"Goddamnit, Wesley, why did you..." Cordelia grabbed the phone and dialled 911, fingers shaking as she pounded the buttons. Why did stupid Angel have to show up now, just to get some stupid book that he was probably going to use to magically stalk stupid Darla or something? "Jerk!" she hissed.

"What?" Wesley asked, looking hurt. He was pressing his hands against his stomach, but the blood was spreading fast.

"Not you," Cordelia said. "Him."

Wesley nodded. Even though it was really hard for him to look even more like a kicked puppy, he managed it.

The hold message stopped and finally the operator picked up. "Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?"

"My friend popped his stitches and he's bleeding all over the floor. Get an ambulance here, pronto, or I know lawyers who'll have your firstborn." Cordelia gave their address and a very succinct history of Wesley's gunshot wound, then hung up the phone so hard she almost cracked the plastic. She grabbed her jacket and hurried over to Wesley's side. She folded it and pressed it against the wound, then moved Wesley's bloody hands to hold it in place. God, so much blood.

Cordelia placed one hand over Wesley's, to help keep the pressure on. With the other she stroked Wesley's brow. His skin was cool and damp, and he was getting paler by the second. Wesley didn't have a lot of color to spare at the best of times, and Cordelia had often been tempted to just buy him a tanning salon membership so he could look less like a vampire. One of those around the office was enough. More than enough.

"Isn't this your jacket?" Wesley asked, looking down at the stained fabric.

"It was dated. Couldn't be seen in public with something that ugly." Cordelia pressed harder.

Wesley smiled weakly at her. "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.

"Don't be. It's just a stupid jacket."

"I'll buy you another. Something pretty." Wesley's voice was fading, and his hands were going limp under Cordelia's hand. She pinched his arm with her free hand. He flinched, but his eyes cleared a little.

"You'd better, mister," she threatened. "The ambulance will be here in just a minute. If it isn't, I'm going to kick the paramedic's ass." She thought about this for a moment, then added, "After he gets you to the hospital, of course."

"Of course," Wesley nodded. He looked up at her. "Cordelia..."

"Don't."

"Cordelia," Wesley continued, "I'm sorry about Angel. He had no right to... to threaten you. I wish--"

"Shh," Cordelia hushed him. "I'm fine. No harm done. I'm no the one who's bleeding all over a hundred-dollar jacket."

Wesley cocked an eyebrow. "I thought it was cheap?"

"No, just ugly. I left... I left a lot of stuff at the hotel. But hey, no going back for it now."

"We should have..." Wesley winced and bit his lip. Sweat dotted his brow. Cordelia listened intently for a siren. "We should have gone back for them. Your clothes, my other books. Should have given him what he wanted. So he'd stay away from us. From you."

"Don't try to talk," Cordelia said, hushing him again. He didn't look quite as bad as he had the night Gunn had hauled him into the shelter, pale as death, but it wasn't exactly a healthy SoCal glow. Finally, she heard the ambulance siren getting closer. "Oh thank God!"

She pressed Wesley's hands to hold the jacket down firmly, then went to wave in the paramedics. She watched anxiously as they moved Wesley onto a stretcher and hurried him into the ambulance. They almost didn't let her ride in the back with Wesley, but she gave them her best Queen C glare and they moved aside for her.

Cordelia held Wesley's hand all through the ride to the hospital. She was probably squeezing it too tightly, but he didn't complain.

When they reached the emergency room, they rushed Wesley away and Cordelia was left with paperwork and an uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting area. More expenses they couldn't afford, more bills they couldn't pay. But what could they do? It was debt or death. For the millionth time, Cordelia cursed Angel's name. She hoped Darla gave him syphilis and his dick fell off. See how he'd like immortality as a real eunuch.

She wished she could call Gunn, if only to have someone else to worry with. But Gunn had left. It was just her and Wes.

Finally, a doctor came with a file and a clipboard. He explained that Wesley had torn six stitches, two of them internal. They'd sewn him back up, but he was absolutely not to strain himself in any way for at least a week. Cordelia nodded in all the usual places and took the instructions and prescription and just did what had to be done so she could go get Wesley and take him home.

His eyes were closed when she reached his bedside, but he must have been awake. As soon as she sat down next to him he turned towards her and blinked. His eyes were glassy, from pain and painkillers.

It wasn't fair. They'd just gotten him home safe, and he'd almost died again. She took his hand that didn't have needles in it and gripped it tightly. He'd almost died for Gunn, and now he'd almost died for her.

"We have to stop meeting like this," she said, smiling sadly.

Wesley gave a little huff of a laugh, then winced. "Please don't make me laugh."

"Sure," she agreed. "As long as you promise to stop opening your guts up."

Wesley raised his free hand. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a scout," Cordelia said, shaking her head.

"Is Gunn here?" Wesley asked, looking hopeful. When Cordelia didn't answer right away the light faded from his eyes. "Oh."

"I'm sure he'd be here if he knew," Cordelia assured him. She stroked his brow, which was now warm and dry. "We just don't know how to reach him."

"No," Wesley said. He swallowed. "Cordelia..."

"Yeah?"

"I... I'm proud of you. For standing up to him. Angel, I mean. I wish... this blasted injury..."

"You did some pretty impressive standing up yourself. And by impressive I mean completely stupid and almost got you killed."

"He was going to hurt you."

"I can take care of myself," Cordelia said, fiercely.

Wesley looked away. Cordelia mentally kicked herself.

"Hey. That's not what I meant. Look at me."

Wesley looked up. Back to the kicked puppy face again.

"I trust you to protect me. You did protect me. But I'm not going to be something for you to die for, visions or no visions."

"It's not the visions that I..." Wesley faltered. "It doesn't matter. Even in Sunnydale, when I... when I wasn't 'screaming like a woman,' that is..."

"I know," Cordelia said, gently.

Wesley tried to sit up, but Cordelia pushed him down.

"Stay. Put," she said, frowning at him. "Do you want to pop your stitches again?"

Wesley sighed. "Will they let me go home tonight?"

"If you pop your stitches, no," Cordelia said sternly. "But otherwise, yeah." She held up the list of "Don't"s the doctor had given her. She held it up as if to read from it. "Oh look: no fending off psychotic vampire ex-bosses."

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Really, Cordelia."

She put down the paper. "All right, all right. I'll get a nurse." She stood with a huff and strode over to the nurse's station. She signed Wesley out and the nurse followed her back to his bed. Cordelia waited while the nurse removed the IV and helped Wesley into his somewhat bloodied clothes. Then she joined in and helped Wesley sit upright and then slide into the waiting wheelchair.

Wesley was quiet as they wheeled him out to the car and helped him inside. His mouth was drawn tight, and he was looking pale again. Cordelia figured his painkillers were wearing off and he was being too stubborn to take the next dose when he needed it. She hadn't had his new prescription filled at the hospital, so she pulled out her own and handed him two pills and a half-empty water bottle.

"Here. Take them." She didn't need to add the "or else." Wesley swallowed the pills.

By the time they were nearing his apartment, the pain in his eyes had faded. Vision headaches needed the good stuff almost as much as bullet wounds did.

Cordelia parked the car in front of Wesley's apartment building and turned off the engine, but didn't open the door.

"You scared me, Wesley," she said, not looking at him. "That's twice now I had to watch you almost bleed to death in front of me. You can't do that anymore."

"I don't know that I have any choice in the matter," Wesley said. "Our work--"

"Screw our work!" She turned to him. "This isn't even... this is Angel's work. He should be out there right now, helping the helpless. Bullets don't hurt him, nothing hurts him. Hell, Buffy killed him and he's still kicking. Wesley, you're not... you're human."

Wesley reached up and stroked her hair. "You're human, too," he said, eyes soft. "The visions, they don't go away just because he left you. Left us. They hurt you more when they aren't taken care of quickly."

It wasn't a question. Cordelia nodded.

"I won't let you suffer for him," Wesley said, voice full of determination. "I won't let him hurt you anymore. I... I care about you, Cordelia. I know I'm just a fool with more pride than sense, but--"

"You're not," she said, stopping him. "You're better than he is."

Wesley was quiet for a few moments, but Cordelia could see how much that meant to him. She took his hand and warmed it between her own. Wesley looked up at her, and his eyes were shining. Cordelia remembered when she first told Wesley she trusted him with her life. He'd gotten all sniffly, and Cordelia had just written it off as another geeky Wesley thing. It didn't look so geeky anymore.

His fingers curled around her hand, and he pulled gently. Cordelia let herself lean towards him. Their lips brushed, and Cordelia felt his warm breath against her skin. He drew back just a fraction, and Cordelia closed the space between them. Their third kiss in as many years, and it was just as different from the second kiss as that had been from the first. This kiss was sweet and caring and delicate, and it ended too soon.

Wesley drew back, eyes sad. And Cordelia realized: Virginia. Oh God.

They both began to speak their apologies, words running over each other. Then Wesley held up a hand.

"I can't... I love her, Cordelia."

"I know," Cordelia said. "She loves you, you love her, I love you, you love me, it's a song."

"One that I'm going to have stuck in my head for days now, thank you so much."

"What, you'd rather be thinking of Barney than me?"

Wesley licked his lips. "I'd rather be thinking of you," he said, eyes dark. "But I can't. Not... not while..."

"Our timing's always sucked," Cordelia said, wryly. "C'mon, let's get you upstairs. We'll call your girlfriend so she can comfort you."

"Cordelia," Wesley began. He reached up and stroked her cheek, once, then dropped his hand. "Thank you. For everything."

"Don't forget you owe me a new jacket, buster. I expect shopping."

"You wouldn't torture a wounded man?" Wesley pouted.

"Healing first, shopping later. Maybe by the time you stop bleeding all over L.A., we'll have actual paying clients."

"That sounds... quite nice, actually," Wesley said, leaning back.

"We dream big here at Chase Investigations."

"Wyndam-Pryce Investigations."

"You keep dreaming, Wesley." Cordelia opened her door.

Wesley smiled at her. "I will."