It didn’t matter. Training them, being responsible for their lives – it just got under your skin; you got to know them in a way that transcended personal feeling. Sam, who Alex could cheerfully clout a dozen times a day, had still impressed him by buckling down these last few weeks and turning into a damn good shot. Liz was really okay, despite being so prickly sometimes – he’d seen how hard she’d worked to gain her shooting skills; how harsh she was on herself when she didn’t get it right. Brendan’s incessant talking grated, but Alex knew he’d miss him if he were gone. And Trish, with her freckled face and blue eyes, was almost like the glue that held them all together: smoothing quarrels, making sure everyone was getting along, so that the others gravitated towards her like a den mother.

Not to mention Wesley. Alex had sort of discounted him at first, not having time to delve into whatever the guy’s sullen deal was, as long as his training was coming along all right. Then one night he’d heard a noise in the range and gone to check – and there had been Wesley, at two o’clock in the morning, shooting targets on his own.

“Hey, aren’t I working you hard enough?” Alex had joked.

A flush had stained Wesley’s dark cheeks. He’d hastily put the gun back in the weapons cabinet, while behind him the target still bounced on its chain. “Couldn’t sleep,” he muttered.

Suddenly the truth had hit Alex. “Wait a minute – you do this a lot, don’t you? That’s why your score’s been improving so much lately.”

Willow had told him Wesley was shy; Alex hadn’t really believed it until now – a scowl was coming over his face, but underneath it he just looked mortified. “Look, I’ve got to get it right, okay? I’m not keeping anyone awake or anything.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Alex leaned his shoulder against the wall. “But staying up all night won’t help; you need to get a good night’s sleep.”

Christ, he sounded like his dad. Mentally rolling his eyes at himself, Alex had started to say something else – and stopped as Wesley burst out, “You don’t understand! I’ve got to get it. It’s my only chance to get back at the angels, I can’t—” He broke off. The flush crept down to his neck; he crossed his arms over his chest and looked away.

Alex had slowly come away from the wall. “Angel burn?” he guessed.

Wesley swallowed. “My, um...my whole family. My mom was...was CIA; that’s how I...” He trailed off.

Painful understanding had stirred through Alex, as he realized how much they had in common. “I never knew that,” he said at last.