*****

"Man, I gotta tell you--"

Angel looked over his shoulder at Gunn, as they trod down the hallway to their suite. Gunn was covered in yellow and orange demon goo. Snot, actually, but Angel wasn't about to inform his lover of that. "Tell me what?"

"You stink, man." Gunn's nose wrinkled up, as he acted like Angel had just walked in off the street after having accidentally rolled around in dog droppings.

"Yeah? And your aim was l...less than perfect." He'd been about to say, 'Lousy,' but of course it hadn't been, and Angel didn't especially want to wait until Wesley came home, to get turned back from the newt he'd become if he told a direct lie. Stupid, stupid, rassenfrassen spell... Still, he had to say *something*. Angel had gotten sprayed by Mathrak demon blood, which smelled worse than Cordelia's cooking, after Gunn had struck it with his ax. He'd been about saving Angel's life, of course, but that wasn't the point.

"*My* aim? You mean my saved your undead ass aim?"

"If you'd hit it a few inches lower, it wouldn't have sprayed me with blood. It would have just lost use of its lower limbs, organs, and brain. It'd be dead, and I wouldn't smell."

Gunn was giving him a flat stare, now. Angel tried looking guileless, but honestly, he'd never picked up the trick of it. All he could hope for was 'cute' or 'hopeless'. He didn't see how someone like *Spike* could look completely and utterly adorable, without so much as a twitch. Oh well. At least Gunn knew Angel wasn't lying, per se.

"Yeah, you wouldn't smell, 'cause your ass would be ash, if I'd taken the time to line up my aim so your favorite shirt didn't get trashed, instead of just whackin' its head off."

"I wasn't complaining about--" Shit. Newt. Orange and purple newt. "You were complaining about me smelling. You really think it's trashed?" Angel looked down at his best black silk shirt. There *was* a lot of blood on it.

"It's gone, Angel. Dead. Joined the choir invisible. It's an ex-shirt."

"Maybe there shouldn't be any more English TV nights for you." An idle threat, since no more English telly nights would mean no more getting Wes plastered by making him take a shot every time Mr. Humphries said, 'I'm free!' and neither of them was going to give *that* up.

He studied the shirt again, ignoring the fact that Gunn was holding the door open for him. Was it really ruined? He didn't trust Gunn's opinion; he'd suspected for a long time that Gunn was systematically trying to destroy every piece of dark clothing he owned. Wes would know whether it could be saved or not; sometimes it was nice to have a lover with a laundry fetish. He decided to put it aside in a smell-proof bag, to wait for an expert opinion.

"Uh-huh," Gunn was saying. "You try keeping it until he gets home and we are *both* leaving you. Hell, we'll have to fumigate the hotel, again."

"Two weeks isn't...that long. It's just a few days or so," Angel responded, trying not to look startled that Gunn had figured him out so well. "In the life of a vampire, anyway." He went into the suite, though, thinking that maybe if he invited Gunn to share the shower, he could sneak the shirt into the bag without Gunn noticing.

"Or so? Talk about pushing your newt-luck. Two more weeks is not 'a few days' -- especially in the life of a stinky, dead shirt. Besides, his last phone call he said he wasn't sure *how* long it'd be."

Angel could hear Gunn's disappointment -- he felt it himself. The first day had been nice, a short break from having to constantly be aware of two lovers. The second day he'd caught himself brooding about Wes being gone, and since then he'd only grown to miss him, more. He knew Gunn felt the same way, even without the whispered talks in bed, when they'd turned the lights off and cuddled in the empty spot between them.

"Did he sound distracted to you?" Angel asked, as he pulled his shirt out of his slacks, and began unbuttoning the fly.

"Uh-huh," Gunn said, sounding a little distracted, himself. Angel supposed it was because he was letting his slacks fall down, and bending over to help them, and showing Gunn his black-briefs-clad ass in the process. Funnily enough, Gunn didn't have the same complaints about his black wardrobe when it came to underwear, though he destroyed them as often as any other piece of clothing. Just usually not during battle.

Angel looked down at his feet, and made a noise of surprise at seeing his boots. He bent over farther to unlace them. He could hear Gunn moving closer to him, and he grinned at his toes as he pulled them out of the boots and slipped his socks off, still bent over. When the hand touched his back, Angel was ready for it, and didn't jump. Er, much.

Then Gunn was bending close over him and breathing in his ear. "Angel..."

"Yeah?"

"You smell."

"Your point being, and may I say you're gonna kill the mood here, if you don't watch it?"

"My point being I'm not having sex with you until you take a shower."

Angel didn't move. The position he was in was actually better, for what he was trying to accomplish, than face to face. Let Spike adorable-ize his way out of trouble, if Xander wanted to fall for that kind of blatant manipulation. Angel might not be known for being the most subtle man in the world, but he did have his moments of inspiration. He flexed his ass muscles.

"I was kind of hoping you'd have sex with me *while* I take a shower." Okay, not all that subtle.

"Man I ain't even taking a shower with you, until you take a shower. Angel, I love you but you *stink*."

Flex.

"Uh-uh, man, no way. Shower first."

Angel hesitated, then slowly began to stand back up -- making sure to use his ass muscles to maintain his wavery balance.

"Yeah, right. You think after watching Wes do a strip-tease for the thousandth time and making me wonder just how the heck I ended up in the hot tub when I was on my way to rescue my truck from Spike, that I'm gonna fall for something as simple as you twitching your butt at me?"

Angel looked over his shoulder. "I was kinda hoping."

Gunn shook his head. Then he took off his jacket. "Don't be using that rose scented soap, all right? Cordelia gets one whiff of it and she'll be raggin' on us all week." Gunn took his own shirt and jeans off, still chuckling, and followed him into the bathroom.

Angel didn't stop to question his success, just started heading for the shower. He had to leave his shirt someplace where Gunn wouldn't see it, which would be hard to do with Gunn standing right next to him, but he'd figure something out. The company was worth the difficulty. When he turned around and saw what Gunn was still wearing, Angel stared happily for a moment, then realized they looked familiar. "Aren't those Wesley's?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? There's no way I could get his underwear on my fine, well-muscled, posterior. I just got 'em to match."

"Wesley's ass isn't fine?" Angel asked without looking back, as he leaned into the shower and turned the water on quickly, curtain wrapped around himself to save him from the icy spray that always came out for the first few minutes, then quickly jumped back out to let the water get hot.

"Of course Wesley's ass is fine, nimrod. It's just too skinny. Like the rest of him." Gunn was peeling those cheetah print briefs off as he spoke. He looked up at Angel. "You think his folks are feeding him enough?"

Angel leaned against the bathroom wall, and frowned. He had a sudden vision of Wesley locked in a little bedroom under the stairs like Harry Potter, wearing his dad's old socks and eating two-day-old bagels for breakfast. He knew that wasn't the case, knew Wes was a grown man and anything that might have happened when he was a child aside, no one could get away with doing something like that now. But still...

"I get the feeling he won't remember to eat at all," he said, after his pause for thought had grown into a measurable silence. Then, "I don't like him going back there."

"You and me both. We should have tied him to the bed and told his ole lady he wasn't available."

"I don't think you can call an Englishwoman an 'ole lady'," Angel pointed out. He was waiting for Gunn to get into the shower, so he could hide his shirt.

"Think we should just go get him? Two weeks is long enough, don't you think? His dad's outta the hospital, and they say he's gonna be OK, right?" Gunn's tone said that he wasn't serious, he was just grumbling about missing Wes.

"That's what Wes said. You know, you could have gone with him." Angel twitched the shower curtain a little, making it appear that he was gesturing Gunn in, ahead of him.

"So could you. Put you in cargo, take a night flight...and don't think I'm getting in that shower while you're still standing there in that shirt. *Lose* it, deadman. It's stinkin' up the bathroom."

Angel blinked in surprise, and tried to look like he didn't have a clue what Gunn was talking about. Gunn's reply was cut short by a knock on their front door.

"Go away! We're naked in here!" Gunn called out. Angel knew it was safe, because the only people who would take that as an invitation, were in England.

"Fine!" Cordelia called back. "I'll just take this registered letter from Wesley back downstairs. Maybe even steam it open and read it."

Angel pulled off his shirt, yanked his robe off the back of the door, and shrugged into it faster than Gunn did his, but he did have supernatural speed, after all. Gunn was right behind him, though as they opened the front door.

Cordelia was standing there, letter in hand, foot tapping impatiently against the carpeted floor. When Angel reached for the envelope, though, she made a horrible face. He almost went into the patented Angel Investigations Cordelia-Catching Position, but figured out that it wasn't a vision when she reached up with her free hand and pinched her nose. "Eew! You stink! I take it back. Go shower."

"Fine." Angel rolled his eyes and reached for the letter.

She snatched it away, backing out of reach. "Uh-uh. Shower first, then letter. I wanna read it too, and you're not stinking it up with demon ick." She turned and walked off down the hall. Angel thought about ordering her to come back and give him his property or else, but he was already feeling humiliated enough by being told, again, that he smelled. He didn't need the sound of Cordy's and Gunn's laughter on top of that.

The shower that followed was one of the quicker ones that they'd ever taken; no pausing to soap interesting places more thoroughly than might be required, or stand under the water and just let it soak into worn-out muscles. It was more efficient than showering alone, and less crowded than showering with three people, but Angel knew they would both have preferred to be washing a familiar set of knobby knees and elbows in a slow, leisurely manner, than hurrying their way through a shower to run downstairs and read a letter from their owner.

Finally, though, they were both wrapped in their robes and somewhat dried off. They didn't smell, which was the important thing.

They found Cordelia sitting at her desk, -- on it, really -- holding the letter in one hand. "Finally! I was ready to open it myself." She paused, and looked them both over. "Are you guys naked under those?"

Angel just strode forward and grabbed the letter.

"Touchy! Boy, someone hasn't been getting any lately, has he?" She raised an eyebrow in question, at Gunn. He just growled at her, and leaned over to read over Angel's shoulder.

Angel didn't bother pointing out that he *would* have, if she'd just been ten minutes later. He ripped open the letter, wondering why Wes had written, instead of calling. Unless he had something to send? He pulled the paper out and unfolded it.

"Dear Angel, Charles: I hope my letter finds you both well. Things have been quiet the last two weeks, unless there are things you aren't telling me, when I call."

Angel grinned; he could almost see the look on Wes' face as he accused them of not telling him about the close calls. They actually *hadn't* had any, but...well, they probably would've told him.

"I imagine you're enjoying the last few moments of peace, before Spike and Xander return. Things here are...not so good, to say the least. Father's had something of a setback. Not another heart attack; I would have called you immediately, if it were anything so serious. But his doctor has told him that the damage looks to be worse than they first thought. He has a persisting cardiac arrhythmia, meaning that his heart is beating irregularly.

By itself, it isn't life-threatening, but the doctors fear that this may mean he isn't healing properly. For the moment, he has to be shielded from excessive stress at all times. This means that he can't run the house, or his business, or do any of the sort of things he's used to. Of course, he can't do any of those things right now, anyway, while he's recovering, but it appears that it might be a permanent situation."

Angel stopped reading, and looked at Gunn, whose expression matched his own -- not a lot of sympathy for a father who'd done his best to make sure Wes felt like a complete failure for most of his early life, and... well, Wes had never come right out and said anything, but there had been hints, here and there. Hints that the crack, years ago, about the closet under the stairs hadn't just been something made up by a desperate Ethros demon.

Or, as Cordelia put it, with a disgusted huff of breath, "Screw him. When's Wesley coming home?"

Angel started, then turned back to the letter. "I will of course have to extend my visit, as I indicated the last time we spoke. I apologize, but as I'm sure you're aware, my parents are in need of my assistance. As the only son, it falls upon me to make sure the estate runs smoothly during my father's convalescence. I am afraid that this position shall have to be as long-term as my father's need to refrain from subjecting himself to stress.

There was talk of hiring an assistant for him, but after reviewing my parents' financial situation, that would seem to be out of the question. The estate has had some serious financial setbacks in the last few years, due to losses among the livestock, and most of the family's remaining assets have been funneled into the maintenance of the manor proper. My father's pension from the Council of Watchers, while generous, isn't enough to cover the salaries of additional staff, to manage all this, but since salary isn't an issue with me, there is at least a good chance of saving enough to put the property on more stable financial ground."

Angel stopped reading aloud, and frowned. He re-read the last few paragraphs, silently, while Gunn said, "Is he saying what I *think* he's saying?"

Cordelia slid down from her desk and walked over, frowning. "How can you tell *what* he's saying? He just took three paragraphs to tell us his family's broke because some of the sheep died, and the house is falling apart. He sounds like he used to, back when he was in Sunnydale. Like Giles, but twice as stuffy."

Gunn blinked at her. "I thought you had it bad for him, back then?"

She looked suitably embarrassed. "Hey, I was eighteen. All older men were cute. Even *Angel* was cute."

Angel didn't even bother to acknowledge the compliment or insult, whichever it was. He was too busy re-reading the letter so far, for a third time. "He is. He's saying he's not coming home. What the hell?"

"He can't be saying that," Gunn replied. "What else he say?"

Angel returned to reading. "I realize that I never spoke of the chance I would one day have to return here; I had suspected it would be several more years before my parents would be in need of my assistance. I must confess I suspected this would be the case, when I received the phone call -- it is why I could not give you an answer, Angel, and for that I apologize. I was touched that you asked, and I would have given anything to respond. However, this way, you and Charles are free to pursue your lives together, without waiting for me."

"What the *fuck*?" Gunn tore the letter out of Angel's hands.

Cordelia pressed forward to read over his arm, as Gunn re-read the words Angel was trying to tell himself he hadn't seen. Maybe Wes was possessed? He was being forced to write those words? He...hadn't just said he wasn't coming home to marry them?

Gunn's voice interrupted his shock. "I would not delay your wedding, for my return, as I doubt I will be able to get away for several weeks, if not months. The situation here is rather delicate, and I fear it will not stabilize for some time. As I'm sure you can appreciate, any visits would only upset my father, so I must urge you not to do so. I shall be busy traveling back and forth to London over the next several days; as such doubt you will be able to get hold of me by telephone.

Father has suggested that I might try re-applying to the Council of Watchers as a consultant, which would allow me to have a certain financial independence, while maintaining things here on the estate."

Angel looked over. "I thought he didn't like the Council...?" He still felt too stunned to even ask why Wesley was writing these things.

"He sounds like he's been brainwashed," Cordelia observed. "Or like somebody's holding a gun to his head."

Even though Angel had had the same thoughts, now he found himself second-guessing them. "Well, he *can* start to sound like this when he's feeling defensive. Like when Gunn insulted his taste in interior decoration."

"I didn't insult his taste, I just said I didn't want Paddington Bear curtains in the bedroom. And that was pouting; he wasn't serious anyway. This ain't like that. This sounds..." Gunn shook his head, then said quietly, "Sounds like he means it."

Cordelia was trying to get the letter away from Gunn, now, looking positively pissed off with both of them. "This is such crap! What's the rest of it say?"

Gunn was shell shocked enough to let her take it, and she read out loud, "My regards to everyone...blah, blah, send for my things later, blah, blah, more stuff that sounds like Giles on Ritalin, and... oh, come *on* -- now I *know* he's insane."

"What?" Angel asked.

She held out the letter and pointed. "There. You gonna tell me he wrote *that* while not under the influence of heavy drugs or black magic?"

Angel read the line, then he read it again. Gunn was blinking, and finally leaned over to read it too. "Give Spike my beer?" he read aloud.

"Is that a cry for help, or what?" Cordelia asked, hands on her hips.

Angel was still staring at the letter. It was in Wesley's handwriting, and it...sounded more or less like him. He could certainly understand the need for the family's only son to return home and take over. Despite how much it hurt to know Wesley would choose parents he disliked, over friends who loved him, he was willing to admit it sounded...sort of understandable.

"Well, he doesn't exactly need his beer, since he's there now, does he? He can buy some around the corner at any local pub," Angel pointed out, though he didn't quite believe it. He was afraid to believe Cordelia, though. Why would Wesley write this letter at all, if he didn't mean any of it? Angel saw that Gunn was equally confused, unwilling to believe either that Wesley meant what he said, or that he had written it under the influence of something.

"God! I don't believe you two. You can't think he means any of this?" Cordelia asked.

"Why'd he write it, then, if he didn't mean any of it?" Gunn asked. "He coulda said something over the phone, and we coulda talked him out of it. Or tried, if he really meant it," Gunn's voice dropped to a defeated whisper.

"His phone calls haven't exactly been long and revealing lately, have they?" Cordelia asked dryly. It was true, in the last week his calls had grown shorter and shorter, until they barely had time to exchange pleasantries and reassure each other they were all still alive and breathing. Or the vampiric equivalent.

"Well, this one will be," Angel said grimly, picking up the cordless phone from her desk. "I don't know if he was serious about not being available or just trying to dodge us, but I plan to find out. And if he *is* there..." If he *was* there, then Angel would damn well *make* him stay on the line until he explained just what the hell was going on, and why he wasn't either on a plane home, or telling them which flight to take so he could meet them at Heathrow.

Cordy put her hand on his arm. He turned to look at her. "What? Don't you *want* me to call him?"

"Hell yes; it's the first intelligent thing you've done all day. I just think you should let *me* talk until we can get Wes on the line, so he doesn't go all freaky over his parents getting a call from one of his boyfriends."

She had a point; he handed her the phone, and she punched her way through its memory until she'd found the correct redial number. Soon she was waiting for the international operator to switch her over; Angel could hear the other side of the conversation faintly from where he stood.

An older woman answered the phone. "Hello?"

"Hello? May I speak with Wesley, please?" Cordelia asked.

"I'm sorry, Wesley isn't at home. This is his mother; may I ask who's calling?"

Angel had to hold himself back from grabbing the phone from Cordelia and demanding to know where Wesley was. Cordelia asked calmly, "Do you know when he'll be back? This is Cordelia, I'm a friend of his."

"He's not due back until tomorrow. He had to go visit Mr. Heller, our family's solicitor, and he thought he would be late enough that he wouldn't return until morning."

Gunn was making moves towards the phone, but Angel shook his head. Cordelia was speaking now. "Oh. Well, could you possibly have him call me when he gets in? It's pretty important; it has to do with a case we're working on."

"Oh. You're one of his...co-workers?" The friendly tone had grown a little awkward now, as if his mother didn't quite know what to say to a group of what were essentially amateur Watchers, when the professional versions were a part of her usual society.

"Yup, that's us. I'm Precognitive Headache Girl. I leap tall bottles of Tylenol in a single groan."

There was polite, if confused laughter on the other end of the line, then Angel heard the sound of something being clicked very near the phone. "May I take your number, then?"

"He has it. But just in case he's forgotten, it's..." She gave the office number. Then she gave her home number. Then she gave Spike and Xander's number. "If he can't reach me there, he can ring his own cell-phone, since he left it sitting on his desk," she finished off.

"It sounds rather important, then," his mother said.

"Oh, it is. It could be a matter of life and death." Cordelia mouthed, "His," at Angel.

When she'd hung up, Gunn looked at her like she'd gone nuts. "You give her enough numbers?"

"I want him to think there really *is* an emergency, and he *has* to call me back," she said unapologetically. "If he thinks it's about a case, then he might not dodge us."

"That's devious and underhanded," Angel told her. "Thanks."

Cordelia smiled, proudly. "You're welcome. I actually got the idea from Carla -- but you can't tell Xander."

"We haven't even told him we know you two have lunch together," Gunn pointed out. "Although I don't understand why -- someone tell me again why I can't give that guy a hard time?"

Angel gave him a flat look, trying to pull his thoughts away from Wesley. Wasn't coming home? "Because if you tell him...." He frowned, and tried to remember. "Why exactly don't we tell him?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Because it's more *fun* this way. God, don't you two ever remember anything that doesn't involve killing demons, or Wesley's swimsuits?"

Angel tried to think about Wes's swimsuits. Tried to think about Wes, wearing a swimsuit. But all he could think was - Wes didn't want to come home?

Cordelia waved her hands in front of his face. "Hey. Angsty One. Go pack."

"Huh?"

"Pack. Clothes. Yours. Gunn's. Um, no, maybe you should just pack Gunn's, and let me shop for you when we get to London."

"What?" That was from Gunn. "Whaddya mean, pack? He said not to go over there."

She put her hand on her hips. "He also said give Spike my beer. The man is *cracked*, Gunn. He needs medical attention. Or at least a good swift kick in the ass from a pair of size seven Prada pumps."

Neither of the men were going to point out that the only people in the hotel who could fit into size seven pumps were Spike and Xander's fish. Angel shook his head, at the rest of the statement. "Maybe. I don't know. But we at least have to wait for him to call back."

Cordelia looked at her watch. "Fine. I'll give him an hour. In the meantime, you can pack."

"We're not packing," Angel told her. "We're going to wait until Wesley calls, and see what he says."

"Yeah, see if he's drunk or just stupid," Gunn added. "We can just tell him to come home, and we won't have to go anywhere." To Angel, it didn't sound as if Gunn *truly* believed what he was saying. But it sounded good.

"You should call the airline," Cordelia said. "Do you want me to? Actually, I can have Carla do it -- she's way too good at making reservations without *any* connections. It's eerie."

Angel looked at Cordelia, not quite sure he believed what he was hearing. "We're not going anywhere," he repeated.

"You don't want to get last minute tickets to England, Angel. Trust me -- even a few hours' in advance will make it a lot easier."

"We aren't going anywhere," Angel said again. He glanced down at himself -- still not a newt. He must mean it, then. "We're not going anywhere because we won't need to," Angel added quietly. He wished he was as sure of that as he sounded -- and he wasn't sure he sounded all that sure. He wasn't a purple and orange amphibian, but there was a difference between lying out loud, and wondering if you were lying to yourself.

Gunn nodded, looking defiant -- then he reached for the cordless phone. "I'm just gonna... take this with me, while I go up and get dressed. Don't wanna freeze my ass off waitin' around down here for him to call." He started up the stairs, and Angel, after another look at Cordelia, who was heading for the front desk and the switchboard phone, turned to follow.

"Don't forget to pack your toothbrushes!" Cordelia called after him.

*****
Part 2:

"Hey, thanks for the offer -- we'll definitely keep it in mind..." Xander was calling over his shoulder. Spike tapped him on the other one, then moved round behind him with vampiric speed, so that there was no one there when he looked. "Dork," Xander said, spinning all the way around and grabbing him.

"Who's the dork -- I'm not the one talking to people who aren't there," Spike pointed out. Xander looked around.

"Oh-- we're here. Damn. That was quick!"

Spike nodded. They stood in the basement bar of the Hyperion, directly facing the dart board upon which he habitually kicked Wesley's arse. "Yeah. Hmmph. You'd think somebody would've been round to meet us. Make sure we came through in two pieces, not counting luggage. At least Wes, since he did the spell in the first place." He looked down at the bags around their feet. One, two, three, four, five. "Er, didn't we only have four bags?"

"I bought the fifth one from the desk clerk, to carry all your stolen towels, which I also bought," Xander answered.

Spike stared in disbelief at his obviously-ill-trained glurble. "You *what*? Well, I don't want 'em." He reached down to grab his own two bags and headed for the lift. He found himself listing backwards, as someone's grip on the back of his shirt threatened to pull him off balance. "Yes?" he asked, as politely as his mum had taught him.

"You don't want the towels you stole?" Xander asked, looking less confused than he ought to be.

"Well, I didn't steal them now, did I? You bought them. Where's the fun in that?"

"Spike," Xander said in a very reasonable, patient tone which always made Spike want to depants somebody named Xander. "We would have been charged for them whether I told them we were stealing them, or not. There was even a line on the invoice for 'stolen merchandise/internal' and 'stolen merchandise/external' which I'm guessing means that they charged us for the cigarettes you stole from the newsstand."

Spike looked behind him, wondering who Xander meant. Stolen cigarettes? He didn't smoke anymore. Couldn't have been him, and he let Xander know. He looked cute.

"You don't think I don't know what brand Angel smoked? Spike, if you leave cigarettes around his office and suite, and he gives in to temptation and smokes one, you know what he's going to do?" Xander looked stern.

"Spank us?"

"Yes-- why 'us'?"

"Because he'll know you didn't stop me."

Xander grinned. "Cool!"

Not that Angel really would, not with his two humans growling at him. But it would piss him off, and make him *want* to smack them, which was almost as much fun. Especially watching him have to reign in the impulse. Spike started for the lift, again. Xander grabbed him by the collar, again.

"Forgetting something?" Xander asked, pointing to the fifth bag.

"*You* bought 'em."

"*You've* got the super-strength. Besides, the cigarettes are in there too."

"Well, why didn't you say so." Spike grabbed the shoulder strap and added the bag to his load. "Still think that lot could've come to meet us," he grumbled as they entered the lift. "See if they get any pressies, if they don't show up to help carry the bags."

"Like it's such a hardship, Spike. We only have to walk about ten feet with 'em. You just wanna start telling X-rated honeymoon stories right away."

"Well, duh..." The lift creaked its way to their floor, as Spike was still rolling his eyes.

"We'll drop the bags in our suite, then go downstairs and find everybody, okay?"

Spike nodded, and followed Xander down the hall to their door, which was, as usual, not locked. Everyone was afraid of the fish food, or possibly the fish. "Dru?" he called.

"Um, love of my life?" Xander was saying, hesitantly, as he stared at the door. Spike looked over and saw there was a piece of paper stuck to it.

He looked at Xander. "It isn't my fault."

Xander just pulled the paper off the door, and handed it to him. Spike took it, but didn't look at it. He peered into their suite, wondering where Dru was. Maybe she'd taken the kids to the hot tub?

"Spike, read it."

"Not sure I want to." Xander was acting like Spike had got caught doing something important. Was it too late to just run downstairs and find someone to regale with stories of nakedness in the Queen's court? Not that Xander had let him, but nobody *here* would know that.

"Spike, it says 'Daddy gave me--"

"All right!" Spike didn't put his hands over his ears, but he did give Xander a glare, and read the note.

'Daddy gave me the pool, so I've taken my niece and nephews down to play. It has more room for the crocodiles, anyway. Can we get some monkeys?' It was signed 'Drusilla'. Spike handed it back to Xander. Then he carefully set his bags down inside the doorway.

Xander looked at him worriedly. "Shouldn't we be going down there? Like, now? Before either our children or our whatever-the-hell Dru is, get eaten by large carnivorous reptiles?"

"The crocodiles are imaginary. She's had 'em for years. I'm more worried about the monkeys. If she pouted Angel into buying her some, and she tries to feed real monkeys to imaginary crocodiles..." Spike shook his head, and started to walk past the bags, into the room. Yet again, he was stopped by a yank on his collar. He turned round to see that Xander had set his own bags down in the hallway, and was looking at him expectantly. "What?"

"I believe somebody told me I got to be the manly man when we got home." With that, Xander grabbed him, and wrangled him round til he was being carried like some swooning chit. How Xander managed to balance holding somebody like that who was only a couple of inches short than himself, Spike would never know, but balance he did, as he carried Spike over the threshold, then deposited him with a loud 'boing!' on the couch.

Then Spike watched as Xander turned around to pick up the bags, and stopped, still, staring at the wall where the fishtank used to be. "Uh--" Xander said. Then, "Uh? She carried the whole tank downstairs to the pool?"

"Probably. S'alright. We've got a spare." Spike pointed to the opposite wall, managing to stifle his shit-eating grin, somehow.

A large freshwater tank ran half the length, filled with growing plants, colorful rocks, and several half-chewed bubbly divers. There was even a separate small tank attached to it, just as Spike had ordered. Angel had set the whole thing up while they were gone, just as Spike had asked him to -- though he'd probably waylaid Dru into distracting the kids while he got the tanks ready, the big chicken. Afraid of a few friendly nips from his own grandchildren...

Xander was staring open-mouthed at the setup. "Uh..." he repeated.

"Happy Wedding?" Spike offered. Xander's mouth closed and opened several times, and Spike decided the kids really did take after him, on that account. They got the teeth from Spike, though. "We did want a bigger place for the kids, right? It's even got an extra tank for the fry, 'cos...er...they're a bit cannibalistic." Spike was looking carefully, to see if Xander was pleased with it.

He must have been, because he bent over the couch and kissed Spike on the forehead, very softly. "You're a very good husband and father, you know that?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Well, of course I am. Read all the books, didn't I?"

Xander stood over him, grinning slightly. "The New Joy of Gay Sex does not count as a fatherhood manual, Spike." He crossed his arms, and just stood there for a moment, still looking at Spike, and at the wedding present against the wall.

Eagerly, Spike waited to see if Xander was going to strip for him, or strip *him*, or just order Spike to do one or the other. Instead he found Xander walking back towards the door. "Oi! Aren't we gonna shag?"

Xander gave him a very amused look, over his shoulder. Spike pouted at him, but Xander turned his head too fast. "I'm gonna go find Dru, and make sure there aren't any monkeys being eaten by...anything. Imaginary or not."

Spike folded his own arms. "And you'd rather make the hotel safe, than stay up here with a very good husband and father and be naked? I'd go for partially naked," Spike offered. Xander was still walking away, so Spike scrambled up and hurried after him. He wasn't about to waste his time pouting at the *wall*, for cripes' sake. "What d'you think you can do, that Angel and his hairy beasts can't?"

"Watch?"

"Better things to watch than Dru pouting at Angel," Spike reminded him. Xander was ignoring him, though, and still headed for the stairs. "Xa-an..."

"Spike, you act like we didn't just have sex an hour ago."

"Because we didn't!"

That got him. Spike tried not to show any signs of glee, as Xander stopped, and looked at him with a bewildered look on his face. "Excuse me? Who was I having an orgasm with, then?"

Spike grabbed Xander's watch, and tapped its face. "It was 75 minutes ago. Not an hour. I'm a newlywed, I need lots of sex."

"You're a doofus, and I wanna go find everybody. Come on." Xander returned to his quest to prevent Spike from having sex any time in the next half hour, and headed for the stairs.

Spike stared at his husband's backside, as it disappeared down the stairs. Grumbling, he followed. Angel had better be down there for Spike to annoy, or else Spike was going to...er...be even more annoyed. Half a flight down, he could hear Cordelia going on about something. Sounded like she was yelling at Angel. Spike grinned, and hurried. Seeing Princess give his Sire what for was even better than annoying Angel, himself. As Spike caught up, Xander glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow. He could probably hear Cordy now, as well.

Spike just grinned even wider and hurried them along. When they reached the lobby, they found Angel and Gunn both being yelled at by Cordelia. Admittedly, it wasn't a real yelling -- not like they'd destroyed Cordelia's new leather shoes, or some other cardinal sin. But they'd been idiots about *something*, that was clear. Spike sauntered over, and gave them a big smile when they looked over. "Well, anyone want to know what we did while we were gone?"

Angel didn't respond, and Gunn just shook his head once. Cordelia gave both Spike and Xander a worried look. Spike frowned. "What's going on?"

He glanced around. "Where's Wesley?"

"In England!" Cordelia replied, glaring at Angel and Gunn again.

Spike blinked, then started to laugh. "You don't mean to say he came after us to help with the bags after all, and got sucked into vamp-land when we came through?" He wasn't remotely worried that Wes would be in danger. Even assuming some uncouth vamp like his own double decided to ignore protocol and snack on an uncollared human, Wesley hadn't worked in this business for this long without learning to defend himself from vampire attacks -- or hotel concierges who'd want a bribe to tell him where he was.

"Not *that* England, slow boy. *Real* England."

Spike blinked. "Oh. Er... why?"

Then Cordelia was explaining, at a speed he'd have had no idea the human body was capable of producing if he hadn't lived with the King of Babble for seven years. With frequent interjections of "No, that's not what I meant," and "But he *said* not to come over..." from Angel and Gunn. Xander's eyes were bouncing up and down, and he kept glancing at Spike as if he was only barely getting it, and would be requiring a translation for those with only human-level hearing, later on.

"And it's been two *days* and he hasn't called back, and *these* idiots don't want to fly over there and drag him home!" she finished off. Spike was fairly sure she'd said that bit already, but even *he'd* gotten slightly lost once the back-and-forth shouting had started up again.

"Er, so?" Spike asked, and he knew it was a mistake as soon as he'd got to the 'er'. Princess was about to take his head off, so he ducked behind Xander and added, "Why don't we just go over there, then?"

Cordelia threw up her hands. "That's what *I* say! God, I can't believe I'm saying this, but even *Spike* agrees with me." She stopped, and frowned. "Normally I'd say that was cause for checking myself into an institution. But in this case I'll say it's due to the fact that Spike likes Wesley."

"Not that way!" Spike said quickly, even though Sire and grumpy Sire's Other Lover barely glanced his way. Reflex was a wonderful thing, kept you undead.

Xander was staying quite handily in front of Spike -- and what was up with that, Spike wondered. Since when does Xander not try to toss Spike back into the fray? Maybe his brain was still all glurbled. Spike didn't ask, as his hus-glurble. Glurble. As he said, "I have a company jet we can use, if tickets are the problem?"

When everyone stared at him, he added, "Not *my* company. I have David's jet. Um, he might not *know* I still have it."

"So you let me think I'd have to fly cargo on the honeymoon because..." Spike asked.

Xander looked at him. "So we'd end up going someplace you couldn't get to by plane, d'uh."

Spike opened his mouth, then closed it, then nodded. Made a mental notch on his "Things I Must Get Xander Back For" list, and went on with looking innocent and helpful in Cordelia's direction.

"Well, David certainly won't mind if we use his plane," she said. "He still owes me for fixing him up with Jonathan, anyway."

Spike bit his tongue. *He* certainly wasn't going to be the one to tell her that David Nabbit, visibly flaming nelly that he was, was also straight as a parson's nose, and his roleplaying sessions with Jonathan Levenson were just... roleplaying. He was rather hoping Angel got stuck with making that little revelation about Cordy's matchmaking abilities.

"We're *not* -- " Angel started.

Cordelia cut him off. "Come *off* it, Angel. You're just as worried as the rest of us, and there's nothing you'd like more than the stomp in there, throw Wes over your shoulder, beat your chest and yell like the large hairy man-thing you are, and carry him off into the sunset. Well, the moonrise, anyway."

"I'm not hairy," Angel said absently. He looked like he was trying to put a real answer together at the same time. Spike kept expecting to see smoke coming out of his ears, or a little popup window telling him the system was dangerously short on resources.

Gunn frowned. "Maybe she's right, Angel. It's been too long. It's not *like* Wes to make us worry. Not on purpose."

Angel frowned too -- then he growled. "Wes asked us not to go over there." He looked at Cordelia. "You're right. Every instinct in me is telling me to hop in Xander's plane, or David's, or whoever's, or just jump in the damned ocean and *swim* across, and take what's mine." Then he looked at Gunn. "But I'm not going to."

Gunn looked back at him, challengingly. "Why not?"

"Because he asked us not to. He made his decision -- if he wants to unmake it, he knows where we are."

For a moment, everyone stared at Angel. Spike was pretty sure they were all thinking the same thing - 'Should I smack him?'

"So you're gonna just let him go, without a word." Gunn crossed his arms and glared. "Well, not me. If he thinks he wants to stay in England--"

"Stay in England?" Spike blurted. Maybe he should have listened to Cordelia more closely.

"Yeah. Hello? Earth to Spike?" Gunn didn't say it quite the way Cordelia did, which made Spike feel safe in growling at him. Gunn just glared at him, and said, "He says he's staying. For *good* unless we go talk some sense into his pansy ass."

"Didn't you hear the part where Wesley said you could have his beer?" Xander asked, sounding all smug about the fact that he'd followed that part of the rant, and Spike hadn't. Xander just had more practice, was all, what with monthly staff meetings.

"I was distracted," Spike muttered, glancing towards Cordelia's chest, which got him smacked, and dimpled at. "So tell me again why you aren't already back across the pond, dragging him home?" Spike asked.

Angel sighed, sounding truly set upon by the weight of annoying childer everywhere. "Because he's a grown man, and he can make his own decisions. I'm not going to second guess him, or demand that he do what *I* want, when his family needs him."

"What about this family?" Cordelia demanded.

But Angel just shrugged. Gunn continued staring in disbelief, then he shook his head. "Fine. You stay. I'm going -- Xan, where've you got this plane stashed?"

"David's got a hangar at LAX." Xander was looking questioningly at Angel, though. "Angel--"

"Xander, leave it alone," came the reply. One tick over the safe side of the line that would have Spike growling at anybody who talked like that to Xander, Sire or no.

Xander saved him the trouble of deciding whether he should growl at Angel anyway, just because it was fun. Spike's glurble blinked, then nodded and turned to Gunn. "I'll call David and let him know I've still got the code keys and we're taking it international tonight. You guys packed?"

Cordelia gave him a 'd'uh' stare that would probably have wilted anyone who'd never dated her, and said, "I *know* you didn't just question my preparedness for international travel, oh small boy who used to think road trips to Tijuana for his uncle's favorite beer made him a jetsetter...."

"Hey, at least *I* didn't get *killed* in the first alternate dimension I ever went to." There was a glint of predatory amusement in Xander's eyes that made Spike want to do something to him against a door. Or a wall. Or Cordelia, if she wouldn't come after them with an axe.

Anya had told Spike all about that alternate universe. At the time, the story had prompted him to drag Xander to the mall and pour him into some leather trousers, then take him dancing, just so he'd have the fun of peeling his lover out again after. Much later, it had made him think thoughts he didn't want to think, about how different that other Xander sounded from his own.

"How was I supposed to know you were a vampire?" Cordelia shot back.

"The black leather?"

"I probably just thought it was some *really* bizarro dimension, where you had taste. Anyway, the second dimension I visited, I was a Queen. And I mean the kind with the crown, not the kind with the husband's hand down the back of his pants."

Xander just grinned, and whapped Spike's hand. "You're beautiful when you're shallow and vicious. Anyone ever tell you that?"

Cordelia smiled, and Spike didn't bother to inform her that Xander was obviously talking to *him*. She gestured at Gunn, who was heading towards the stairs. "You're packed, too. And tall, dark, and broody. I didn't touch those animal print underwear, though." She wrinkled her nose.

Gunn raised an eyebrow. "Should I ask where my suitcase is?"

"Car?" Cordelia rolled her eyes.

He narrowed his eyes. "And the pilot?"

"He's at the Biltmore. Waiting."

Spike felt Xander shiver. He leaned close and whispered, "You need to not let her hang around Carla anymore."

Xander gave him a look that said he thought Spike was crazy. Spike kissed him, then got pushed away. "What makes you think Carla's the evil influence?"

"I heard that!"

"I'll go grab our bags," Spike offered, giving his husband a slight nudge towards Cordelia. Hopefully it would distract her long enough for him to make a getaway. Not that she made *him* want to shiver, or anything.

*****