another kick. All he could do was hang helplessly and watch as the Firgalli prepared to disembowel him.

Then there was a snarl louder and more fearsome than any he'd heard from the Firgalli, and suddenly the demon in front of him was ripped from his sight. He only had long enough to glimpse a black leather coat and the sight of Angel in full game face before the demon holding him swung him viciously around. The side of the VW van rushed up to meet his face and his world exploded in darkness.

He became aware of a jumble of voices before he could actually open his eyes.

"The ambulance is on the way. How's he doing?" Gunn. He sounded worried about something.

"He's got a lot of Firgalli venom in him." Angel. He'd known Angel would get here in time. He felt a cool hand on his forehead. "His temperature's already climbing." Ah. The venom. No wonder he felt so...terrible. He could smell leather and realized the softness under his head must be Angel's coat.

"Is the man going to be okay?" Who was that? It sounded like a child. "He was a hero, wasn't he, Mommy?"

He could hear a woman sobbing softly in the background. "Yes, honey, he was a hero."

The baby. He didn't hear the baby. The baby had been crying the whole time, but not now... "Baby?" That's what he meant to say, but it sounded like gibberish to his ears. His tongue felt like it was coated with fur and too large for his mouth. He struggled to sit up. He'd put the baby in the van. Did they know that? "Where's the baby?"

The hand on his forehead transferred to his shoulder and easily kept him down. "The baby's fine, Wes. You saved him."

"Yeah, your plan worked, English. The humans are all alive and the demons are all dead."

He blinked his eyes open and made out a blurry form on either side of him. "Everyone's okay?"

"Everyone's fine, Wes." The form that was Angel leaned closer, and he spoke carefully, his hand gently squeezing Wesley's shoulder: "You got quite a dose of Firgalli venom in you. It's going to make you very sick for a while, but you're going to be fine, you know that, right?"

He tried to nod his head, but gave that up as a bad idea and just whispered, "Not lethal to adults," as if he was reciting a homework assignment.

"That's right. It's going to be a rough couple of days, but we'll be there with you. You're going to be fine. Just remember that, okay?"

The hissing in his ears was worse and he was only catching about one in five words, but he understood Angel was trying to reassure him. He knew he wasn't going to die from the venom, but he also knew the next few days were going to be far from pleasant. His eyes drifted shut because he just couldn't keep them open any longer. "Angel?"

"Right here, Wes."

"Perhaps I should give up on Thanksgiving. It doesn’t seem to work out very well for me."

The next time Wesley opened his eyes his whole body was lying on something soft, he was surrounded by muted light, and there was an annoying beeping in his ears. But it was still an improvement over how he had felt earlier. He distinctly remembered his body shaking violently with chills and burning up with fever. That, at least, seemed to be over although he wasn't sure he had enough strength to move his limbs. He tried anyhow, and instantly there was a cool, familiar hand on his arm.

"Easy, Wes."

He turned his head, blinking at the form just visible in the dimness. "Angel?"

Angel leaned closer. "You're in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?"

Wesley stared at him for a moment, then nodded slowly as the memories rushed back. "Firgalli. How long?"

"You've been out of it for two days." Angel smiled tightly. "Two long days." There was a reassuring pat on his arm. "But you're through the worst of it now. Your fever finally broke a couple of hours ago. The doctor was in and said your vitals were looking good. I think they're going to let us take you home in another couple of days."

Wesley concentrated hard, trying to absorb all the information. His memories of his hospital stay were jumbled to say the least. He had vague impressions of people talking to him and squeezing his hand and blotting his forehead with a cool, damp cloth, and he doubted very much he'd had a nurse with him the whole time. "I didn't expect...I mean, I didn't think you'd be here."

"Gunn's here during the day, and I'm here at night." Angel shifted his chair a bit to the side so Wesley could see around him. "And Cordelia's here pretty much all the time."

Wesley could see Cordelia curled up in a chair in the corner in what had to be a very uncomfortable position. He winced at the thought of what that was doing to her neck muscles. "Oh, Angel, you need to take her home," he whispered.

"I think I can get her to leave now," he agreed. "We just didn't want you to be alone."

Wesley was still trying to process the fact his friends had kept watch over him for the past two days. "But, I wasn't in any danger of dying."

Angel looked at him steadily. "That wasn't the point."

"Oh." He wanted to say more, but his eyes kept trying to close even while his mind kept spinning. Something important was pushing itself to the front of his mind. "Angel, the Firgalli. They shouldn't be this far south."

"I know. Gunn's had his crew doing sweeps to make sure there aren't any more in the area. Must have been a rogue pack. Don't worry about it, okay? Just try to get some sleep. The sooner you get your strength back, the sooner we can get you back home."

Home had never sounded so good. He sighed, and his eyes fluttered shut as he felt his body surrendering to the tug of sleep. "I'm afraid I ruined Cordelia's Thanksgiving. Is she very upset?"

A small, warm hand suddenly gripped his. "She's only going to be upset if you don't get with the program and get yourself better pronto, mister. Some people will do anything to get out of eating turkey. Thanksgiving will be waiting for you when you wake up, and you're going to celebrate a real American holiday whether you want to or not."

There was something very reassuring about being told off by Cordelia, and Wesley managed to squeeze her hand before drifting back into sleep.

***

Cordelia had a really nice apartment. Gunn looked around in appreciation, enjoying the cozy, homey feel of it. She had little Thanksgiving decorations scattered around the place and candles lit, lending the place a festive look and giving off a scent of home baked cookies. She was happily carrying dishes out of the kitchen to place on the dining room table, and he was taking orders and doing whatever she told him to do because, well, this was a real celebration. It had become less about a holiday and more about a welcome home party for Wesley. Angel must have told him a dozen times at the hospital that Wesley was going to be fine, that the venom in his system wouldn't kill him, but it hadn't looked that way at the time, and Gunn suspected Angel kept saying it out loud just to reassure himself. Cordelia had refused to leave until she was convinced Wesley was out of danger, snapping at anyone who tried to coax her into going home for some rest. Even Angel, who had been so adamant about Wesley's full recovery, had been brooding and anxious until Wesley's fever had broken and the doctors had given him the all clear.

He remembered showing up at the hospital just before dawn that first day to take over for Angel and finding the vampire sitting by Wesley's side reading to him from a big old book. Wesley had been caught in the throes of delirium, and Angel explained that the sound of a familiar voice and words from a familiar book seemed to soothe him. So when Angel left, Gunn had picked up the book, which was thankfully in English, and read to him about a variety of demons Gunn had never heard of before. When Cordelia took over for him, she waved away the book. She had brought a supply of fashion magazines with her, and she kept up a constant stream of commentary on what she thought of the clothes, shoes and hairstyles featured in the pages.

When Wesley was sleeping peacefully, which hadn't been often, Gunn had thought about the last time he'd seen Wesley in a hospital. That was the time both Wesley and Cordelia had ended up in the hospital and Angel had come to him to provide protection for them. He and members of his crew had taken shifts outside their doors, and on what turned out to be his last shift he had ended up on the ICU ward, keeping an eye on Wesley. He'd seen the guy covered in cuts and burns and pretty much out of it even when he did occasionally wake up. Gunn had been there when Angel came striding back through the corridors, his face grim, gripping some sort of cylinder in his hand. It wasn't like Gunn was trying to eavesdrop, but he'd been right outside the door, so he'd seen and heard everything. Although obviously anxious and in a hurry, not to mention looking guilty as hell for waking him, Angel had been very careful and gentle with Wesley. Gunn had heard the soft murmur of voices, and then Wesley started struggling to sit up. That set off all his alarms and a nurse had come hurrying down the corridor. There had been a bit of an argument between one slightly disoriented but very determined English guy and an ICU nurse, but the English guy won the round. Several minutes later Angel had been pushing him out of his room in a wheelchair with his IV still hooked up, and Wesley had been blinking furiously at a scroll of paper in his hands. Angel gave him a brief nod as they passed, but Wesley never looked up from the paper. That was the last he'd seen of Wesley until he delivered that seal to him and Cordelia at her apartment.

He'd gotten to know them both since then. He remembered with a pang of guilt how just a short while ago he'd thought he didn't want C3PO as his back-up in the field. But the man had more than proved himself. He'd be proud to have Wesley at his back, and he'd tell him that. He sneaked a cookie from a plate while Cordelia lit candles on the table, and both of them turned as the door opened.

"Wesley!" Cordelia crossed the room on the fly and only remembered at the last minute the bandages that were under Wesley's sweater. Instead of a hug, she kissed him on the cheek and then took him by the hand, leading him inside while Angel followed behind, hovering close enough to lend a hand if needed. Wesley did look as though a stiff breeze would have him over, and he was pale even for a white English guy. But he was smiling and looked genuinely touched by the fuss.

As Cordelia settled him on the sofa, Gunn came around and stuck out his fist. "Welcome home, English." Wesley stared at the fist in some confusion until Cordelia gave a little pantomime with her hand, and then he hesitantly held out his fist. Gunn bumped it lightly, and Wesley gave a surprised little 'oh' and looked up at him with a pleased smile. He was definitely going to have to make sure this boy got out more.

"Here you go, Wesley. English Breakfast tea, just the way you like it. Angel said people drink it even when it isn't actually breakfast."

Wesley accepted the cup of tea and looked up at Cordelia warily. "Who are you and what have you done with Cordelia?"

"Laugh it up, Mr. Just-home-from-the-hospital. This is a welcome home party. Tomorrow, everything goes back to normal."

"Very reassuring," he murmured, taking a sip of the tea. He frowned as he looked over at the dining room table. "Aren't there rather too many place settings?"

"We're having company," Angel announced from where he was standing behind Wesley.

"Really? Who?"

"It's a surprise," Cordelia said airily, heading for the kitchen. "Gunn, a little help here."

"Yes, ma'am." Gunn winked at Wesley and headed for the kitchen. As he picked up the serving bowls she pointed at, he said in a low voice, "He still looks pretty sick."

"Angel said the aftereffects are kind of like having mono. He's going to be really tired, but the good news is it shouldn't last more than a week." She smiled brightly. "And in the meantime he has to listen to us and do what we say and eat everything we give him to eat."

She was definitely enjoying that part of it. "Works for me," he agreed.

The doorbell rang, and she shoved another serving dish into his hands as she headed for the door. She flung it open with a big smile. "Hi there. You must be the Collins family. I'm Cordelia."

Wesley started to stand, but Angel was ready for him and firmly pushed him back down again as Cordelia ushered in the family they'd saved at the junkyard. The man strode directly up to Wesley and stuck out his hand. "I'm Ed Collins. Thank you for saving my family."

"Oh, well." Wesley accepted the handshake. "You're welcome, of course, but it wasn't just me. It was all of us."

"But you're the one we haven't been able to thank yet." Carol Collins joined her husband, the baby resting on her hip and the little girl by her side. "We would've all been killed if it hadn't been for you and your friends."

"I'm glad we were able to help. I'm just sorry you had to go through that terrible experience."

"We're sorry you got hurt," she replied. Cordelia waved the family into chairs and the little girl climbed into her father's lap and gazed across the room at Wesley.

"It was my fault," Ed said somberly. "I found a way into that junk yard and we spent the night there. The shelters were all full, and I thought we'd be safe there. We were just leaving to go to the soup kitchen for Thanksgiving dinner when those monsters came from nowhere."

"You couldn't have known," Angel told him.

Wesley was staring at the family with something like horror in his eyes. "Do you have someplace to stay now? If you need help finding a place --"

"Your friend already found us a place." Carol beamed a grateful smile at Gunn. "He has a way of getting things done apparently."

Gunn just nodded. Sometimes it paid to have friends in the right places.

"Well done, Charles."

He didn't expect that praise or the look of open approval he got from Wesley, nor did he expect to feel so warmed by it.

"Oh, and Jen has something for you," Ed told Wesley. He whispered to the little girl on his lap. "Go ahead, Jen, give it to him."

She slipped from her father's lap and walked shyly over to Wesley, clutching a piece of paper that looked as though it had been torn from a school notebook.

"Is that for me?" Wesley asked gently. She nodded, giving him bashful little glances before finally holding out the paper. Wesley carefully took it from her and smoothed it out on his knee. Gunn saw his eyes widen, and he reached up to adjust his glasses. "My goodness," he said finally. "This is...this is most amazing. This is...me? And the baby, of course, and Angel and Gunn." He looked up at Jen and smiled. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

Standing behind Wesley, Angel was grinning, and Cordelia was patting Wesley gently on the shoulder. "I think you captured the real Wesley," she told Jen solemnly.

Gunn had to see this. He moved around behind Cordelia and looked down at the paper Wesley was still holding. The star of the picture was obviously Wesley, a very, very tall Wesley. This Wesley could step over tall buildings, and he knew it was Wesley because the figure was wearing glasses. In one hand he was holding a very small child, which was obviously the baby, and in the other he was holding a very large ax. All around him on the ground were dead demons covered in yellow blood. And the two small figures standing around in Wesley's shadow were obviously himself and Angel. Gunn had a feeling Angel was the one who got all the hero-worshipping around here when he swooped in and saved people, so he thought it was probably good for Wesley to get some of that too.

"You know, I do a little drawing myself," Angel said, studying the picture, "and I think you got it exactly right, Jen."

At least the building crimson in his cheeks gave Wesley's face some color. It was Cordelia who took pity on him oddly enough. "The turkey's on the table. Who's hungry?"

As if on cue, Gunn's stomach gave a loud growl in response to the wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. Jen giggled behind her hand and pointed at him. "You're really hungry."

He grinned and patted his stomach. "I sure am. And I bet I can eat more than you can too."

"That's no fair. You're bigger."

As Wesley pushed himself slowly to his feet, it was Carol who got to his side first and put her free hand under his elbow. "So, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce --"

"Oh, it's Wesley, please."

"Wesley, you're English, aren't you?"

As they made their way toward the dining table, Gunn told Carol, "It shows, don't it?"

"I like the way he talks," Jen said staunchly, sticking up for her hero. "I think it's pretty."

Catching Wesley's embarrassed look, Gunn teased, "Oh yeah, he talks real pretty."

Ed lifted Jen onto the chair Cordelia had equipped with a pillow to help her reach the table. "You know, they don't have Thanksgiving in England, Jen."

She looked up at Wesley as he settled into his chair. "You don't? Do you have Christmas and Santa Claus?"

"Indeed we do, but we call him Father Christmas."

"Do you have Halloween?"

"Not so much, especially when I was your age. But we have Guy Fawkes Day, and then we have bonfires and fireworks."

"Do you get candy?"

"No, no candy on Guy Fawkes Day."

Jen wrinkled her nose. "I think I like Halloween better."

Cordelia scooped a large spoonful of mashed potatoes onto Wesley's plate. "Don't the English have any good holidays?"

"Well, we don't have a National Shopping Day if that's what you mean, Cordelia. But we do have Boxing Day."

"Okay, stop it right there." Cordelia pointed a gravy ladle at him. "First you try to tell me you have a holiday for pigs and now you tell me you have a holiday for boxing?"

Carol leaned over to Angel and whispered, "Are they always like this?"

Angel had something like a smile of contentment on his face as he watched them verbally volley back and forth. "Pretty much."

Cordelia poured a large helping of gravy on Wesley's potatoes, ignoring his objections. "Obviously English holidays suck. You're lucky you're here."

Jen piped up as she made a hole in her own mashed potatoes in preparation for the gravy: "Daddy says we're all lucky to be here."

For a moment all the adults simply looked at one another, and then Wesley said softly, "Your daddy is absolutely right, Jen. We are all very lucky."

Carol laid her hand on top of her husband's on the table. "Even with everything that's happened to us this year, I don't think I've ever felt so grateful."

Gunn looked around the table. Both Ed and Carol Collins had tears in their eyes, but they were smiling at each other with obvious love; Wesley was blinking rather rapidly behind his glasses; Jen was watching Cordelia, and from the look in her eyes was making mental notes on how to deal with her brother when he got old enough to bully; Angel looked as though he was ready to raise a wine glass and proclaim 'God bless us, everyone'; and Cordelia was sneaking biscuits onto Wesley's plate.

Wesley firmly removed the basket of hot biscuits from Cordelia's hand and passed it along. "I must say, this is definitely the nicest Thanksgiving I've ever had."

Cordelia gave him a level look. "Wesley, this is your second Thanksgiving, and you spent your last one with a rattlesnake."

Wesley looked away so she couldn't see the grin on his face and caught Gunn's gaze. "Exactly. And you have to admit, that's hard to top."

Gunn couldn't help himself; the man deserved props for taking on Cordelia. He made a fist and was pleased when Wesley bumped it with his own in a little gesture of triumph. There was hope for this boy yet.

And it was back to bitch, bitch, bitch, bicker, bicker, bicker. Only this time he found himself in the middle of it as well, and he discovered he didn't mind one bit. In fact, he thought he could probably get to like it a lot.

*fin*

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DISCLAIMER: ANGEL and its characters is the property of Joss Whedon (Mutant Enemy), David Greenwalt (LazyDave), Fox, and the WB network. No copyright infringement is intended. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.