"Wesley?" he heard his mother say. Wesley couldn't decide which was worse -- the sound of her voice, or the look on her face. As if he'd just crushed some priceless figurine -- as he'd done, on certain occasions, growing up -- and she was more disappointed in his lack of care, than the loss of the object. Only in this case, what he'd crushed was something inside her.

"Mother--"

"Do you no longer consider me to be your family, either, then?"

"It isn't like that, Mother." But for a moment, it had been. For a moment, he'd forgotten that, disappointed in him as she might be, he'd never questioned that his mother loved him.

"What is it like, then?" She looked... He would say 'devastated,' if he'd ever thought she was capable of being brought that low. "Please explain it to me." It was the last sentence that did it. Because she sounded, as she hadn't in years, as if she truly wanted to know.

Wesley turned to his assembled friends. His lovers. His family. If he was going to claim them aloud, he'd best get used to saying it in his head. "I... Could you excuse me, for a moment? I think I need to speak with my mother alone."

No one made a move to stop him, though Angel and Charles asked him silently if they should go with him. He shook his head slightly -- and reveled in the fact that he could read them. Had he been missing it, all this time, or had something truly changed, tonight?

Wesley went to his mother, and led her towards her sitting room, down the hall. She went, casting him that same, hurt, confused look, but saying nothing until they entered the room and Wesley closed the door.

She stood there, just inside the door, holding her hands in front of her.

"Please," Wesley indicated her chair, waited for her to sit. He could remember a thousand times she'd sat there, as he watched her -- reading some book, studying something Father had given him. He'd look up and she'd be there, reading something of her own or tending to some mysterious paperwork he'd not been privy to as a child.

Not quite a sense of comfort -- he'd learned real comfort from being held in his lovers' arms. But a sense of familiarity, to be sure. She sat, and settled herself, and he took the seat to one side of hers. He still had no idea how to explain what he'd said so she wouldn't be hurt. He suspected there was no way, but he ought repair what damage he could.

She didn't give him the chance. "You've chosen to go with them, then, have you?"

"I-- yes, Mother, I have." She didn't look at him, and he couldn't decide if that was making this any easier. "Mum, I have to go. They are my family, as much as you are." When she didn't respond, he added, "If I had married, you wouldn't question my going to live with my wife, would you?"

"If you had married properly, you and your wife would be living here. The family estate, where you belong." She sounded hurt, but he could hear the anger beneath her words.

He could understand it. He'd never had a problem understanding it. But they'd never tried -- never -- to understand, in return. At least until now, and he didn't know if he had the words, now. "Mother..." She looked up at him, and he spoke softly. "I was never going to marry properly."

She shook her head, plainly confused. "There were girls. You dated, when you were in school."

"People Father introduced me to, yes. The daughters of his friends."

Wesley could still picture some of them -- well-to-do girls who had looked at him with everything from disgust to pity. A few had even become friends, to what extent they could. More than one of them would have married him, despite the lack of anything resembling a spark between them, even though he'd tried, he truly had. More than one of them would have become Mrs. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, for the name, or because her parents' expectations were just as high as his.

"I would have married, yes. But it would never have been a *proper* marriage. I'd have condemned one of them to something that was at best a business partnership, at worst, a mockery." It was best to say it plainly, wasn't it? "I'd still have been gay, Mother. That has nothing to do with the people I love *now*."

She looked perturbed, ever so slightly. He suspected it was because he was insisting on being exactly what she had spent his young adulthood telling him he wasn't. "You don't know that -- you can't tell me there is no girl in this entire world you wouldn't love, and be happy to marry."

"But it doesn't matter," he said, trying to feel half the amount of patience he was putting into his voice. "I'm in love, and I don't care to look for any girls."

She looked away from him, her expression telling him quite clearly that she would prefer not to discuss this -- except they would, because it was better than discussing what had brought them here in the first place. "In love?" She gave him a flat look. "All I've heard since your...friends... arrived, is you arguing."

He opened his mouth, then revised what he'd been about to say. It *was* true. But it wasn't the whole truth. "Whatever problems I do have with them, I shall work out."

"Really? That isn't what it looked like. If you really thought your father was 'manipulating' you, why did you stay so long, never saying a word about it until they arrived to take you back, if you weren't hiding here? From your 'family'?"

Her words were bitter, and truly angry, now. Wesley wished he could say he was shocked -- but he wasn't. As familiar as the chair she was sitting in. If his father could smash him down with orders, now that he was too tall to fear any other sort of smashing, his mother wasn't weaponless. She knew how to use the truth -- or a partial truth -- to demolish him with guilt in a way that would no doubt make Spike want to compare notes with her, under other circumstances.

In this case, of course, she was right. "I used you, yes. I'm sorry for that."

"And this...man, that you're in love with, has treated you so well that you had to cross an ocean to get away from him?"

As if he hadn't crossed an ocean to get away from *them*. Stayed across an ocean, so as not to have to return here for longer than a few days' time, until he'd finally had another reason to stay in America, besides trying to avoid his parents.

Wesley backtracked past his own bitterness, as the specifics of what she had asked replayed in his head. She didn't even know which of them were his lovers. Didn't know that there was more than one. He'd never said, thinking that them knowing he *had* a lover was cause enough for disapproval, without telling that there were two, and one was Angel. Angelus. "My lovers have never shown me anything but kindness, Mother. Whatever problems there are, they have nothing to do with ill-treatment."

She looked about to ask if he was implying the opposite on his family's part -- which he was -- then she stopped. "Lovers? You... No. I don't want to know."

"You've never wanted to know."

She gave him that look, again. That haughty, displeased, how dare you expression. Utterly unlike his father's; this one made him feel as if he had hurt her, rather than merely disappointed her. "I don't see how you can say you're in love with... *several* men. This is just some sort of twisted game you're playing, to get back at us, for whatever slight you've perceived. This fight with your father -- it's ridiculous. Wesley, I know he's difficult to understand, you've *never* really seen his side of things. But to bring all this into our home -- is it worth it?"

"Worth it? Mother, I--" He shook his had. "No, I'm not going to argue this with you. You don't want to hear it, don't want to understand it. Nothing I can say will make a difference."

There would certainly be no family celebrations, here, on the day he *did* decide to marry. Not even a grandparent, as Xander had rediscovered, to stand in the front row and watch. He wondered, idly, who would give them to each other -- knowing that Charles had no family, either, beyond his circle of friends. Angel had Spike -- and wouldn't that be amusing to see, Spike giving Angel away? It was almost worth it to say yes, let's get married right away, to see it.

Wesley shook himself, not so much annoyed at getting side-tracked as he was ready to get this conversation over with. "It doesn't matter, mother. I'm going home with them."

"Silly me, then, to think this *was* your home."

He hated hearing that tone in her voice. No longer the accusations, or anger. Just the hurt, just the mother's devastation that her child, her only child, would reject her. He could see that plainly written on her face, even if he hadn't heard it in her voice. He almost asked her, begged her not to make this any more difficult. It wouldn't help, though, and it would only make things harder. He lowered his gaze, unable to continue looking her in the face.

He wanted so badly to say this was never a home, was never *his* home. That home was someplace where they enjoyed your company for yourself, and not for what you could do to serve another's interests. Home was where you were loved and valued, rather than belittled.

"You're going, then," she said, and her voice broke. He could hear her crying, now, and dared not look up lest he promise things he could not bear to say. "You're just leaving, like this, no warning, no time to even let us *prepare*. You'll abandon me here, to take care of your father and the estate and everything, and you *know* I haven't got the head for business. The solicitors will do as they want and I'll lose my home. You know they're only waiting for the chance."

"I can't..." he managed to say, at least.

He shouldn't have spoken. It gave her something to build on. "Surely you could stay for another month? At least *try*, before you give up on us completely?"

Another month? It was ridiculous. Nothing could be solved in a month. The legal ivy growing around this estate would take years to untangle, even for a professional businessman, which he wasn't. And yet, a month... wasn't the end of the world, was it?

Everyone would still be there, in a month. Angel would certainly have grown no older, and Charles would hardly be in his dotage, thirty days from now. And in that time, surely he could convince his parents that he did *not* plan to be the Good Son, and marry the proper girl. Couldn't. End of story, chapter and verse.

In a month, yes. He could do what he hadn't managed to do in over thirty-five years.

"A month?" He saw something flare in her eyes. He wished he could recognize it as anything but triumph. "I don't know," he began, not truly wanting to stay.

"Please," she asked quietly. "At least long enough to get things in order. Arrange your father's affairs. Help him with the estate. I won't ask you to stay longer, just...give me that much time. I can't do it, Wesley. You know I can't -- I need you. You're the only one who can help me." The only one who ought to, she didn't say. The only one who was duty-bound.

Only a month. She was correct, in that she *couldn't* handle the estate. Without someone to oversee things, the family home and lands would be likely lost. The sheep would be sold at auction, the hired men moving on to some other local estate. Possibly following them, like the good shepherds his family hadn't actually produced in generations. Lord knew, Wesley had never cared to spend his nights out on the meadows, watching them graze, when he could be inside with a book in his hands.

He sighed. It wasn't that he cared so much for himself, but this was, as she'd said, her home. Wesley closed his eyes, and nodded. "For one month. I'm not sure what I can do in that time, but--"

"You're staying?" An unexpected, disbelieving voice interrupted. Wesley spun around, jaw dropping as he saw Angel standing in the doorway.

"You--"

"Were listening. Yeah. Kinda hard not to, vampiric hearing and all." Angel didn't sound truly apologetic, but he sounded just enough so, that Wesley couldn't find it in him to be angry. Not when he felt ashamed for having reneged on his decision just moments before.

"Angel, I-- one month, surely that isn't--"

"You're asking his permission?" his mother asked, in a shocked tone. "Wesley, surely you don't mean to say...*this* creature, this...thing, is... Oh, no, Wesley. Say I'm wrong."

Wesley glanced at her, unable to bring the words to counter her disgust. He knew he ought to stand up and say it proudly, that yes, this vampire was his beloved. One of them. He kept his head down, though, not wanting to see the accusation in Angel's eyes, that he had told her he would stay, regardless.

"And in a month, you'll, what? Think of another reason to keep him here?" Angel asked. "Or you'll do it for her, and continue to run away from us?"

"I can't just abandon her," he said quietly, still looking at the floor.

"Your mother is a grown woman, Wesley. She doesn't need you to take care of her."

"She needs help, Angel. This place is a step away from being taken away. I've seen the finances. My father may not be at death's door, but they *are* going to lose the house and lands if they can't put every penny towards the upkeep, and he's truly not in a condition to act as a caretaker himself."

Angel put a hand on his shoulder, and it weighed a thousand pounds. "Xander offered to take care of that, if it's really about the money."

"I can't..." Wesley shook his head. "My father would never accept Xander's money."

"Then let them foreclose. David and Xander can buy the place as an investment, take a loss, and hand it over to your mother. Or to you."

Wesley looked up, at that. Surely he was joking?

A quick glance at Angel's face showed only a deadly seriousness. A hint of desperation, perhaps. "What do you want me to do, Wes? What's going to be enough to get you free of this? Because you know, if you stay a month, you're gonna stay for the rest of your life."

"This is ridiculous," his mother put in. "You can't be thinking about taking favours from a demon. You'd sell your soul to that thing, just to be free of us? Of me?"

Wesley stared at Angel. There was no demon in those eyes. No evil, no hatred. Only love, and fear, and uncertainty. "The alternative would be to be free of them." Wesley met Angel's eyes as he spoke, and saw the slight widening. Hope? Joy?

"And what, then, when you've lived your life? He'll go on, free of *you*, and you'll have nothing left behind. No family, no home. Nothing -- thrown us away to follow *that*. What can he want from you that an honest, decent man could give? What could it possibly give you, to replace your family's love?"

Wesley turned to her, intending to point out that Angel *did*, and could love, as well as any human. But Angel stepped forward.

"Wes? You remember that spell you put on me before the wedding?"

Surprised, Wesley thought back. "What, the -- oh! The truth spell. Good lord, Angel! I forgot to remove it. I'm sorry." He stood up, trying to remember the spell, or if his parents would have that book on hand. They'd have the ingredients, of course.

Angel held up his hand, and turned to Wesley's mother. "I'm under a spell that pretty much compels me to tell the truth. So, believe me when I say -- I love your son. I want only the best for him, and I would give him anything in the world he asked for, if I thought it wouldn't hurt him."

Wesley found himself smiling, and feeling quite guilty. He'd doubted this, all of this -- when all he'd had to do, was ask.

His mother looked scornful. "Extravagant words, but they mean nothing. I could say I was under a spell to believe I was the Queen of France. I hardly think--"

"You could check it, yourself, mother," Wesley said mildly. She wasn't unfamiliar with magical pursuits. Not a Watcher's wife. Not in this house.

She sniffed. "And it would show only that someone had tried to cast such a spell. It wouldn't say how well it had taken hold. Wesley, a creature like this *can't* love. How can you possibly think of trading your real family, for this? This parody of a human?"

Wesley felt as though he'd been struck. He stood, quickly, ready to take Angel and leave, and to hell with *saving* his parents from anything.

Angel, however, said very mildly, "Fine. You're right -- I don't love Wesley."

Whatever else he'd been intending to say, was lost. Wesley stared in disbelief at the large orange and violet newt, standing in the middle of the floor.

"What on earth is *that*?" his mother squeaked, backing away.

Wesley bent down to pick it up. "That's my lover. Well, one of them. I think I should go get the ingredients to change him back to a man, now. Before we leave."

She looked at him accusingly. "You said that you would stay for a month, at least."

He blinked, and did, still, feel a twinge of guilt. He swallowed hard, then nodded. "Fine. I'll stay for a month."

She went from frown to smile, instantly. "Good. You can send your... friends... home, then."

"Oh, no. That would be silly. They're going to stay here. All of them. It's only fair -- they *are* family. And Xander will be helping us straighten out the finances, so I suppose I should warn Father not to be rude to his husband, assuming he doesn't want to get bitten, for real. Or worse, become the butt of one of Spike's practical jokes. They tend to involve sticky substances and unpleasant odors."

"Stay here? Wesley, you know that's impossible. Your father would never allow it."

Wesley squared his shoulders, then, carefully, shrugged. "I suppose Angel's plan would work, then. Allow the solicitors to take the place for back taxes, then buy it from them. Of course, you'd have to move out, during the interim..."

"Don't be ridiculous, Wesley," she snapped. More familiar words. Wesley looked down at the amphibian in his arms. Angel blinked at him, slowly, and opened his mouth. A thin tongue darted out, and flicked his arm.

"Yes, you'll forgive me if I don't kiss you back." Wesley couldn't hold back a smile. Didn't even try.

Angel raised his head, and gave him the most soulful eyes Wesley had ever seen -- barring Spike, of course. Spike had the pout-as-a-newt thing down. Too much practice, of course.

He looked over at his mother, who was giving them both a look of outrage. "If you wish my assistance, you will have to accept it on my terms. As you say - if I were properly married, my spouse would live here with me. It seems only fair that my lovers be given similar accommodation." There was another tongue-flick to his wrist, then Angel started crawling up him. Wesley had to move his arm, to keep from dropping him on his head. "Angel, hold still. I'll get you turned back in just a moment."

But Angel seemed determined, climbing up Wesley's chest with a stubbornness that he found...extremely Angel-like.

"Your friends have rooms at the hotel," his mother was saying. "Surely, if they wanted to stay, they would prefer--"

Angel was at his chin, now, and tongue-flicking him. Wesley laughed. "Angel! Please. That tickles." He looked over at his mother while he tried to pull Angel off his sweater. "No, mother. I'd prefer they stayed here. With me."

She watched him for a moment, clearly unsure if he was serious. He wasn't, of course, intending to stay at all, but he was willing to, if she called his bluff. And he was sure Angel and Gunn were as well. Someone would have to go home to run Angel Investigations for a month, unless Cordelia's visions went trans-Atlantic as well, but things could be arranged. Spike would no doubt enjoy the chance to stay here and bait his father into an early grave.

"That's the way it is, then, Wesley?" she asked, finally.

He found himself, suddenly, able to grin. It might have had something to do with a rather disturbing amphibian-tongue flicking across his bottom lip. "Love me, love my newt, mother. And my axe-wielding vampire hunter, and my shopping-addicted seer, and my sex-crazed in-laws." A thought occurred; he saw no reason not to share it. "By the way, did you know you're a grandmother? Of sorts, at any rate. Since Angel is Spike's Sire, which makes him my stepson, or stepgrandson, technically." Her eyes widened slightly, as Wesley continued. "But I actually meant Spike and Xander's children. Three of them. So I suppose that makes you a great-great-grandmother."

"Children?" she repeated. She almost sounded as if she were toting up the potential matches she could make with them already, trying to remember who had the appropriate-aged children from among their social set, before she remembered that these would be the adopted children of a vampire and his human husband.

"Two boys and a girl. They're carnivorous, but usually well-behaved, with people they like."

"You never mentioned..." she began, before she trailed off. "You're making fun of me," she said in a low tone. "You're talking about those...pets. It's not enough to pretend you have some sort of family relationship with those two--"

Wesley's hand tightened on Angel; he wasn't sure what damage a large newt could do, but he didn't want Angel to break his neck trying to find out. "Yes, well, mother, we take what we can get." He turned, then, and did something his mother would consider extremely rude -- as much as anything he'd just said. He walked out before she'd dismissed him.

He didn't care one whit that she thought it was rude. If he stayed, he'd end up saying more, which would just make things worse. Make her say that he shouldn't bother calling, once he got back to Los Angeles. He walked down the hallway, praying his father had gone, leaving Wesley to pack in peace. He wasn't sure he was up to dealing with more accusations and deprecations. If he were still waiting at Wesley's room, Wesley would leave his things.

In fact, there was very little he needed to take with him, anyway. The clothes he'd been wearing for the last two weeks were a combination of things he'd left here years ago, and things he'd bought in town; he didn't care about either set enough to bother packing it. All he'd really wanted from his room was the pile of books on his desk -- a set that had been given him by his grandmother, which he'd rescued from the cataloging efforts down in the library.

In the hallway, however, he found no sign of his father; just Xander tapping things into his Palm Pilot, while Cordelia and Spike leaned over his shoulder, making corrections.

"No, those tapestries have got to be worth at least two thousand a piece. I saw a set of four go for nine thousand at auction, last month," Cordelia was saying.

"Since when do you hang out at tapestry auctions?" Spike asked her.

"On cable, nitwit. The Lifestyles show."

Xander made a correction, then shook his head. "I'm not real estate guy. I'll have to get hold of Gavin and see what he thinks."

Cordelia shuddered delicately. "Pardon my skin for crawling, but I still don't like doing business with Wolfram and Hart. I don't *care* who owns them now, they're still creepy little...ugh. Lawyers."

Xander shrugged. "Yeah, but now they're David's creepy little lawyers. Which makes them Angel Investigations' creepy little lawyers. Besides, so Gavin screws Wesley's dad on the deal -- we planning on complaining?" Spike poked him on the arm, and Xander looked up. Wesley waved. "Um... unless you'd *like* your dad not to be screwed?' Xander offered, looking guilty.

"Could we figure that out somewhere else, please? The hotel, for instance?" Wesley asked. "I'd rather not stay around here any longer than necessary."

"He just wants to get someplace where *he* can get screwed," Spike pointed out, not entirely incorrectly. "Fine, let's round up Gunn and the Sire, and..." He stopped, and looked carefully at Wesley's shoulder.

"And what?" Xander asked. Spike pointed, his eyes wide, and his mouth hanging open. Everyone stared at Wesley's shoulder.

Gunn stepped out of Wesley's room, took one look, and burst out laughing. "He did it! Man, he went two weeks saying nothing but the truth. Course, he spent a lot of time not talking at all." He shook his head, still laughing. "What'd he say? Man, and I missed it."

Wesley smiled down at the indignant newt on his shoulder. "He was trying to prove a point." He rubbed Angel on the head, not quite willing to give the dry, lizard skin a kiss. Even if Angel was looking cute at him.

"He was under a truth spell? Even at the wedding?" Spike was asking incredulously. "All that bollocks about being proud of me was real? God, he *is* a ponce. Think I might lose that last blackcurrant soda, just thinkin' about it." He was ignored by everyone around him, since they all knew he'd be running about on the floor right now, just as small and slimy as his Sire, if he were under the same spell.

"Huh. He meant to get newted?" Gunn sounded disappointed. Wesley noticed that Gunn was holding a satchel that appeared heavy, and couldn't figure out what he might have packed.

"I need to get--" he started, thinking that he would just duck in for his books, and they could head downstairs. He could stop at the local chemist's, and buy what he needed to turn Angel back.

"Your books," Gunn answered, holding the bag open. Wesley peered in -- and saw the set he'd wanted. He looked up at Gunn.

"How did you know?"

Gunn shrugged. "They were the only books on your desk."

Wesley was surprised. He started to smile, feeling unaccountably touched that Gunn had thought to get them.

"Oh for god's sake," Spike interrupted. "Can't you wait and make googly eyes at him later? Back at the hotel where we don't have to watch?"

Xander raised his hand, and Wesley waited, a bit smugly, for Spike to get whapped. But Xander didn't -- instead he put his hand on Spike's shoulder, apparently surprising Spike as well. Xander said to Wesley, "You'll have to forgive him. My husband's a tad grouchy; hasn't gotten to bite anyone lately."

"Yeah, what the hell kind of wedding present is it, to give a man his bite back, then send him off to a dimension with no biteworthy humans? See if Red and wife get a decent Solstice pressie from me an' mine--" Spike suddenly stopped, and a strange, liquid noise came from his throat, before he turned the googliest pair of eyes Wesley had ever seen, on Xander. "Muh?"

Xander kissed him on the nose. "Delayed-reaction glurble," he explained to Wesley. Whatever that meant.

Wesley felt a newt-tongue whisper across his earlobe. Twice. "Yes, yes, we'll get back to the hotel, and get you changed back. You can wait that long, surely."

"Uh?" Spike asked.

Xander put an arm around his waist as they led the way down the stairs. "Don't worry. He'll recover in about two minutes," he informed Wes, Gunn, and Cordelia.

"Aww... isn't he sweet -- taking care of his *husband,*" Cordelia responded.

Xander stumbled, and almost missed a step. "*Not* both of us at the same time -- geez, Cordy. *Somebody's* gotta have a working brain."

"Why start now?"

Wesley saw Xander trying to give Cordelia a dirty look. He was glad to be heading down, on his way out. His heart was pounding, slightly -- as though he were sneaking out at night, hoping his parents wouldn't catch him and punish him. He shivered, and felt four newt feet gripping his shoulder, harder. He told himself he was being ridiculous. He *was* sneaking out, and his parents were rightfully angry with him -- but he wasn't going to be punished. He was a grown man, and he was doing the right thing, for himself.

Those thoughts got him all the way down to the main hallway, where he stopped, at seeing his father waiting. Wesley halted abruptly, and told himself again that he didn't care what his father had to say about his going.

"So. You're leaving now?" his father said, looking as disapproving and angry as Wesley had expected. Then his gaze shifted. "What the hell is that thing?"

"That's Angel," Wesley explained calmly. "A small newt-spell. I don't suppose I could borrow some mugwort to use in changing him back?"

"You accidentally changed your...paramour, into a newt, and now you want *my* help in turning him back? After which you're planning on turning your back on every responsibility you have, and leaving with him?"

"It wasn't an accident. He..." Wesley shook his head. "I'm leaving, Father. I don't need your help; I just mistakenly thought you might be willing to give it."

His father folded his arms. "I might, if I had a son who was worthy of it. But I don't see anyone like that here. Just a collection of demons and perverts, and someone who decided to pass on the family name to them without earning it himself."

Wesley saw Spike turn to look at his father, 'glurble' moment apparently worn off. "S'cuse me, but which of those was s'posed to be the insult? 'Cos trust me, the only reason I'd let the name get tacked onto mine is that it came from Wes. Personally, I'd rather he'd changed it to 'Smith' than give us that one, even if it does bugger up the mnemonic device."

"Handcuffs before sodomy," Xander said simply.

Spike looked at him, blinked, smiled, said, "I love you," then turned to Wesley. "Right, you're Wesley Smith now. Can we go?"

He tried, knowing it was futile, to regain some control of the conversation. "That isn't necessary," he said, not quite sure to whom he was saying it. He did dimly notice Angel climbing down his arm and leaping to the floor. He supposed if Angel wanted to piddle on his father's foot, he wouldn't try to stop him.

"You might as well change your name," Wesley's father said. "Since you're no longer a son of mine."

Wesley turned, mouth open, and completely unable to process what he'd just heard. It wasn't as though he hadn't just spent the last hour trying to get away from this place...but it wasn't the same as hearing *that*. You're... disowning me?" he stammered, thinking that perhaps his father had just meant...well, something else that involved no longer being his son.

"Don't worry, Wes," Xander was saying. "I know a nice lady who'd love to adopt you. Well, she's already...um... your sister in law, technically. Or -- stepdaughter? I need a chart. But I don't think vampires mind cross-lateral relationships."

"You...what?" Wesley turned to Xander, certain that he probably ought to understand what he was talking about. He ought to be satisfied that his father was finally cutting all ties, as well. Right? He wouldn't ever be asked to come back. That was a good thing.

Wasn't it?

"Drusilla?" Spike was asking.

"No, not Dru, stupid. Your mum."

"My mum wouldn't like you calling me stupid, I don't think."

"If Laurel and Hardy here are finished, you're all welcome to leave," Wesley's father said loudly. Or...no. Not his father.

There ought to be some sort of relief. He'd never have to try, anymore. To be good enough, respectable enough, proficient enough with magic or science or history of the occult. Dutiful or straight, or...whatever it was that his father expected of him. He'd never know the entirety of it, because there was always something new that he wasn't doing well enough just when he thought he'd halfway succeeded. Now, he didn't have to struggle for this man's approval. Only his own.

Christ, *that* was terrifying.

"What the--" Mr. Wyndham-Pryce looked down, startled. His expression turned ugly, and he raised his foot.

Wesley started forward, heart skipping a beat and he *knew* something terrible was going to happen, and there was nothing, nothing, he could do about it.

And Spike was there, fist connecting with his father's jaw, knocking him away from the small newt which he'd been about to step on. Wesley continued forward, sliding to his knees and scooping up Angel; Gunn was right beside him, hands on the purple and orange amphibian even as Wesley took him into his arms.

Hi father had flown backwards under the force of Spike's fist; Wesley watched, stunned.

"Spike, shouldn't you have a headache? Or -- is that guy not human?" Cordelia was asking, in the moments of ensuing silence.

"Nah," Spike said easily, wiping his hands off, as though he'd struck something slimy. "Red turned my chip off for the honeymoon. Hasn't turned it back on yet."

Wesley was still staring up at him -- in the shocked tumult of his thoughts, he realized something. "Spike...you saved Angel's life." He smiled, proudly -- not that Spike hadn't tried to do so before, but this time he couldn't deny it. Wesley ought say thank you...but this was Spike. "I always knew you cared for him," he teased, instead.

"Aww," Cordelia said, walking over to give Spike a hug. Spike looked completely flummoxed.

It definitely made Wesley feel better. He stood up, cradling Angel carefully, helped up by Gunn's hand under his elbow. Gunn's hand didn't leave his arm, as he turned back to the man sprawled on the floor, looking outraged enough to grab an ax and chase them all out.

"Thank you, Richard; we'll see ourselves out." Wesley stepped past him, flanked by his lover, and headed for the door.

*****