Angel had seen mansions before, and manor houses. Lived in a few of each -- at least until someone noticed that nobody was ordering fresh milk, and the lord of the manor hadn't shown up to church on Sunday that week. He had never been as impressed by them as Darla had, and he wasn't terribly impressed by Wesley's family home -- except for the fact that it contained Wesley. And Wesley's family.

He'd never met them. Had spoken to Wesley's mother several times, but only on the level of, "Is my son available?" He suspected she hadn't known who she was speaking to, or her tone would have been much more frosty, to judge from Gunn's description of them.

He wasn't intimidated. He'd faced vampire hunters and irate Slayers and Cordelia with possible PMS -- he'd never dared ask -- and come through all of them relatively unscathed. And he was only mildly nervous about the fact that in some universe, Spike's mother was still alive, and wanted to meet him. He would *not* be intimidated by a pair of bigoted fools. Even if they were his lover's parents.

If anything, the looming house made him want to laugh, because it brought back far too many terrible seventies horror films. Not so the rest of them, apparently -- the other four stood around Angel on the wide front steps, looking like teenagers daring each other to ring the doorbell and run. Angel sighed, stepped forward, and rang the bell. They still didn't know if he and Spike would be able to enter -- Cecile had said that Wesley said they were all invited. Angel didn't know if Wesley's invitation would count, second-hand.

He didn't want to think about what it meant for Wesley's 'just visiting' status, if it did count.

They didn't have to wait long before someone came to the door. By her uniform, and lack of resemblance to Wesley, Angel guessed it was Cecile. Her gaze swept over them quickly, then she simply stepped back, holding the door. Angel took a hesitant step forward, and found absolutely nothing barring his way. He walked in, trying not to sniff out Wesley. It was a large house, and Wes knew they were there; they wouldn't have to hunt him down. They'd better not, at any rate, because the whole foyer was submersed in the overlapping scents of humans, two of which seemed vaguely familiar, and one that he knew as well as the smell of his own childe's blood. His childe who was now tracking mud across the floor and not getting whapped for it by his husband.

"Mr. Wyndham-Pryce is waiting for you in the library," Cecile said shortly. He glanced at her again -- a plain, slim woman, somewhere in human middle-age, brownish hair pulled back in a bun. He couldn't quite get a read on her; she didn't seem nervous, though she had to have known that two of them were vampires. The ultimate in professional English servants, he decided, and wondered if it creeped him out. Not like *his* family's one maid, who'd been a little local girl always willing for a tumble out behind the henhouse. This one led them in a dignified manner to the library door, then nodded her head once, and took her leave.

They were all three in there. Wes, and his parents. Angel could smell them from the doorway. So, of course, could Spike, who was getting one of those looks on his face. One of those, "Do *not* try to stop me from making trouble, because you might as well try to tell a cat not to... er, do anything" looks.

Angel was too distracted to even bother trying the corresponding "Don't you dare," look. It hadn't worked for years, and certainly not since Spike had gotten together with Xander -- who was busy not telling Spike don't-you-dare, either. In fact, Angel could have sworn Xander was wearing the cat-look too. God help them all, whenever Spike finally turned him.

Maybe it would be time to pack up his own lovers, and move to the Himalayas for a few decades. Wesley would love the-- Wesley was standing in the library, beside a chair where an old man sat. He looked up as they entered.

He looked tired. Angel wanted to go over and sweep Wes into his arms, carry him up to bed and tuck him in. Tuck Gunn in with him, so someone could keep Wesley warm, while Angel held him. Instead, Angel put his hands in his pockets, and merely nodded. Polite. Formal. Like somebody who wasn't thinking about kidnapping his lover and keeping him tied to the bedposts until some sense could be gotten from him.

Wesley's mother, it must be, met them as they stepped into the room. She didn't seem particularly pleased to see them, though she spared a friendly smile for Xander and Cordelia. "Welcome to our home," she told them, her tone offering nothing more than civility.

"Thanks," Angel said, looking past her to Wesley. Wesley was looking down at his father, or at the books on the table before him. Obviously nervous, not meeting their eyes.

"Wesley?" Angel prodded, not willing to just stand around and talk about the weather. It was England, there was nothing to say beyond 'Rained today, didn't it?'. He was tired, and stressed, and wanted answers, and he didn't feel like playing whatever games they were being asked to play.

A glance up, then, and suddenly Angel *was* intimidated. Not by Wesley's father, who was utterly ignoring their presence, but by the eyes of his lover -- which revealed nothing of what he was feeling, lifted none of the confusion that had plagued Angel since he'd opened Wesley's letter. "How was your flight?"

Nothing. He wasn't giving them an inch. Polite as his mother, uninflected as Cecile's directions to the library. As if they were just... old friends, who had stopped in to see him. Angel couldn't even answer. Couldn't think what to answer. Was reconsidering that cave-vamp suggestion that kept cropping up, for once in a serious light. He could throw Wes over his shoulder, *then* take him home and tuck him in and tie him up, right?

Gunn seemed just as wordless, though more surprised -- as if, when it came down to it, he'd expected Wesley to run into their arms. But if he'd been going to do that, there wouldn't have been a letter in the first place, would there?

Spike took up the slack. "Don't like David's jet -- the loo's too small," he announced.

"For a man who's only ever flown cargo before, I don't think you've got much room to complain," Xander responded, while looking somewhat nervously at Wesley's parents. Were they making conversation? Was *Spike* making conversation, annoying as it might be?

"Not got much room to shag, either. Hell, you had to sit on the sink just to--" Whap! Ah, there it was. Finally. "Just saying. When you buy me a plane for my birthday, I want bigger loos. With a hot tub."

"William, Alexander," Wesley interrupted, sternly. "William, I don't believe you've met my father, Richard Wyndham-Pryce?" He gestured towards the man in the chair, who looked at them all with a clear expression of disgust and annoyance.

"Hey, guvnah," Spike drawled. "Nice place you've got. Don't think I'll be stealing the towels, though."

'Guvnah?' Since when had Spike turned into Dick Van Dyke? Angel couldn't decide if Spike was being irritating because he was the only one who *could* be, or because he was just...being Spike. He was probably the only one who wouldn't be turned to dust, later, by an irate Wesley. What was the point? As far as Angel knew, the only time *ever* Spike behaved himself was when Xander asked him to.

Or when his mother had scolded him, according to Xander's honeymoon tales. Angel had to stifle a sudden grin. He was tempted to mention that, now, to see if Spike would jump. Wesley's father did a creditable job of ignoring "William's" presence; if Angel hadn't been told things about him that made him want to not have a soul, just for a *little* while, he'd be tempted to ask for pointers.

Cordy arched a brow at Wesley. "Since when do you call him William?"

Spike walked over and slapped Wesley on the back. "Why shouldn't he call me William? S'my name. Known each other too long for 'Mr. The Bloody.'" Spike frowned, slightly, as if concentrating. "Er, Mr. Harris Bloody Wyndham-Pryce Gunn Chase Summers Rosenberg Jones Giles."

Xander corrected him. "No, the Bloody comes first in your name." He looked at Wesley's mother with a proud grin. "Wesley wrote us a memory thing for it: Handcuffs before whips please. Get chocolate sauce. Rimming's justified, Giles. But Spike's name goes Bloody, Harris, so it doesn't technically work for him."

Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce was looking at Spike strangely now. More strangely than people *usually* looked at Spike, Angel corrected himself. Even more strangely than she *should* have been looking at Xander, for that mnemonic. "William...the Bloody?" Her eyes widened considerably, though there was no further indication that she'd suddenly realized she had *half* the Scourge of Europe tracking mud into her house, instead of just a quarter.

Spike grinned. "Most people just call me Spike. Wes is family, though -- he knows I'll just throw non-color-safe bleach in his washing for calling me William, instead of rippin' out his spine and using his vertebrae to make a lovely macrame plant hanger."

"May I interject an eww, here, Spike?" Xander asked. "Not for *my* plants, you won't."

"Family?" Wesley's father said, suddenly looking up from his books again. "William the Bloody is now a part of our *family*, Wesley?"

"They're...friends, father," Wesley said haltingly. Angel knew he shouldn't have expected loud declarations of love, but it still hurt to hear Wesley denying that any of them meant more than that.

"Yes," Richard said, and there was so much in his tone that Angel could hear. They'd been dismissed, Wesley's choice of friends ridiculed, all in one simple syllable. "I'll be the envy of all the Watchers, now. I've had the infamous William the Bloody to my home." His acrid tone was obvious, then, and Angel could see Wesley wince, behind his nearly expressionless mask.

Angel found everyone glancing at him, and it was on his lips to introduce himself. If only he knew what Wesley wanted. For Angel to piss off his folks enough that he could leave, conscience clear? To behave, make somewhat of a polite, or just not hostile, acquaintance?

"And he's taken our family name," Richard continued in that sarcastic tone of approval. "Well, now we won't have to worry about the family line dying with you."

"Father, it's not--" Wesley looked quickly at Spike and Xander, and Angel could read the conflict in the twitching of that muscle in his cheek, in the shadows that floated over his eyes. He wanted to step forward and erase any questions as to which set of people in this room were really Wesley's family. He did nothing.

And Wesley said nothing more, just looked at the floor. Spike filled the silence with a cheery laugh. "Nah -- I'll be around for a few more centuries, at least. And we've got kids to pass it onto. Gomer, Goober and Hubert Harris Bloody Wyndham-Pryce Gunn Chase Summers Rosenberg Jones Giles."

"And me," Xander piped up, following his husband's lead. There was something hard in his voice, something that sounded to Angel like it had the density of every word he hadn't said to his own father at the wedding reception packed into it. "I figure I'll probably outlast Spike by a century or three, once he turns me, since I'm so much younger and spryer."

"You won't be spry once I've had you for three centuries," Spike said, giving his husband a leer. Angel saw that Wesley's mother was turning pale, and sending worried glances towards her husband.

Richard Wyndham-Pryce was giving Wesley a look. "Your friend is *planning* on becoming a vampire? Why am I not surprised? Should I even ask about the others? Werewolves? Demons? Or are they just all bent?"

Angel could hear three members of his family sub-vocalizing growls. Oddly, Spike wasn't among them. "N-no, they're...." Wesley took a deep breath, and in a polite, controlled tone, said, "Angel's the only other non-human here." He nodded towards Angel, who felt like he'd just been slighted out of his introduction.

He gave the elder Wyndham-Pryce an Angelus smile. "How do you do?" He stepped forward and held out his hand. Glad that he hadn't gone with 'pleased to make your acquaintance,' or he'd be holding out a newt-foot.

Wesley's father didn't make any move to accept the handshake. He glanced at it as though Angel had just offered to bite him.

"Actually, I'm not bent," Cordelia said cheerfully. "Unless that means 'dating a demon' in which case, me, too."

"Oo, are we officially dating the Flaming Green One, then?" Spike asked. Angel blinked at him. Was he actually... "We've rubbed off on you, luv. Only a woman in a house full of poofs could pick the gayest straight man in existence to play Spin-the-Bottle with." He was. He had one hand on his hip and was batting his eyelashes. *Spike* was being consciously campy.

William the Bloody. In pure black classic-Spike garb, long honeymoon-hair pulled back, curls falling in his face, looking like a roadie for Metallica. Waving one hand in the air in that classic Mr. Humphries gesture that Angel recognized from too-many-Brit-TV-nights-to-count, and leaning ever-so-gaily on Wesley's shoulder. There was going to be an Apocalypse.

"Are we finished with these introductions, Wesley? If so, perhaps you'd like to take your friends elsewhere to continue the hilarity," Wesley's father said acidly.

Someone moved past Angel, and it took him by complete surprise to realize that it was Gunn -- and Angel hadn't even been aware of his presence beside him. So focused forward on Wesley and those eyes that wouldn't quite meet his own, that he'd lost track of the smell and heat of his other lover, standing next to him.

"Wes?"

Wesley looked once, quickly at Gunn, then back at his father. "Father, this is Charles Gunn, and the lady is Cordelia Chase. I believe you met earlier."

Gunn repeated himself, made Wesley's name into the question not even Spike had been rude enough to ask. Perhaps the question none of them had been brave enough to ask. "Wes?"

"Yes, Charles?"

"He wants to know what the hell you're still doin' here," Spike translated unnecessarily, when Gunn just kept staring at Wesley.

"I...am needed here," Wesley said, faintly.

Wesley's father gave them a stern glance. "I appreciate that you've grown accustomed to having my son working with you, but the time has come for him to resume his duty here. I'm sure he appreciates your concern for him, coming all this way."

"Oh, and now he's not allowed to talk to us?" Spike asked.

Richard gave Spike a glare which Angel knew all too well, from having refined it himself over the last century. He felt no urge to tell Wesley's father that it was a waste of time. But Angel realized something, in all this, that wasn't being said. "Taking over the family business, huh, Wes? Just planning on taking care of the house and raising sheep, or have you decided to try going back to the Council, too?"

"No," Wesley replied, quietly. "I won't be applying to the Council again. I'm needed *here*." The faint stress on the word could have indicated a lot of things. Angel thought it meant Wesley knew just how useless his life was going to be, serving as his father's lackey and heir apparent.

"The Council wouldn't take him back," Wesley's father put in. "Someone who consorts with vampires, instead of killing them." He glanced at his wife. "Remind me to revoke certain invitations, once they're gone."

"You don't like us?" Spike asked, sounding hurt. "But dad, we like *you*."

Angel heard Xander do a very good job of stifling a giggle, then he crossed the room to where Spike stood next to Wesley, and the inevitable whap occurred. On the ass. "Spike, it's not nice to lie. What would your mum say?"

"Stop this," Wesley said quietly, ducking away from Spike's pronounced leaning on him. "Please. My father isn't well; the least we can do is spare him the traditional Angel Investigations insanity. He's right; we should take this elsewhere."

"How about home?" Gunn asked with a hint of challenge.

There was a pause, then in a slightly strangled voice, Wesley said, "I am home." He wouldn't look at any of them as he said it.

Richard Wyndham-Pryce was looking triumphant; Angel felt like grabbing his tie and doing something nasty with it. He was getting dangerously close to going cave-vamp on *someone*, be it Wesley or his father.

Spike, however, raised his hand. When everyone was looking at him, he said, "I've a question, please," in as proper a tone as Angel had ever heard.

Angel thought again about having drowned his childe at birth. Staked, rather. Except that Spike was sparing Angel the associated costs of being annoying himself, so perhaps he should just ask, "Yes, Spike?"

Spike stood up straight, all trace of Are-You-Being-Served-ness disappearing from his carriage. "If someone happens to have a heart condition, where 'the slightest amount of stress could cause a relapse, so you'll understand why my presence is needed here' " He paraphrased Wesley's letter in an eerie duplication of the author's speech patterns. "Shouldn't his heart be beating just a snitch faster than normal? At least when somebody's been systematically pissing him off for five minutes straight? Er, bent?"

Spike walked close to the man's chair.

"Or when a vampire without a soul -- and without that little piece of silicon in his head telling him it's a no-no, by the way, Wesley, does something like this?" With a ragged growl, Spike darted towards Mr. Wyndham-Pryce's throat, features transforming to those of the gold-eyed demon that Wesley's family had been long been trained to destroy.

Wesley's father jerked back in his chair, reaching towards the table for something -- probably a pencil. Xander would spank Spike six ways from Sunday if he managed to get slain while trying to annoy Wesley's dad, Angel reflected quickly, as he reached to pull his childe away.

"Spike, get back!" Wesley commanded.

Spike stood up, game face split by a wide, fangy grin. "Oh, don't get your jockeys in a twist, Wes. I wasn't gonna hurt him." He pointed to the man who sat next to him, the fear on his face now replaced with unadulterated rage. "Just wanted to make a point, for your edification and delight. Your dad's about as healthy as I... well. No. As healthy as Xander is -- physically, at least. Pulse jumped a bit when I went for him, but it's already slowing back down to normal."

Wesley gave Spike a glare. "And that's your excuse for trying to get yourself slain? My father *is* a trained Watcher." Angel could hear the unsaid 'you moron', and wondered why Wes hadn't said that part.

Spike sounded affronted. "Give me a *little* credit! He wasn't gonna get to anything that could hurt me, before I got to him. You're missing the point, here, anyway. His heart's healthy. Your excuse for staying sucks dirty dishwater, so pack up and let me get home where I can shag my husband in your hot tub."

Wesley just kept glaring at Spike, ignoring the others' questions, various exclamations of surprise and delight. Angel didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. He simply stared at Wesley, in sheer disbelief.

"Richard?" from Wesley's mother.

"Claire, would you help me upstairs, please? I'm not feeling quite up to whatever sort of fun and games our son's deluded friends are trying to play." Mr. Wyndham-Pryce leaned heavily on his wife as she helped him from his chair, and accompanied him out the library door. Neither of them looked back, though Claire was studying her husband confusedly as they moved away.

Angel listened, as they passed him -- to what he hadn't been hearing before, because he'd been so focused on Wesley. The scuff of shoes on the floor. Shallow breathing, loud and obviously intentional, and the beating of two perfectly average hearts.

Spike walked back to Wesley. "I'm not deluded. He may've had some sort of trouble in the past, but there's nothing wonky about his heartbeat. He's been playing you, Wes."

Wesley looked at him, and said nothing. Angel looked at Wesley, and his disbelief turned to something else. Something he hadn't felt for Wesley in a long, long time. Anger.

"You knew."

*****
Part 8:

There were more sounds of surprise, questions being thrown to him, and Wes. Angel ignored them, watching Wesley. Waiting for him to deny it, to explain why he hadn't been at all surprised to hear Spike's revelation.

"You *knew*," Angel repeated, when Wesley didn't say a word. "And you stayed."

Wesley looked away, towards the bookcases. Gunn stepped up beside him. "Wes? You knew he was okay?" Wesley still didn't answer. Gunn shot a confused look to Angel. "If you knew he was okay, why'd you keep saying you--" He stopped, and his face grew hard. Angel could feel him tensing. "Change your mind, did you?"

"Do what?" Spike was asking loudly. "You *what*?"

"Spike..." Xander's voice was quiet as he tugged on Spike's arm. "Come on -- let's go look around the grounds and see if there's any lawn gnomes you can smash. I think Angel and Gunn want to be alone with Wes."

"Don't we all," Cordelia said sharply. Angel gave her a look that had never been any good at quashing her before, and she glared back at him. Then, after a moment, her expression softened. "Oh, fine. But I get to kick his ass later." She headed for the door, following Spike and Xander. "Hey, wait up, you guys. I wanna smash lawn gnomes too. It'll do as a warm-up."

"I get the ones with the red caps, " Spike was saying, off in the distance. "Little buggers piss me off, all cute-n-beardy. Real Redcaps would scalp any gardener tried to plant 'em in a plot of petunias."

"You wanna tell us what's goin' on," Gunn asked, when they were truly alone. "For real?"

Wesley looked down at the table in front of him for a moment, then back up. "If I must." He folded his arms, then unfolded them to twitch his sweater, and adjust his glasses. Angel waited, patiently -- Gunn rather less so.

"Well?"

"You were right -- I've changed my mind."

Angel swore he felt his heart beat -- just once, so it could stop. *There* was a cardiac arrhythmia for you. He stared at Wesley, unable to process what he'd heard. Changed...he couldn't change his mind.

"You...?" Gunn sounded just as shocked by the admission. "Damn, Wes -- what's going *on*?" Gunn glanced towards the doors, through which everyone had gone. "They got something on you? They keeping you here? Man, you know we can help--"

"That won't be necessary," Wesley interrupted.

"They're not forcing you to stay?" Angel glanced around. "Or they're listening in and you just can't admit it?" It made more sense that Wesley's parents were holding something over his head: making him stay against his wishes, forcing him to write letters to his real family, saying he wouldn't be back. Angel reached his hand out to his lover, trying to let him know they could help. Whatever was wrong.

Wesley just shook his head. "I'm sorry, Angel. I must say 'no'. It would have been easier if you hadn't come all this way just to hear me say it. A letter should have been enough."

Angel blinked. Left his hand were it was, because this sounded like Wes *had* to be possessed. He sounded nothing like the man who'd begged them to make love to him, rolled over in bed and ground himself against Angel's body, eliciting cries and groans and whispering 'I love you' over and over. Angel blinked again. "Huh?"

"You're saying no, you don't wanna marry us?" Gunn asked quietly. "Or no you don't wanna ever see us again?"

Wesley didn't answer for a moment -- he looked rather like he did when trying not to tell Angel to stop dancing or someone might think they needed to call an exorcist. Finally he pulled away from Angel, and walked around to the chair his father had been sitting in. "This would've been so much easier if you'd just done as I asked." Wesley sat down, and motioned the two of them to sit as well.

"You couldn't actually have thought we would?" Angel asked. They were dancing around the question, but he'd let it happen, for a bit, if it meant they would get some kind of explanation of Wesley's behavior out of him. And... Angel wasn't sure he was *ready* to hear the real answer. "That letter made no sense. You don't just walk out of a three year relationship with an airmail note that says, "Have a nice life and unlife, respectively, and don't forget to add the fabric softener, or your underwear will itch."

"More than three years," Gunn said quietly. "Maybe we've only all been sleeping together for three years, but we've had something between us all for a hell of a lot longer than that."

"Yes," Wesley said simply. He sat, stared at his hands as if they held the answers Angel and Gunn needed. Perhaps Wesley was the one looking for answers.

Maybe that was why he'd come here. Angel understood the need to re-evaluate your life when someone asked you to make this kind of commitment. But what Wesley had done didn't make sense. To run so far -- his father's attack had been a convenient excuse to leave. But to remain here, where he had to be faced with a constant reminder of his family's displeasure and disapproval, instead of coming home where people loved him and told him how wonderful he was?

Angel moved swiftly to kneel in front of Wesley's chair. He put his hands on Wes' knees, and felt his lover tense. Wesley still wouldn't meet his eyes. "Wes...please. Just tell us. No matter what it is -- can't you just tell us, instead of saying 'it's for the best, just go'?"

Gunn came up beside him, as well, put a hand on Wes' shoulder. Wesley closed his eyes. "Wes, man, we love you. If you want us to go you're gonna have to convince us."

"It isn't sufficient to simply ask? What I want doesn't matter?" Wesley's voice was sharp, but the anger wasn't there. Angel heard desperation, a little bitterness. Fear.

"Maybe if we had a fuckin' clue what you want," Gunn started.

"If you can't accept plain English..." Wesley cut him off.

Angel shook his head. "Wes, that wasn't plain English, and you know it." He paused, trying to sort out what he wanted to say, but it didn't seem to be making any more sense in his head than Wesley's words had made on paper. "Of course what you want matters. It matters just as much as what I want, and what Gunn wants, and even though we both want you home with us, that doesn't outweigh what you decide to do with your life." Angel looked up at him, and fixed him with a hard stare.

"But you knew damn well we'd come after you to find out what the hell you were talking about. This isn't a sex game, where we play figure out what's on Wesley's mind and do it to him. This is the big leagues, and you're still hiding behind this self-righteous deal of we don't pay enough attention to you, we don't include you, we keep you hidden away, we make you work too hard to feel like you're part of this relationship. We've tried to change everything you've ever let us know we were doing wrong, Wes. Even when you wanted us to learn to figure it out without being told. So don't you owe us some honesty now, instead of this passive-aggressive bullshit?"

It was one of the longest speeches he'd given in his long life, and only the anger, the frustration, had kept Angel's mouth moving once his brain had figured out that he sounded like somebody on a daytime talk show.

Wesley started to respond, his expression angry -- then he stopped. Angel could see him folding in on himself, looking once again at the floor, or his hands, before finally taking a deep breath and looking at Angel. "That's why I had to say 'no', don't you see? You've done so much...and it still hasn't fixed things." His voice died to a whisper. "It wouldn't work. Don't you, can't you, see? Things are still so wrong between us all."

"If you're waiting for things to be perfect, Wes," Angel began.

Wesley shook his head. "I don't think any relationship could be perfect. But it should well be better than what we have -- you say you've tried to make me feel as though I were part of this relationship. Angel, the fact is, I am not a part of it -- not the way you and Gunn are a part of each other." He held up one hand, to forestall the protest that Angel was about to make, if Gunn didn't beat him to it. "You needed me, I understand that. I need you, too. But I've brought you two the balance you were seeking. *Your* relationship isn't in trouble, any longer." He swallowed, looked away, towards Gunn. "You'll both be fine without me. No more games, no more trying to change yourselves to fit me. You can be yourselves, and you'll be fine."

Angel wondered if Gunn could hear the way Wesley's voice was almost, but not quite, breaking. "We *are* us. What, I don't crack mirrors when I sing in the shower anymore? Gunn doesn't still watch Green Acres repeats and yell, 'It's a damn pig, you moron,' at the screen?"

Gunn was shaking his head. "No. No, Wes, this is stupid. I don't even know what you mean, no more games. Angel's right -- you had to have known we'd read that letter and jump on the first plane over. Only reason we even waited at all was Angel didn't want to come, til we convinced him."

Angel recognized the look that flashed across Wesley's face, the wrinkling of the nose as if it were pricking him -- he was ready for the words before they came. Ready for them before Wesley was, judging from Wesley's look of shame after he said, "You had to be persuaded, then?"

Angel sat back on his heels, and wondered insanely what Xander would do if Spike ever got this manipulative. Insanely, because... 'If?' Anyway, the answer would most likely involve Spike and nudity, and probably leather -- all of which was sounding good to Angel when applied to Wesley, right about now.

"You want us to take you at your word, but you're hurt because I did?" Angel retorted finally. He put a hand to Wesley's lips when he started to respond. "I wanted to swim over and drag you back by the toes, Wesley. But I thought, for some reason, that you'd be upset if we treated you like you don't know what you're doing."

Wesley looked away again, his shamed expression growing stronger. "I...appreciate your confidence in me."

The words sounded absurd, given everything. Angel took hold of Wesley's hand. "Wes, if you honestly, truly, want us to go and not come back for you, then let us understand whatever it is that's going through your head. Tell us *why*. Don't just tell us to go -- because we can't. We *love* you, and we want you in our lives, and we're going to fight anything -- even you -- to make sure we have every opportunity to have you."

Wesley glanced at Gunn, a question in his eyes, though the question was guarded behind something Angel didn't understand.

Gunn nodded. "What he said. Wes, just tell us."

"I've told you," Wesley began. He held up his hand, the one Angel wasn't holding, before either Angel or Gunn could interrupt. "Don't you hear what you're saying? 'We' this, 'we' that -- you two are more married now, than I could ever be. The two of you have a relationship with each other, that I have with neither. My only connection with you is with you *both*. That's not a relationship, that's...owning a pet."

Gunn looked like he'd been physically slapped. Angel *felt* that way -- but about two seconds after that reaction, the knowledge set in that, wrong as Wesley was, he was also right. When it came to any troubles with Wes, Angel and Gunn looked at each other, first. Or sometimes didn't *need* to look at each other -- but even that was telling enough. Apparently it told Wesley that they were, to all intents and purposes, using him. Like a live-in sex counselor. A buffer.

It wasn't true. Angel didn't think of Wesley that way, and he knew Gunn didn't either -- and yet it was.

"You think we treat you like a dog?" Gunn was asking.

Incredulous. Hurt. Angel's first impulse was to reach up and put his free hand on Gunn's arm. But wouldn't that confirm Wesley's diagnosis? That the two of them had somehow come to know each other so much better than either of them knew Wesley, since the day when Gunn had told a room full of vampire hunters that he and Angel could never be friends, and Wes had told Gunn that if he endangered their lives again, he was fired.

But this wasn't only about Wes. It couldn't be only about Wes, if they were to have any hope of coming out of this together, all three of them. Angel reached up and touched Gunn's sleeve. "That's not what he means. He means he feels like... like a guest, that we allow into our bed, and play with and fuck senseless and treat like a visiting royal most of the time, but still a guest, at the end of the day."

"Damnit, Wes, would we marry you if you were just a guest?" Gunn demanded.

Wesley looked at him, holding his gaze steady. "That won't solve things, Charles. A piece of paper that isn't even legal won't suddenly create what isn't there."

"Fuck the paper. Like anybody cares about the paper. Would we want to let Cordy put us through all that wedding crap *again*, if you were just a guest?" Gunn asked again, in a hard tone. "Doesn't that mean something? That maybe we want to be together? All of us? Why would we ask you to marry us, if we didn't want you?"

"*You* didn't ask me to marry you," Wesley pointed out in a semblance of a lighter tone. Prim, as if he were on the side of the angels -- or at least the blameless.

Gunn looked surprised, and angry. Angel began to stop him, opened his mouth to derail whatever Gunn had to say. He stopped himself, knowing that whomever he was trying to protect, didn't need it. Perhaps it would be better if they let it out.

"So, you wanna marry me?" Gunn demanded. Angel saw Wesley's eyes turn slightly wetter, and once again he was struck with the need to gather Wes in his arms and hold him safe from everything -- even himself, and Gunn.

"I think perhaps you should ask your fiance if that's acceptable, before you ask me," Wesley replied, looking pointedly at Angel.

Sometimes Angel wondered if it had really been worth climbing out of his coffin all those years ago, if he was going to spend the prime of his unlife being played by somebody every bit as good as Spike, and only a little bit less evil. He took a look at Gunn's face, then Wesley's, and felt like throwing them *both* over his shoulders. Could he? He'd once managed Spike and Dru at the same time...

"Gunn," he said slowly. "You want to get un-engaged?"

"Huh?"

Angel removed both of his hands from his lovers' bodies, and stood. "This is about you, and Wes, and me. Not us and Wes. I don't know why it's suddenly the end of days because you happened to answer first when I proposed, but it seems to be. So let's stop this, right? I don't want to risk having to wear teal bow-ties again, unless Wesley's involved. Do you?"

Wesley jumped up. "No -- don't you see, this is why I stayed away in the first place. Don't *do* that. Don't ruin whatever you two have, just because it doesn't really have room in it for me." Angel moved after him, and grabbed his wrist. He knew he was holding too tightly, but as long as the bone didn't break he couldn't be bothered.

"This is not about Gunn and I making room for you! This is about the *three* of us being together. Maybe it isn't perfect, yet, and maybe it's too soon to get married." Angel knew he was growling, now, but he still wore his human visage and was still in control. Just. "But there is no excuse for you not telling us. Hell, for *lying* to us, about why you were staying. None except that you're rather run and hide and ruin it for all of us, than tell us there's something wrong. Really wrong. If you're too afraid to say no..." Angel felt the anger spin out of him. "Then you can't be ready give up, either. Wesley...."

He had no idea what to say. No way to convince him that he understood, and that he still wanted to try. He felt like he'd been banging his head against a wall, for months now. The wall of Wesley's issues, and how no matter how hard you try, you can never get them right.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Gunn was asking. He sounded suspiciously calm. Wesley and Angel looked at him. "This all just comes down to me and Wes don't have the kinda relationship that me and Angel do. And you two don't have what Angel and I do. Right?" Angel could see Gunn wanting to whap someone on the head, Xander-style. "So what's wrong with spending time together? Just you and me. Just you and him. Find out if there's anything, before assuming there isn't."

Wesley tugged at Angel's grip on his wrist, but gently, not as if he was planning to make a run for it and go see if he could help Spike and company murder a few innocent painted lawn decorations. Angel, after a second, let go. Wes wasn't a child, and he certainly wouldn't appreciate being treated like one, in this house. Especially by somebody bigger and stronger than him.

"Sorry," he said softly.

Wes blinked, then looked at his own wrist as if he hadn't even noticed. Angel wasn't sure that made him feel better. "Are you..." Wesley paused, then something like a smile crossed his face. It might have been amusement; Angel couldn't be sure. "Are you asking me out on a *date*, Charles?"

"And why the hell not?" Gunn crossed his arms. "Since I'm right now as of this moment officially not engaged to either of you cakeboys, I got all the free time in the world. Unless you're worried about your parents knowing you're going to the movies with a smart, well-hung black man who plans to do things to their son in the back row that could get me dead in Montgomery, Alabama."

Wesley blinked a few times, and Angel had to bite his tongue from asking if he could come, too. He'd offer to sit a couple seats over, as long as he got to watch. Except he'd help, and that was exactly what Gunn was suggesting they not do.

The horrors. Spend time with Wesley, *alone*. Angel grinned. "Me, too? Not the same night. We can even pick a different movie. Or...maybe bowling?" Though he couldn't see Wes letting him bend him over the automatic ball-return, there was always the parking lot...

Wesley looked at him, then at Gunn, appearing faintly stunned. He was still doing that something like a smile thing with his mouth, though, and that encouraged Angel. Then all signs of amusement died, and Wesley looked away from them both. "I'm sorry I--" His voice cracked. Angel and Gunn reached out at the same time, reaching for him, not quite touching. Wesley didn't move closer, but neither did he move away. "How can you possibly--"

"Want to try dating you?" Angel asked, when Wesley couldn't finish speaking. "Wes, we both...each, love you. We--"

But Wesley was shaking his head. "How can you possibly forgive me?"

'For what?' was on the tip of Angel's tongue, but this wasn't Stage Three of a Wesleycoddling game. He was asking a serious question.

"For what -- not wanting to marry us?" Gunn asked. Angel didn't look at him, didn't try to telegraph that Wes was serious. Didn't try to put up a united front, because they weren't at war -- though it had seemed like it for a while, there. "World's full of people who don't want to marry us. Well, at least people who don't want to marry Angel. Last time I looked at the website with the membership list, it was up to 8 thousand, not counting people who happened to show up at Caritas on Manilow night and haven't recovered yet."

"There's a website?" Angel asked reflexively. Of course there was a website. Xander had probably even uploaded the New Year's video as a warning to potential suitors.

"Piranhakids dot com, I think," Wesley said, again with the almost-smile. Then he looked down at the expensive carpet that Spike had tracked every bit of mud he could find into, and was probably out there now gathering even more, on purpose. "For running," Wesley whispered, answering their question. "For taking the coward's way out. For pretending I believed my father's lie."

Angel regarded him seriously. "Are you coming home?"

Very slowly, Wesley nodded. Angel exchanged a grin with Gunn, although he could see the 'told you so' in Gunn's expression.

Angel ignored him. "Are you going to give us -- including yourself -- a chance to fix things? I mean really fix things, not just make us jump through hoops that address the symptoms, and not the cause?" Angel found Gunn giving him a bizarre look. "What?" Angel asked.

"Where'd you learn to talk like that? Passive-aggressive bullshit symptoms?"

"Harmony made me watch a whole day of family counseling shows with her, on the Lifetime network," he said, deadpan. "She said I needed to get in touch with the inner me, or I'd never be able to get over my obvious jealousy that she's with Buffy, and I'm not." He saw Wesley half-smile, again. He wondered if he ought to still be stifling the urge to grab Wesley, and run.

Gunn shook his head, then turned back to Wesley. "You're really coming home? You're not just saying that so we don't tie you up and haul you outta here?"

Wesley hesitated, then, slowly, nodded. His lips barely moved as he whispered, "I hate it here." He looked up at them, after a second, and added, "And I miss the hot tub."

Gunn thumped him on the head, startling Wesley and Angel, both. "Dumbass. Next time you say 'hey, guys, we gotta talk'. Because if I have to chase you across the globe again...I will. But I'll be damn grumpy."

Wesley essayed a smile that was almost a real one. "As opposed to how you've been for the last two weeks, I suppose."

"Hey, I was a regular ray of sunshine, compared to Mr. Mope Around Reading Paddington Bear in the bathtub when he thinks I ain't looking."

"Like there was somewhere for me to *hide* it in the bathtub?" Angel asked reflexively. When had they turned into Xander and Spike, exactly? Or were they just trying to make Wes feel like everything was back to normal?

Nothing was back to normal -- which might not be a bad thing, of course. Still, Angel felt a strange squishy squeeze in the middle of his chest when Wes fixed him with a stern stare and asked, "You were reading my collectors' edition of Paddington, in the *bathtub*, Angel?"

Angel shook his head. "No. I...um...boughtanewcopyatBarnes&Noble." Because he hadn't dared take Wesley's copy anywhere near water. Wesley raised an eyebrow at him, and Angel could hear the teasing reply he was about to make. Could hear it coming, but he saw something else in Wesley's eyes. Angel put his hand out, and placed it on Wesley's arm. Startled, Wesley said nothing, and Angel spoke quietly. "I think...can we go home, now? Instead of acting like everything's okay, can we just go and make it okay?" Wesley and Gunn were now both staring at him like he'd grown a third head. Angel began to feel a bit insulted; then he just shrugged. "We really *should* going to family counseling. Maybe I should ask Spike and Xander to join us."

It wasn't precisely a lie -- he'd do it if he had to, to keep them all together -- but he'd paint himself blue and sing naked songs in the middle of the road again, first. Gunn and Wesley would never be *completely* sure he didn't mean his threat, though. Even if they asked Spike, because Spike lied like he had sex. Often, everywhere, and with little necessary encouragement. Often doing one to get himself out of trouble for the other. Thinking of Spike made him realize that his childe had come back into the house. They were all in the foyer, standing around and whispering about whether they should risk going in the library yet.

"I *really* hate when he says shit like that," Gunn mock-whispered at Wesley. "Who the hell is qualified to psychoanalyze *us*?"

Angel moved towards the door, nodding his head in that direction to indicate the listeners outside. "I don't know. We'd have to find somebody willing to put up with including *Spike* in group therapy, after all."

"The bloody *hell* you say," came the expected shout from the corridor. "I'm not getting my head shrunk. Bad enough they put hardware in it, now you want to reprogram me? I'm the sanest one of you lot."

Angel didn't have to have superhuman ears to hear Cordelia's burst of laughter, or Xander's hand thumping...some part of Spike. There was a hollow echo, so it was probably his head.

Wesley smiled, mildly. "Let's go," he said. "We should at least find out how much damage they've done to my parents' garden -- so I'll know what we need to replace before we leave."

There was a small crow of triumph from outside, then Spike stalked in, closely followed by Xander. "I *told* you he wanted to be rescued." Angel gave Spike a dirty look, the sort that used to make William the Bloody flinch, and start apologizing. Spike flipped him off.

"What?" Wesley was asking. Angel turned to see a faintly confused, faintly accusatory expression on his lover's face. Angel couldn't tell if this was one of those 'apologize to him' moments, or not. Except they'd just decided a few minutes ago that these sorts of moments were to be made clear.

Besides, if Wesley was upset -- Angel didn't do it. He shrugged, and gestured towards Gunn. "They thought you were just obliquely asking us to come rescue you. Your letter. When you said not to come, they thought--"

"*They*?" Gunn interrupted.

"Yes," Angel said. "I said, 'if Wes wants us to come see him, he'll ask'."

"Uh-huh." Gunn folded his arms, then looked at Wesley. "We came to rescue you -- from yourself, your parents, the evil that is England. Can we go?"

"Oi -- the evil that is England? Are you gonna stand there and take that, Wes?" Spike had that glint of instigation in his eye, the one that made Angel want to reach over and perform some home-brewed family counseling on his head.

Wesley didn't answer. He just laughed, and patently ignored Spike as he walked toward the library door.

"Oh, come on -- you're not gonna let him insult the motherland? Home of Walker's Crisps, Lion Bars, and Batham's Bitter?" Spike insisted as they followed Wes into the hallway. "That was a blatant blow against everything fish-and-chippy about home."

Wesley turned to face Spike, then. "How long since you've considered England home, Spike?"

"Er?"

"How long since you've considered anywhere home except where Xander is?"

Spike's mouth opened and closed a few times, then he frowned, crossed his arms, and stuck out his tongue. "Utterly beside the point."

"You just wanted to get Gunn into trouble, because you get off on watching us bicker."

"Er, duh?"

Wesley turned away from him and led the way towards the front entrance hall, ignoring Spike again. Angel didn't bother hiding his grin when Spike looked poutingly back at him.

He got a glare in return, and Spike poking Wesley on the shoulder. "Hey Yank-lover. Betcha didn't know Angel killed the Queen."

"You *do* need therapy, Spike," Wesley responded.

"No, I'm serious," Spike insisted. "Off in Victorian England. Angelus killed the Queen -- s'how she got all vamped." Wesley stopped, and gave Spike an eerily accurate 'we are not amused' look. "Yeah, her," Spike agreed. "Vickie."

"Queen Victoria," Wesley repeated, while Angel tried to figure out how any of this was more important that the forward momentum they'd gained. He tried to get Wesley moving, again, but he was standing there, arms crossed, not budging. "Angel killed Queen Victoria?"

"Yeah," from Xander. "Dork-Spike and Dru got most of the Lords, and I think Darla killed what's his name, the annoying guy?"

Spike shrugged. "They were all annoying."

"Dork-Spike?" Cordelia asked, her question echoed by everyone in the room. Xander laughed, and opened his mouth.

Spike spoke quickly, "My alter-ego. Not as polished as some. But Angel -- hell, talk about a guy who looks good in leather no matter what dimension he's from." Spike gave him the once over, which Angel ignored -- primarily because Wesley was also looking at him, like he'd just dropped Paddington Bear in demon goo.

"And he killed the queen," Wesley repeated.

"Yes. Angel killed the Queen." Spike sounded like he was repeating a lesson for someone who'd just been knocked on the head. "One of the few smart things he did, before spending a century not shagging me."

"You killed Queen Victoria?" Wesley said one more time, to Angel.

"No, some alternate universe version of me killed Queen Victoria. Apparently." Angel didn't mention that he'd thought of it, and discarded the idea as being too much work, not enough fun, and likely to get Darla pissed at him if he suggested it.

Wesley gave him one last disapproving glare, then turned to Gunn. "Right, he's flying cargo on the way home."

"We have a private jet," Xander said.

"We'll ship him separately," Wesley announced. He turned at the main staircase, and began climbing. The rest stood below, including Angel. Wesley looked back. "Were you planning on helping with my luggage, Angel, or just standing about? It's the difference between cargo and coach."

Angel followed, as did the rest, with Xander once again pointing out that they had a private jet, so there *was* no coach, and Spike telling him to shut up, it was more fun this way, and if necessary, they could make Angel spend the whole flight in the loo. The conversation about how Spike and Xander would manage to have sex in that same bathroom, with detailed position descriptions of how to avoid kicking Angel in the head unless they wanted to, took the group all the way up the second floor.

Angel waited until he was level with Wesley again -- merely on a geographical basis, he had no question about a psychological level -- and said, "It wasn't *me*. I'm not the one who killed her." He felt vaguely silly for having to say so, and he heard Gunn snickering.

Wesley cast him a sidelong look. "Spike said it was you." As though suddenly *Spike* could be believed.

All right, when it came to getting Angel annoyed or in trouble, he could be. "He said it was the *other* me. Alternate dimension, remember, Wes? There's more than one of me."

"Then you don't deny it was your Doppelganger?" Wes demanded.

Angel opened his mouth, then stopped. There was no way he could answer that, without being blamed for Queen Victoria becoming a vampire. Or getting turned into a newt. He glanced at Gunn. "How is it that, with everything Wesley's done, *I'm* the one in trouble?"

Gunn shrugged. "You turned the *Queen*, man. What do you expect?"

"I did not!" Angel gave Spike a deadly glare. Spike just looked back at him like Angel had brought this all on himself, and it was no use passing the blame. He opened his mouth to explain all the things he was going to do to Spike, but thought twice, given the newt issue and how Xander would pout at him if he did them. "You annoy me greatly, Spike," he muttered. *That* at least earned him a stare, when the expected threats didn't materialize. Angel enjoyed a brief smirk before turning back to Wesley. "You aren't *really* going to hold me responsible for something done a hundred years ago by somebody who *looks* like me, are you?"

From the doorway at the end of the second floor corridor, Wesley's father said acidly, "It would hardly be noticed among the atrocities you *did* commit a hundred years ago, would it, Angelus? Why not just take responsibility and be done with it?"

"Because he's angling to sleep in their bed when we all get home, instead of on our sofa," Spike answered for him, truthfully enough.

Mr. Wyndham-Pryce looked sharply at Spike for a second, then at Angel, then at Wesley. "When you *all* get home, Wesley? Are your friends still under the impression that this is a temporary visit?"

Angel watched Wesley remain motionless -- for just a second. Then he could see him stand up a bit straighter, shoulders back, as he faced his father. "I'm leaving now, as a matter of fact," he said clearly.

Wesley's father didn't even look surprised. "Oh, really?" He sounded like Angel's own father had, when Liam had been eight, and informed his father he was a man now, and didn't need his father's household rules. It had preceded a spanking, and extra chores for the week. Hearing Mr. Wyndham-Pryce use that tone on Wesley, a grown man who was making the *right* decision, made Angel want to find something to spank *him* with. A bamboo cane, say. Or a large club.

He heard Wesley sigh, almost inaudibly. "Yes, father. I realize I've given you no notice--"

"You're going nowhere," his father interrupted, giving the gathered group of them behind Wesley, a single, dismissive glance. "Whatever your friends think they need you for, they can cope without you. Tell them to be on their way and we'll ignore this nonsense."

Another hard glance in Angel's direction, then at Spike, told Angel that Wesley's father wasn't going to forget, at all. He had the distinct impression that a de-invitation spell would be performed as soon as they left. All the more reason to get Wesley out now.

"I'm going." Wesley's voice was determined, but slightly softer than before. Angel put his hand on Wesley's shoulder, briefly reminding him they were there to support him. He felt Wesley relax, and gave Mr. Wyndham-Pryce a smile. Not as toothy a smile as he'd have liked, but he really didn't want to be sleeping on Spike and Xander's couch.

"Wesley, you have responsibilities here. Playing at being a Watcher-for-Hire is all well and good when there's nothing more useful you could be doing, but now you're needed here."

Angel felt Wesley tense again, then step out from under his hand. "Father, you don't need me. I know that what Spike said is true. I saw your medical reports shortly after I got here. You had a very mild heart attack, and the doctors say you have every chance of a full recovery. You're not going to expire if someone upsets you." There was a quaver in Wesley's voice that Angel hadn't heard outside of a bedroom situation in years, but he made his way steadily to the end of his speech, and stood before his father. Tense, but tall.

"What exactly are you accusing me of, Wesley?"

"Offhand, I'd say being a manipulative, lying bastard," Xander said. "I guess I should be impressed -- I mean, *my* father doesn't approve of me being gay, but he never acted like he was dying to get me away from my sordid life of debauchery."

Wesley stood a little more stiffly, Angel noticed, but he didn't look upset at what Xander had said. "I shouldn't be jealous, if I were you, Xander." His voice was even, and slightly sad. "He didn't do it because he wants me here." He looked at his father again. "Do you truly think I'm stupid, Father? I looked into everything, while researching how to save this place from being taken over by a historic trust, or mortgaged to the hilt. Everything. The only way to keep it in the family without selling off things that you don't want to sell would be for you to get a grant based on having a designated heir to pass it onto. Preferably two generations of designated heirs."

The only sign a human would have seen that Wesley's father was discomfited by his son's words, was a small twitch of one nostril. Angel heard the thump of his heart beating faster, though. Smelled the faint pheromones of anger radiating from him. "That's the conclusion of all of your brilliant detective work? That your family needs to manipulate you into staying here and doing your duty by us? By your own name?"

"Oh, I'm sure there's more to it," Wesley said. "Having me around to remind me that you disapprove of everything I've done is probably just a perk."

Wesley's father glowered, narrowing his eyes and turning red. Angel heard his heart speed up -- his perfectly fine, no danger of even skipping a beat heart.

It made him hungry.

"I'll not stand you to be disrespectful to me. Inexcusable. You think because your so-called friends are here that you can be rude? I will not tolerate such impertinence." He seemed to gather himself up, and for a second Angel thought he was going to raise his hand to slap Wes. "You will tell your friends good-bye, and you will take your place with your family as instructed, and we will have no more of this nonsense."

"Yes, father, you're right," Wesley said, and Angel panicked. He nearly grabbed Wesley and flung him over his shoulder, not caring what had made him change his mind so *fast* -- when Wes continued speaking. "My place is with my family." He looked over his shoulder, and gave Angel, and Gunn, then the rest of the gang, a smile.

Angel shared a triumphant grin with Gunn. Score one for the good guys.

He heard the rustling behind Mr. Wyndham-Pryce long before Wesley's mother appeared in the doorway, but the need to ask somebody familiar with Watchery things to check and see if he still had a soul, didn't come until she spoke.

*****