Angel was not brooding. He was not even sort of brooding, and there was no way anyone could mistake him for being someone who was brooding.

He wasn't staying in one place long enough to brood. The hotel they'd rented rooms at was only a few miles from Wesley's parents' place, and with Wesley not purportedly at home, it shouldn't take them long to go out, check things out, and come back. Angel had resolved to wait patiently for them. He'd even seriously considered finding a chess board and making Spike play against him.

Two hours of pretending to wait, he'd begun pacing. Spike, the annoying little rat, was lounging in a chair, watching him. Angel had tried growling at him, but Spike had only smirked. Angel had been about to call him on it -- all this being calm and casual when they were cooped up, waiting. Then he'd seen the threads picked free from the chair's arm.

"You know, you keep that up, you're gonna wear a hole in the carpet, and Xan and I'll have to spread marmalade all over the floor to hide it," Spike said, perfectly seriously.

"No, you won't," Angel replied immediately, aware of just *how* perfectly serious Spike could be about things like that. "If you have to make a mess, you'll do it in your own room, that Xander's paying for."

Spike nodded. "Oh, we're planning on it. He paid extra and all. But it's not as much fun to do it where you've permission to."

What exactly had he done to get saddled with Spike, again? Oh. Right. Drusilla. Convent. Eternal torment. But he'd meant for *her,* not himself. He glared at Spike, and went back to pacing. Up the length of the room. Back down. Slowly, so as not to *look* like he was pacing. Spike just watched him. And watched him. And yes, picked at the armchair, but still, there was that half-grin on his face.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Angel growled again. "Spike, if you don't stop that, I swear I'm gonna pick you up and throw you -- " Newt! Newt! His memory screamed. You would *not* throw him out in the sunlight, and if you tell him you will, you'll be pacing around this room on four legs and a tail until they can get Wes back to put you right. "In the bathtub, under the cold water," he finished. *That*, he would be more than willing to do.

"Mine, or yours?" Spike asked immediately. "Cos mine has the complimentary rubber ducks."

Angel scowled at him as hard as he could. No effect, and he hadn't expected it would have had any, but it made him feel better. It occurred to him that arguing with Spike might be at least a bit diverting, while they waited. Shouldn't they be back by now? He didn't glance at the clock, because he'd glanced at it five minutes ago and he figured it was five minutes later than what time it had been then. Right?

He glanced at the clock. Four minutes had passed.

"Relax, Angel -- you'll give yourself a coronary. They'll be back when they're back." Angel pretended he wasn't listening. "'Sides, I thought you didn't care if Wesley wants to come home."

"What do you mean?" He turned back to face Spike with a deep growl. "Of course I care!" So much for pretending. "I want him to come home -- I just don't want to make him come if he doesn't want to!"

Spike grinned. "Never met a man who didn't want to come, no matter how much he says otherwise." There was no mistaking the leer that accompanied the statement. "It's an old game, innit. I remember playin' it. I don't wanna, can't make me... And then you'd do your best to change my mind."

Angel snorted. "And your record at that game was what -- thirty seconds?'

"With or without a ring?" Spike asked easily. Then his expression grew serious, which was always disturbing, no matter how many times Angel witnessed it. "Just saying. Wes plays that game better'n Xander, even."

It was on the tip of Angel's tongue to say, 'Since when do you play sex games with my boyfriend?' while he knocked Spike out of the chair and did things to the floor that would make marmalade look like Luv-My-Carpet -- but the brain prevailed over the demon, or possibly the penis, at the last second. He settled for glaring. "I *know* he does. Did. But I kinda thought that was over--" His eyes narrowed. "Thanks in part to the services of Love Doctor Spike."

Spike gave him a look of innocence that was just...wrong, on that face. Except when dressed as a choirboy, and that had been a *long* time ago. "Hey, all I did was point out that you and Gunn are morons. It doesn't take an advanced degree for that, mate."

"We are *not*--" He stopped himself, just in time. He wasn't certain if he'd been close to turning himself into a newt, but he didn't want to risk anything.

Spike snickered, then said, again in a serious tone, "Obviously it isn't over. You two lugs might've convinced him, for a bit, but I'll wager that all Wes wanted was for you two to come to England and haul him back home, thereby proving your devotion to him."

Angel stared at Spike, wondering if his childe had been possessed sometime in the last decade, and nobody had told him. "Dru made you read pulp romances to her, didn't she?" he suddenly realized.

Spike barely had the grace to look embarrassed. "I learnt a lot about human nature, reading those things. Enough to tell me that Wes is acting like a prick because you and Gunn have been acting like idiots. Plot number 12A -- missing only the rendezvous on the beach on page fifty-two."

"So what am I supposed to do, rent a horse and go riding up to carry him away?"

"Nah. Not unless the novel's got a historical setting. Be enough to drive up in a slick sports car, leap out and rescue his parents from their life of poverty with the rich uncle's inheritance you got while you'd vanished mysteriously."

Angel gaped at Spike. "You don't still read those things, do you?"

"Hell, no!" Spike grinned. "Well, not the ones Dru used to have me read, anyhow. Not enough sexy bits in 'em."

Okay, so he *sounded* like he knew what he was talking about. But how much of that was Angel wanting him to be right? Wasn't that the easiest answer, that Wes wanted them to show up and shower him with devotion, and carry him home? Problem was, Wes had never been that uncomplicated. *Spike* was that uncomplicated, most of the time, for all he was more intelligent than his day-to-day idiocy let on. He was mine and me and mine, and you love me so I'm happy, you hurt me so I'm mad at you, please don't cry, I'll do anything. Simple answers.

Wes... wasn't like that. Sometimes the simple answer was the right one, with him, and sometimes it was the one that would make him shy away, and turn his shoulder towards you in the middle of the night. And then you'd wake up to find your toothbrush floating in the toilet again, and you had to try to figure out what you'd done that pissed him off.

Though, come to think of it, Spike had played those sorts of games, too, and still did, with Xander. With him, though, it had always seemed like the effort put forth to figure out what it was he wanted, was enough to convince him you cared. With Wesley, you actually had to get it right.

His head was beginning to hurt again. "I just want him to tell me what he wants. Then I'll do it, and we can all go home."

In an equally quiet, reasonable tone, Spike said, "Then ask him. You'll see him soon. Until then, why don't I tell you about my honeymoon. Did you know you're a wanker in every dimension I've ever visted? In that one, it took you a hundred bloody years to drag me behind closed doors and shag the death out of me. You were bein' sensitive to my emotional needs, or some poncy crap."

Angel groaned, and let his head fall forward. Once everything was fixed, and Wes was where he belonged -- Angel was going to kill Spike.

He heard people coming down the hall, and recognized Xander's voice. He ended up racing Spike to the door, and opened it to find a startled Cordelia just beginning to knock. "Er, hi. Miss us?" she asked.

"Where is he? How is he? What'd you find out?" Angel babbled.

Cordelia blinked at him, and he could see Xander smirking. "A little nervous, are we? Gee, for someone who didn't want to come at all--" Cordelia began.

"I hate that place," Gunn interrupted. "I don't like those people, I don't like thinking about Wesley being there and as soon as I see him I'm--"

Angel looked from Gunn, to Cordelia, to Xander. Whatever they'd found hadn't been pleasant. It hadn't been awful -- otherwise they'd all be heading right back out to stage a rescue. But none of the three were happy, and Gunn was about to start ranting and pacing like he was Angel.

Angel took Gunn's arm and pulled him into the room. Spike slipped past him, gathering up Xander along the way. The two of them headed down the hallway, already talking quietly and slipping their hands into each other's back pockets. Cordelia just gave him a wave of her fingers, and mouthed 'restaurant', before she pulled the door closed.

Angel turned his attention to Gunn. Gunn had fallen silent, and was still, but was obviously just waiting to get set off. "Did you see him?"

"No. He wasn't there. But man, I never... I just... you wouldn't..." He cut himself off, and stormed away, across the room. He reached the spot where Angel had paced to, earlier, and turned back.

"His dad's a prick?" Angel guessed.

"Does Cordelia like to shop?" The bark of laughter was nastily painful. "But we knew that, right? Just..." Gunn's fists were clenched at his sides. Then opened. Then closed. He shook his head. Angel could hear the rapid beat of Gunn's heart from where he stood. "But that place. And those people... I don't even understand how he managed to grow *up*, without bein' more of a basket case than he is." Gunn moved to the chair that Spike had been sitting in, and kicked at it. "Son of a bitch."

"If he's that bad..."

"Oh, he is, but I don't mean Old Man Winter." Gunn reached down and picked up one of the cushions. For a second, Angel thought he was going to start picking at it, Spikelike, but then Gunn threw it, hard, at the wall. "Son of a BITCH!"

Picked it up and threw it again, harder this time. Shaking his head, and that pulse was going through the roof. Angel walked over to him, and waited, until Gunn had thrown the pillow again, and his hands were empty. He reached out and took hold of them, lightly, but firmly. Waited, until at last his lover would look him in the eyes.

"Who?"

"Wes." Gunn frowned, biting at his lip. "Angel, don't... How could he want to stay with them? How the *hell* could he even come back here, and how could he wanna stay with them instead of us?"

Angel sighed. Spike was right. Luckily he wasn't around to make Angel admit it. "We'll just have to ask him."

Gunn didn't look placated, and made a move to pull his hands free. Probably to start pacing and throwing things, again. Angel kept hold of him. "Why's he doing this?" Gunn demanded, after Angel didn't let him go.

"I don't know. I wish I did. Sometimes I think I need a manual, one thousand pages on the ownership of one Wesley Wyndham-Pryce."

Gunn sighed. "You and me, both. He was *never* this complicated when-- you know. Before we all started sleeping together."

Angel didn't know what to say. He couldn't say he regretted making that change in their relationship -- nor did he want to admit that he'd always been rather confused when it came to dealing with Wesley. He just hadn't really paid as close attention, before he'd realized -- or been told, rather -- that he was in love.

"Makes me glad you're easy to handle," Gunn continued.

"I'm easy?" Angel teased, even though his heart wasn't really in it.

Gunn half-smirked. "You're easy. All I have to do is let you make that grunting noise, and you're all happy."

Angel's jaw dropped, as he tried to figure out which part of that claim to take offense at. "Let me? Grunting noise? That's *all* it takes?"

"Yeah. That and a blow job or two. Mostly that's just to see you get that goofy gonna-come-soon look on your face. Where I'm not totally sure if it's all good, or somebody dropped a bowling ball on your foot." Gunn nodded, then just moved forward. Like that, in a second, no warning except the lowering of his head and him in Angel's arms. "What do we do?" Angel heard, muffled by his own shoulder.

"I guess... we wait for him to call," Angel answered. He frowned. "I do *not* --" Newt. Right. "I don't remember ever hearing myself grunt."

"Yeah, yeah. I've got it on tape. Play it for you when we get home."

"But I'm a complicated guy. I like Mozart, and _Sonnets from the Portuguese_."

"You also like professional wrestling, and light beer. And when I've got my hand on your dick and I'm just holdin' it tight and not *doing* anything, you'd sell your own mother to get me to jerk you off. If you hadn't, you know."

"Killed her before light beer was invented. Right."

"Yeah. But when I got my hand on Wesley's dick, half the time he starts talking about something obscure and demonic."

Angel smiled. "You sure he isn't just saying 'jerk me off' in another language?"

Gunn returned the smile, then it faded and he shook his head. "Sometimes I just don't know what's going on in that head of his. Sometimes it don't matter, because I just like being with him. Other times I get the feeling I've upset him, only I don't know what I did."

"Exactly!" Angel nodded, and wondered if they could be having this conversation with Gunn's hand on his dick. He mentally shook his head, and told himself they had more important things to worry about. Like fretting for the rest of the afternoon, until Wesley called.

"And what's up with him not telling us the easy things, like that he wants waffles made with pecans, but he'll describe how he wants the entire room set up with candles and incense and how many scarves to use to tie his wrists and ankles?"

"Uh..." What was the question again? Angel's imagination supplied the picture, complete with the smell of sandalwood and vanilla, and the sight of Wes spread before them, willingly holding up his wrist to be tied. "Pecans?"

"Yeah, in his waffles. He just gave me this sorta disappointed look, the last time I made breakfast, and I couldn't figure out what it was about. Later on, when Wes left the room, Cordelia said I didn't put pecans in his waffle like I had in hers. Since when does he like pecans? Never told me."

Angel shook away the silk-scarf picture, and frowned. "I... Pecans?"

Gunn nodded. "Yeah. I don't think the pecans mattered. He just wanted me to know what he wanted, without having to ask him. Or something." Gunn sighed, a sound that would have gotten Angel's toenails painted if he'd got caught doing it. In fact, he was half tempted to go borrow Spike's polish, anyway. It would give them something to do. "It didn't used to be like that, with us. He wanted something, he'd just say so, and I'd do it, or I'd look at him like he was crazy, and we'd argue for an hour." Gunn smiled, slightly. "That was fun."

"That was..." Angel broke off, trying to place just when it had been. Certainly, back when he had first noticed Wesley and Gunn had become friends -- after he'd kicked them out of his life because Darla was in town -- Wesley had been easier to deal with. For Gunn, at any rate. They'd been easy, friendly, and even when they argued it passed over within days, Gunn had told him.

The way he and Gunn were, now. As Angel and Gunn got to be friends, finally, and grew to be more, Wesley had remained, at first, the same sort of friend to Gunn, while Angel and Wesley were still working things out that Angel hadn't even known were issues between them. Then one day Gunn had kissed Angel, and from that point on, understanding Wesley had been difficult. Bringing him into the relationship had only made things *look* easier.

Angel sighed. "Maybe we should tie him up, and not let him go until he tells us everything."

Gunn grinned at him, even though Angel could see he wasn't completely amused. "As long as we don't forget what the questions are."

Angel smirked. "Oh, yeah. That's a problem." A picture entered his head suddenly, and he couldn't quite shake it. The picture, not his head. He *did* shake his head, soundly, which prompted Gunn to look at him like things were falling out of his hair or something.

"What?"

"Just a mental picture."

"See, that's what I mean. We start thinking about tying Wes up, and before you know it--"

"No, it wasn't that. I was picturing him tying *us* up."

Picturing the little smirk on Wesley's face, that time they'd *had* to chain Angel down, before Gunn had even entered the picture. They'd left him, Cordy and Wes, as a little joke, even after he was safe again. Very funny, guys, ha, ha. Except a few minutes later, Wesley had slipped back into Angel's bedroom in the old apartment, and looked down at him. Put a hand on one of the chains, and asked quite calmly, "Are you comfortable?"

"No, I'm not *comfortable*," Angel had growled.

And there'd been this little smirk. Something far too knowing for a guy like Wesley Wyndham-Pryce. Something just slightly dangerous. He'd twitched one corner of his mouth, and nodded, and said, "Good," and walked out of the room again.

Gunn looked at him, more than a little surprised -- then gave him a truly shit-eating grin. "*Mental* image, huh?" He slipped a hand between them and whisked it lightly over the hard-on Angel hadn't even realized he was sporting. "Must be some picture."

"Er," Angel said, then asked himself quickly why he wanted to deny anything, or even speak and risk distracting Gunn back into his brooding.

"You need to be tied up?" Gunn asked, and the tone of his voice made Angel think that any and all brooding was far, far away from anyone's thoughts. Except --

"We didn't bring anything strong enough."

Gunn fixed him with a stare. "You gonna break through anything I tie you up with?" he demanded.

Angel swallowed. "Not unless you say I can." The hand on his erection moved, and Angel heard himself make a very un-vampirely noise. He thought about picking Gunn up and taking him into the bedroom -- or was there a chair in here he could get tied to? He looked around, gauging their relative strengths with a practiced eye. He heard Gunn snicker, and gave him a quick glare. "You rather do this outside in the carport?"

Gunn held up his hands, which unfortunately took his hand *off* Angel. "Hey, man, wherever you want. We can go down to Spike and Xander's room, if you want to."

"*Try* not to kill the mood, please." Angel grimaced. It was commonly agreed-upon behavior among the three of them that nobody admitted they'd jump either or both of the Newt Twins in a New York Minute -- as long as Wes put a spell of silence on Spike and Xander, first.

"Uh-huh. Right. Dead mood," Gunn replied, pushing him back against the chair Spike had been sitting in. Angel sat down with a thud.

"I've got a couple of ties in my suitcase," he said, not remotely hoarsely. "Or... we could unhook the cable from the TV..."

"You think you can get it back the way it was, after?" Gunn asked skeptically. "Cause I'm not stayin' in a hotel room without cable. It's un-American, man." Angel didn't bother to point out the obvious, which was that it wasn't even American cable. It wasn't worth pointing out when Gunn had one knee up on the chair, pressed firmly between Angel's legs, and a hand on each of his shoulders. "Maybe we don't need to tie you up. You're pretty tame, right?" Gunn growled softly at him.

Angel hissed, more in response to the growl than to anything Gunn had said. "I think I brought the handcuffs. I must've brought the handcuffs."

Gunn grinned. "Think I should run next door and borrow a pair from Spike?"

"You keep mentioning that name," Angel complained. "And--" He shifted, and realized that, yes indeed, he was sitting on something. He reached underneath his ass.

"You can't wait for me?" Gunn asked, raising an eyebrow.

Angel ignored him as his fingers closed on the tiny object and pulled it out. A tiny, very familiar object. "Excuse me, I really should go kill Spike now."

"Tell me that isn't one of his Skippy mikes." Gunn looked at Angel's hand, folding his arms across his chest. It occurred to Angel that he could let Gunn go kill his childe, while he waited here, comfortably.

Angel heard a distant thump, and the echoes of Spike's and Xander's voices from down the hall. Would Xander kill Spike for them? No, probably not. He'd probably been the one to distract everyone else while Spike planted the bug. "Wanna kill 'em both?" he asked, conversationally.

"Wanna throw that thing out the window and get back to me tying you to that chair and fucking you silly?"

Angel heard what was definitely a squeal, from down the hall, then a "Please? Now? Now?" He assumed the request was directed at Xander, not himself and Gunn. Angel narrowed his eyes, brought the little microphone close to his mouth, and let one of those looks cross his face that he was only allowed to use when thinking about killing Spike -- otherwise his lovers started worrying about the soul spell having come undone.

"You're not even gonna bite that thing," Gunn said, sounding disgusted.

"Nah." Angel mouthed 'Cover your ears' at him, and Gunn took his hands off Angel's shoulders, to slowly, confusedly, put them over his ears. Angel opened his mouth, and listened for the sounds of bedsprings coming from next door. Silence, silence... wait for it...

SQUEAK! "Oh, yeah... Bloody hell, *him*, tied up... Right there, Xan.."

"This one's for you, wherever you are," Angel sang loudly into the listening device. "To say that nothin's been the same since we've been apart..." Gunn was grinning from ear to ear, as he read Angel's lips. Poor guy didn't get the joy of hearing the loud groans from Spike and Xander's room. "This one's for all the love we once knew..."

"Bugger all! Turn it off! Turn it off!"

"Like everything else I have, this one's for yooooo..." Angel crooned loudly. There was a snappy, fizzy noise from the mike, then it got so hot Angel had to toss it across the room. A small 'paf!' later, there was no sign of it on the carpet where it had landed.

Gunn watched him, eyes wide in disbelief, and made no move to take his hands from his ears.

"You can put 'em down, now," Angel said, enunciating clearly so Gunn could read his lips.

"You done singing?" Gunn asked, as if afraid Angel *had* lost his soul and was going to torture him, next. Angel pouted.

"I want you to tie me up."

"What?" Gunn still had his hands over his ears.

Angel pouted harder. "I don't sing *that* badly, do I?" Gunn raised an eyebrow. "Just because everyone insists on having three drinks first, before I sing at Caritas doesn't mean--" Both Gunn's eyebrows went up. His hands were still over his ears. "Fine. I'll tie myself up." Angel stood up and headed for the bedroom.

"Can I watch?"

Angel looked over his shoulder. "Are you finished insulting my singing ability?"

"When you *get* the ability to sing, then I can insult it. Insulting whatever it is you call that noise you make...." Gunn grinned. "Rather listen to you shout in Irish while I fuck you so hard your eyes spin around in your skull."

Angel tripped on the rug, and stumbled towards the bed. "I can do that." He started removing his shirt. "I could start shouting, now, if you want."

"Nah. It's more fun when you do it without meaning to. Like making Wes scream in Latin when you deep-throat him."

Angel thumped down on the bed as the image -- video and audio -- flashed over his brain. After a moment, he was able to focus enough to grin. "Or when you do that thing with the wet feather, down the insides of his thighs, and he starts quoting Walt Whitman, only it's like he's on helium?"

"That's Walt Whitman? I thought he was makin' it up as he went along."

Angel stared at Gunn for a moment, trying to decide if he was serious. The dark eyes betrayed no hint that he was attempting to bullshit a bullshitter. "That stuff about watching the young men bathing? Gee, and I thought it was Wes who needed to brush up on his erotic poetry."

"Hey, I'm all for reading about people getting busy, however they wanna describe it. Beats Paddington Bear."

Gunn had started to grin when he said it, but after a second, while Angel was trying to get images of naked bathers with little tags that said 'Please look after this bare...' out of his head, the smile vanished, stillborn. The look that replaced it wasn't quite a frown. More something... he'd say 'melancholy,' if he could bring himself to associate that word with Gunn.

"It doesn't really beat Paddington," Angel said, his hand halted five buttons down the length of his shirt.

"Nah, not really." Gunn walked over and sat beside him. "Cause it really doesn't matter what it is we read. It's just looking at his face, you know?"

"Or listening to him ask for something, or complain that you aren't reading it right, or making you move a dozen times until he's comfortable." Angel felt himself feeling what he could see on Gunn's face. Melancholy -- not brooding.

Gunn put his hand on Angel's arm, tracing his fingers down, then back up. When they reached his hand, Angel reached up and took Gunn's. He waited as Gunn stared at their entwined fingers for a moment before looking up at him. The melancholy wasn't hard to figure out.

"He should--" Gunn began.

"Be here," Angel finished.

Gunn nodded. "Not because...I don't think..." He stopped again, and looked down, frustration clearing away the melancholy, at least on the outside. "He should be *here*," Gunn repeated.

It was on the tip of Angel's tongue to say he would be. Pat words to make them both feel better, when they both knew it wasn't their reassurance to offer. Wesley might decide-- Angel cut the thought off, realizing he'd tightened his grip only when Gunn looked at him, sharply. He eased off the pressure of his hand, concerned for a moment that he'd used more strength than your basic human who'd just suddenly had the thought that maybe, after all... Maybe he wouldn't come, wouldn't call. And even if he did, there was something very wrong, that he'd ever had to do this thing in the first place.

Gunn was still looking at him, though, not as if Angel had caused any major structural damage, but as if he were worried about *Angel*. Which vampire, mindful of the fact that it usually got him at least one coat of nail polish, if not two, still chose to sigh. "Yeah. I know."

Angel tugged on Gunn's hand; Gunn moved forward, leaning against him, then they both scooted back to lean against the headboard. Hands still clasped, they settled together on top of the bedclothes.

"He has to--" Gunn began.

Angel pulled his lover closer, held him. He closed his eyes and thought about being alone with him, forever. No Wesley. "If he won't come back, we tell Spike. He can kidnap him for us."

Gunn laughed. "I don't wanna know what he'd make us pay."

"Six-pack of Batham's?"

"We're in England -- he can buy his own."

"A thousand blank video tapes?" Angel felt Gunn trying to relax, beside him. He tried to relax, himself. Tried not to think about what he'd do if Wesley said 'no' and made them all believe he truly meant it.

He'd never have to worry about losing his soul again.

"We could just trade him the hotel, and have Xander buy us this one," Angel said finally, when the silence had grown too...silent.

Gunn stretched and fidgeted for a second, before fitting himself into the mold of one body's crooks and curves, where usually there were two. "Bed's too skinny," he whispered.

From where Angel was lying, though, as he bent his head closer and tried to let sleep and Gunn soothe some of the fear from his body, there was far too much room in this bed.

*****
Part 6:

"Frickenfracken gotta have blackcurrant soda 'cause I'm in a version of England where they actually *have* blackcurrant soda..." Xander muttered on his way across the lobby. Not like Spike hadn't gotten *blood* flavoured soda on their honeymoon, and not like he couldn't order blackcurrant soda from a hundred different websites when he was at home, and never did. Xander half suspected... All right, he was pretty damned sure, that Spike had asked him to go down and get him a pop from the machine in the lobby merely to prove that Xander would do it.

He was still cashing in on his 'I heard my Sire sing again, and now I'm permanently scarred, and you must coddle me until I stop looking small and defenseless' points. And Xander, of course, like the big mook that Spike undoubtedly knew he was, had trundled down the stairs after a few hours of make-you-forget-all-about-it sex and a brief nap, to continue fulfilling his husband's every whim.

All right, so it wasn't like he hadn't spent entire mornings doing the exact same thing. But this was the first time either of them had done it when they were married, and not on their honeymoon. It seemed unfair that Spike got to go first.

Xander muttered under his breath about missing the coin toss, as he found the soda machine and pulled some coins out of his pocket...only to discover he had US change, and English coins with pictures of a vampiric Queen Victoria on them. He was tempted to see if the front desk would change the latter coins. He suspected they might serve a better purpose as souvenirs for Cordelia and Wesley -- visual aids for their 'and this is who we met, had dinner with, and chatted about foreign trade policy for an hour with' story sharing. As soon as they *found* Wesley, so they could proceed to make him sick with jealousy.

Xander decided that Wes was going to owe him for all the blackcurrant sodas he was forced to buy while they waited. He looked around, and found an ATM that would give him regular English pounds, grabbing enough cash to last him...possibly until an hour after sundown, if Spike decided he wanted to go *out* to have fun.

He headed back to the vending machines, and stopped. "Since when do you drink-- oh, unless you're Gunn's mook?" Xander walked up beside Angel, who was looking nervous.

"Gunn's what?"

"Mook. Palooka. Love-slave. Fetcher of tasty things that it's too cold for somebody to roll their naked ass out of bed for."

Angel smirked, probably at the thought of how whipped Xander was acting. Xander just raised an eyebrow. Not about to say the *word* Wesley, since they were still waiting for word *from* Wesley, but he figured the gesture was enough to make Angel look suitably chagrined. It was, too, at least for a moment, until Angel shook his head, and answered, "No, Gunn's asleep. I just... felt like a walk."

Xander studied him for a second. "While I agree that 4 o' clock is much too early for good little vamps to be strolling the countryside renewing old acquaintances with the local sheep, I can't see you as the kinda guy to get excited by a walking tour of the Pepsi and Ding-Dong machines, either."

"They have Ding-Dongs?" Angel asked, his eyes shifting nervously towards one of the machines.

"No. They're sincerely lacking in any products from the Hostess food group, which explains why all the English guys I know are so skinny and malnourished. And hey -- you...sneaky...sneaker guy. You're not looking at the snack machines!"

Xander had followed Angel's gaze, in the hope that the vampire had discovered a Hostess dispensing machine that he'd somehow missed, or, if it was necessary to compromise his standards, Little Debbie. Then he remembered that Angel, though he did eat occasionally, swore up and down that any baked goods with a freshness date of three years away would never cross his lips unless you held him down and shoved it in. He'd had to stick his own fingers in Spike's mouth, in order to stop him from saying the obvious, in front of a client.

Xander stepped between Angel and the machine he was now openly, if guiltily, staring at. "If Wes finds out you're even thinking about smoking, he'll kick your ass from here to Cleveland."

Angel gave him what might have been intended to be a reprimanding glare. "Wes isn't here, is he?" Angel said with a sharp tone.

Xander just crossed his arms -- he'd long since stopped being cowed by Angel, even if he'd never admitted it when he had been. "You think he's gonna fail to notice you smelling like an ashtray when you see him tonight? Or are you figuring on him not showing so it's OK to get all masochistic?"

Angel kept glaring, for a moment. "I'm a vampire, Xander. How can smoking be bad for me?"

"Oh, let's see -- because the humans you live with will get lung cancer and die horrible, painful deaths?" He'd gone through this conversation before. Only once -- and not with Spike. Spike had stopped smoking on his own, once they'd moved in together. Xander had had to have the conversation with Dawn, when she'd spent about three months trying to find a new way to rebel. They'd finally convinced her that with an older sister who burned down and blew up schools, she should rebel by being voted class president.

Angel was still glaring, but Xander suspected it was as much out of guilt he didn't want to admit to, as it was actually being annoyed. "I wasn't planning on smoking around Gunn or Wesley."

"Somehow I think they'd figure it out," Xander told him, shaking his head. "Come on, Angel, you really want either of them bitching at you to give it up again? Because, y'know, you don't have a great track record with obsessive addictions." Angel glowered. Not very well, though; he looked a little too distracted as he glanced again at the hideously expensive cigarettes. "Besides, you don't wanna spend your money on those. They're taxed out the wazoo."

Angel rolled his eyes. "I wasn't gonna actually smoke one. I just wanted to...have something to put in my mouth, and don't say it. Just because Spike's not here, doesn't mean you're legally required as his spouse to fill in for him."

Xander clamped down on the 'glurble' that wanted to make its way to the front of his brain at the word 'spouse,' and instead grinned. He retrieved Spike's blackcurrant soda, snagged two Lion Bars from the candy machine, then led Angel over to one of the couches near the edge of the lobby. "Here. Sit. Put this in your mouth. It's not poison or anything; promise."

"I don't--"

"I wasn't asking. I'm telling. Eat the candy, listen to me, and if you try to buy cigarettes I'll...I'll tell Wesley."

Angel looked cowed, then he got a defiant expression on his face, as if pretending that being told on to Wesley *wasn't* cowing. He took the candy bar, though, and gave Xander another glare.

"You think Wes won't do anything?" Xander asked. "You think he won't sigh and shake his head, and make that little noise that means he's not gonna say it, but he knows you're gonna--"

"All right! Geez, Xander, all right! I'm eating the damn candy." Angel tore the wrapper and crammed the end of the bar in his mouth.

Xander whapped him on the side of the head. "Slowly! It's English chocolate."

Angel gave him another glare -- this one was much more serious, and almost intimidating. Anyone but family might've thought Angel was about to take Xander's hand off at the shoulder. Xander plopped down on the couch beside him, and popped open Spike's soda. He'd torture him, bring him an empty can...before handing over the full one he'd buy on his way back.

"So what am I listening to?" Angel snarled.

"Geez, lighten up, dad." Xander grinned as Angel choked.

Xander brought the can of soda to his lips, took a big gulp -- and watched in annoyance as Angel suddenly smirked widely at him, just because *Xander* had begun to cough and choke. "Little son of a bitch..." Xander sputtered.

"Me?" Angel asked disbelievingly, from his mountainous two inches or so above Xander's head.

"No," (cough), "Spike. He *knew* I'd steal his pop, and didn't warn me about how *nasty* this stuff is. That must be why he never orders it online."

Angel just looked at him, Lion Bar still stuck in his mouth. Xander swallowed, and decided he'd buy Spike a six-pack of the stuff and force him to drink it while Xander watched. "Did you actually have something to say to me?" Angel asked after a moment, and after doing a bit of chewing and swallowing himself. "Or did it pretty much amount to 'Don't smoke because I don't wanna hear Gunn and Wes bitch about it on the flight home' ?"

Xander straightened, and answered with dignity, "Well... my version included entertaining impressions of them."

"Spare me; the ones you did at the New Year's party were bad enough." Angel chewed a bit more on his candy bar, looking like he was trying as hard as possible not to enjoy it. "So are we just trying to distract me? Because I have to say, I could be distracted just as easily by staring at the cigarette boxes and thinking about how I'm not really gonna buy one."

Xander settled down into the cushions. Was this a good time? There was no one around to screw up the conversation. No short blond vampires who would turn the whole thing into a matter of pride and not ever really get a straight answer out of him. And god knew, it would certainly be distracting. "Not totally. I was gonna ask... Actually, I was gonna ask on the plane, but then Spike showed up and the choice was sex, or talking to you, and well... Anyway..."

"Xander, if you're about to ask for Spike's hand in marriage, I'd say you're a little too late."

"Nah -- I'd have asked for his co--"

"Xander. If you're trying to distract me from smoking by making me smack you, it's working."

Xander flipped Angel off, the good old American way so the little old lady currently walking through the lobby wouldn't be offended. Then he set the can of soda down, between his legs, since he certainly wasn't going to finish it. Let Spike drink *warm* disgusting soda. "I really had something I wanted to talk to you about."

Angel gave him a doubtful look, but apparently realized that Xander was serious. He nodded, which meant Xander had to actually *say* it, now. He tried to recall if he'd worked out a way to ask, or if he was gonna have to wing it, or--

"Xander, just spit it out, OK? Eventually our mooks are gonna come looking for us."

"No, we're the-- right." Xander grinned. It faded fast, as he took a deep breath and said, "What's it like being turned?"

Angel didn't even drop his candy bar. He stared at Xander for a moment, then asked, "You planning on doing that soon? Or -- if you're having second thoughts...."

"No, not--" Xander stopped. He wasn't about to tell Angel that *Spike* was having second thoughts. Even if those thoughts were all for his safety, which, having looked in Spike's eyes as he said it, Xander knew was true. Spike wouldn't particularly want Angel knowing he was afraid of anything besides squirrels and stale port wine cheeseballs, though. "I guess it's more like we're having first thoughts. We both want to make sure that once I'm dead, I'll still be *me*. That having a soul won't just make me a demon with a soul, instead of me, without a pulse."

Angel stared at him for a second longer -- like maybe he hadn't expected either of them to be smart enough to come up with that possibility? -- then nodded. "So you want to know what, exactly? I mean, I can't answer any big existential questions, like am I really the same drunken guy who got his blood sucked out in an alley in Galway because he was hoping the pretty lady would give him a tumble in the hayloft down the street." He looked off into the distance for a moment, then added, "I can't even tell you if I'm the same guy who decided it would be a good idea to ask my idiot grandchilde to come live in my hotel, knowing full well that if he did, he'd have access to water and electrical equipment at the same time."

Xander laughed. "He still has nightmares about what that did to his hair. Hell, *I* still have nightmares about what that did to his hair. No, but... did you change very much? Do you remember?"

Angel didn't answer. He set the candy bar down, and looked at Xander with a thoughtful expression. Xander spent a few seconds having a major wiggins, that he was having a serious heart to heart with Angel, and no alcohol was involved.

"I can't answer that, Xander." He held up a hand, as if to forestall anything Xander could say -- not realizing Xander was sitting there, too stunned to say anything. "I spend a lot of time not thinking about what I was like, before. I...can't really remember, a lot of it. It was a long time ago."

"But--"

"I'll tell you what I can, though," he continued, over Xander's protest.

Xander subsided, sitting back and waiting. He found himself tensed, as if waiting for the worst.

"Most vampires I know, I didn't know when they were human, so I can't tell you what's most common. Spike -- William, didn't change much at all, by becoming a vampire. The changes that came about were all of his own devising; when he stopped being William, it was months after Dru killed him. He created 'Spike' quite carefully, and it fit him...not well at all. But he persisted, and we all got used to him, used to Spike. I think, now, he's more Spike than William because it's a habit he'd spent a hundred years learning." Angel glanced at his hands, then the floor, then far away someplace Xander suspected he'd never get to see, himself. "Dru didn't change. I'd made her insane before I ever killed her."

"Huh." The word came out of Xander's mouth despite his own discomfort with the subject of whatever had been done to Dru while she was alive.

Angel looked up. "You've known that for years."

"No, it's not that. It's just that the versions of Spike and Dru who live in the Victorian-verse are a lot different. Dru isn't crazy. Or, I guess she is, but nothing like our Dru. Mostly like a regular vamp would be, if they happened to get visions. And Spike..." Xander found himself grinning, almost snickering. "I think our Spike is more William than you know, though if you tell him that, I'll be forced to tell Wes and Gunn you were thinking about smoking again."

"You think this because?"

"Contrast. The other version is still... I think he's probably just like the Spike you remember from the beginning. All swagger and bullshit."

Angel looked at him disbelievingly. "You're saying our Spike isn't?"

Xander just shook his head, then said, fixing Angel with his most serious expression, "*Our* Spike thought he was *uncouth*." He grinned over the glurble as he added, "My Spike."

Angel looked like he wasn't sure whether to believe Xander or not. "Uncouth? I'm not sure I want to know what Spike considers uncouth." He leaned back in his seat, and looked off into the distance again, though this time, the reflection seemed less troubled. "William was... silly, and very shy, and terribly, terribly proper. None of which lasted very long."

"The kind of guy who'd be utterly shocked if his mother said she wouldn't mind seeing him and his husband go at it on her living room floor?"

Angel came back to the present with a disturbing refocusing of his eyes that looked for a second like he was about to fall into gameface from sheer surprise. "His *mother* ?"

Xander gave him a serious nod. "We met his mother. She's a vampire -- says she expects you to be nice to Spike, and hopes you help take care of your grandchildren. When I get my film developed, I'll show you pictures."

Angel was still staring at him. Xander recalled that they hadn't actually had a chance to tell their friends much of anything about their trip, at least not in chronological order. He was tempted to tell Angel who'd turned the Queen -- but Spike would pout at missing his reaction. He'd probably pout at not having gotten to tell Angel all about his mum, too.

Xander smiled, remembering the kind, if disturbing, lady who had sent them a note card saying a package was on its way -- toys and tank decorations for the kids. They were going to be so spoiled. "She was really cool, and you wouldn't have believed Spike. All prim and proper and blushed when she pulled out his baby pictures. Afterwards, he said...." Xander trailed off, remembering Spike's quiet, confused joy, that she was just like his own mum. Realizing what it meant.

It meant Spike's mother hadn't changed at all. Xander had the sudden inkling that he was grinning inanely.

He also had the distinct sensation that Angel didn't notice, and in fact wouldn't notice if he stripped naked, stuck a banana in his ass, and danced out the door singing the theme from Gilligan's Island. (Mental note, don't repeat that to Spike; it might give him ideas.) Angel was too busy repeating, "*Baby* pictures?"

"Yeah, baby pictures. Well, mostly baby-paintings, but she did have a few photos." Xander grinned -- continued to grin -- at Angel. Maybe his grin widened a fraction of a centimeter as he contemplated how he might best revenge himself on his husband for being such a bonehead. It didn't take long to contemplate. "Want a copy? Mum gave me a couple for my wallet."

"Baby pictures," Angel repeated.

Xander pretended he was asking a coherent question. "Yeah, it's the 21st century there, too, ya know. Some things are different, but they still have photo-mats. She made copies of Spike's old tintype thingies." He reached into his pocket, and retrieved one of the ones that he personally considered the most embarrassing -- and therefore had asked for several copies of -- and handed it to Angel. It was a photo of a three year old William in a white gown, holding a small stuffed dog in one hand, with his opposing thumb firmly lodged in his mouth.

Angel took it, and held it in both hands as though it were a kitten which Cordelia had given him and told him not to make cry -- which she had done, and Xander and Spike had lain bets on how long Angel would actually hold it before trying to foist it off one someone. Angel blinked once at the picture, then stared. His eyes went wide, and his dumbfounded expression very slowly began to change. Xander held his breath and wished he'd brought a camera down with him. Angel, looking almost glurbled at a picture of Spike.

Granted, it was a very glurble-inducing picture. Anyone who even sort of liked Spike, would melt at the sheer adorableness of the photo. At least Xander thought so, but he freely admitted to being very biased.

"Can I have this?" Angel asked in a tone which was utterly calm, free of the sound of glee which meant the photo was about to find its way into every mailbox in the country.

"Sure. I have copies."

Angel stared at the photo again, then shook his head slightly and looked up at Xander. "Did we...finish talking?" he asked, distracted.

"The only thing left was you promising never to smoke, or risk someone not sharing the other cute and embarrassing photos of young William."

"Other?" Angel asked, but not really. Not really in that he was already engrossed in staring at mini-Spike again, by the time Xander had taken two seconds to try to catalogue which scandalous or just plain disturbing shots he had with him, and which were upstairs in the suitcase.

Angel's distraction was probably a good thing, since a) It might get his mind off Wesley not having called yet, and b) Xander had a warm-under-the-blankets sleepy husband to wake up. Preferably with a cold can of blackcurrant soda on the soles of his feet -- which meant that Xander had to buy a cold can, since the one on the floor near his shoes that he intended to make Spike *drink* was now warm and disgusting, as he'd planned. He was just heading for the pop machine again, counting his change and being amazed yet again at the fact that British vending machines took *pennies* -- or at least the ones here did -- when he heard a shout from the stairs.

"He's home!" Gunn yelled down. Angel looked up, his unhealthy fascination with Spike-in-a-dress broken in an instant. Angel was on his feet and hurrying towards Gunn, Xander following along behind.

Gunn stayed at the top of the stairs, so the two of them headed up, sort of together: Angel was at Gunn's side before Xander could reach the fourth step. "He's home? Is he coming here? Are we meeting him? Did he call?"

Gunn held up a hand. "Relax. He didn't call, but Cecile did. The maid or whatever. Said he'd got back and had invited us over." Gunn gave Angel a sharp look. "I don't know if she meant it that way, or not. If she even knew. Guess we'll find out when we get there."

"When are we going?" Angel looked like he was about to bolt for the car, and break a few speeding records heading over to the Wyndham-Pryce estate.

"As soon as we can roust everybody--" was as far as Gunn got, before Angel was running down the hallway, shouting for Cordelia and Spike. Xander walked up beside Gunn, and exchanged an amused glance with him.

"For a guy who didn't want to come to England, he's awfully anxious."

"He'd better--" Gunn began. When he didn't elaborate, Xander started to ask what he meant. Then it occurred to him that he might already know.

If 'he' was Wesley.... He'd better make the trip worth their while. Not necessarily agreeing to pack up and return home, but if he made things worse.... Xander didn't want to think about what he'd have done if Spike hadn't changed his mind and asked him to move to L.A. It would probably have involved peanut butter and chains, which Spike would have enjoyed, once he'd gotten finished with the bitching and moaning. So would Wes -- Xander made a note to pass the suggestion on to Angel and Gunn, if it looked like it might be necessary.

*****