*****

Everything was sheer, unadulterated chaos. And it was the day *after* the wedding.

Angel stood at the edge of the lobby of his hotel -- *his*, his, his, his hotel, and did anyone seem to remember that anymore? If he yelled for everyone to go home already, would they listen to him? What if he pretended to be evil again?

He sighed, knowing it would just get him chained up -- in a bad way. He would just have to put up with having guests for a few days more. They all seemed to be happy to be here, visiting with each other now that the pressure of pulling off a wedding and getting Spike and Xander *out* the door for two weeks, was over. If he tried to suggest they cut their visit short, he'd only get scolded. By Cordelia, which was never fun.

But did they have to be *everywhere*? Giles was sitting in the main lobby, conferring with Wes and Buffy over something Slayer-Watcherish. Whether a bikini was appropriate workout gear? He had to have misheard them, especially since they'd dragged out one of Wesley's older leatherbound translations of the original Watchers' Diaries, and he couldn't imagine the seventeenth century Watchers' Council talking about bikinis. At least not in print.

Harmony had grown bored and wandered off, and was-- what was the only other vampire with a soul in the world, doing? Her nails, apparently, while sitting on his new leather sofa and watching MTV. Loudly. Didn't she *get* the sensitive vampire hearing thing? Or had she blown her eardrums out while she was still alive? He tried to make his way over to ask her-- he gritted his teeth-- nicely, to turn it down, when someone else got in his way.

"Can you sign these?"

Angel blinked. He looked down at the sheaf of papers in Cordelia's hand, and tried to figure out if he knew what she could possibly be talking about. "Don't you already know how to forge my signature?"

She gave him a 'duh' look. "Not when you're *available*. And I don't mean when you're in your office but doing disgusting things with your harem. Sign?" She held them out.

"I don't do disgusting things with--" He stopped, because Wesley had glanced up at him, and Angel didn't really know whether Wes could hear him or not. Besides which, he was *still* under the geas of the truth spell Wes had laid on him as part of a present for Spike. Which meant he couldn't say he didn't do disgusting things with his harem, without turning into a large, brightly-coloured newt. Again.

It wasn't so much being a newt that he'd minded, as the 'brightly-coloured' part.

"What am I signing-- or should I even ask?"

She handed him the top one. "This is Lorn's bill for the cleaning..."

Angel blinked at it, then looked at the total at the bottom, and blinked again. Then he shook his head. "I thought Willow and Buffy were paying for the bachelor party? They were the best men. Er, women. Kind of. Dru doesn't have any money."

"Do you *ever* pay attention to something besides Wesley's ass? This isn't for the bachelor party, it's for the rehearsal dinner."

"Which Giles was supposed to pay for..." He bit off his reflexive protest about Wesley's ass - again, to avoid being a brightly-coloured newt.

"Yeah, and you for the wedding-- but you hosted it at your own place, called in every favor in town, Xander got free photographs-- you barely had to pay a cent. It's only fair that you split this stuff with Giles."

He looked at the total again. "What did they *do* that cost so much? Those were really *tiny* Cornish Game Hens they served us."

"That's because Xander and Spike were having an ice-cream fight in the kitchen while the stuffed pheasants were cooking, and.... Do you really need to hear the whole story? Just sign."

"But it doesn't even have my name on the invoice. It says "Rupert Giles". I'm not Rupert Giles; they'll just return the invoice unpaid--" He stopped as he saw the glare Cordelia was giving him. It was the same one she gave him when he tried to talk himself out of attending a holiday party, or watching Sound of Music. She pointed at the lines underneath 'Rupert Giles'. "Oh. Look at that. There's my name. On the invoice."

"Uh-huh." She folded her arms and continued to stare at him.

"You know, maybe we should let Xander pay; after all he--"

And he thought he'd been in trouble when he'd failed to buy Cordelia a birthday present two years ago. "Angel Liam Middle-Name-Is-Mud Jones, don't you *dare* even suggest that Xander pay for this. What kind of a welcome into your family is that?"

He thought quickly, and gave her his best learned-it-from-Xander puppysmile. "Cordy, Xander's been part of my family for years."

He thought he almost got to her with that one, because she smiled for a second. Then the glare returned. "Yeah, but what'll Spike think? It's like you're saying your side of the family doesn't even care enough to make this little gesture...."

"Little?" Why did his mouth do things like that to him? What did he ever do to *it*, that it didn't like?

"After all, what's a few thousand dollars compared to family? Do you want Spike to think you think he's only worth the few hundred you paid for food? For his *wedding*? His betrothal to the man he loves, whom he wants to spend eternity with, the man who got him to dress nice for an entire day when the bank reps came by?"

"Because Xander gave him a butt-plug to wear under his suit," Angel pointed out, then quietly accepted the slap of papers against his chest. It wasn't like she hadn't succeeded in guilting him as soon as she'd said 'betrothal'. To avoid having to convince Wes why he shouldn't do as Cordy was likely to ask, and turn Angel into a large pink-dyed french poodle, he said, "Why don't I just sign these?"

She was still glaring as he took the pen. "Sign. And don't *ever* mention sex, Spike, or Xander around me ever again. Or sex and you and yours. In fact, don't ever mention anything remotely related to sex and *anyone*."

"Um." Angel started to quickly scribble his name. "Cordy? I think there's some cake left in the kitchen. Chocolate cake."

"Uh-huh." She took the top sheet from him, and handed him the rest of the stack. "Sign." Her glare was so strong, it stopped him from even *looking* at the rest of the papers he was signing. When he handed them back to her, it was like someone had flipped a switch. "Thank you!" she sang cheerily, throwing a smile at him that was so sunny, he was worried for his continued good health. Not that he hadn't been, before. "Um, where's that cake?"

"Third shelf from the bottom in the fridge that Spike and Xander *don't* keep their boysenberry ripple ice cream in."

The glare returned. "What did I say about Spike and Xander and s-e-x? You *know* they use that stuff as a...relationship aide."

"Marital aide," Angel pointed out. "Sorry - that was the only way to distinguish the fridge that the cake is in, from the other two." Cordelia settled for giving him another glare, before heading off to the kitchen. Angel watched her go, then sighed in relief.

He should have stayed in bed today. Would have, had anyone accepted his invitation to stay in bed *with* him. But Wesley had gotten up early, claiming he needed to talk to Rupert about something arcane and obscure. Maybe they *should* invite the Watcher down more often, to provide company for Wesley. Angel loved his wayward Childe, but that didn't mean he had any illusions about Spike's civility. Then he blinked at himself. He what?

He *really* should have stayed in bed today. But his other option for in-bed company had taken off to work on a case. A case, the day after Spike and Xander's wedding, when any normal person should have been staying in bed and just being thankful the world hadn't ended the night before. And, of course, screwing their favourite vampire into the mattress.

Apparently, the poltergeist at 512 Maplehurst Lane hadn't received his invitation to the event of the century, though, so he'd woken up early, and forced the owners of the house to do the same. And *they* had called Angel Investigations. Who help the hopeless. Or was it the helpless? Either way, off Gunn had ridden in his shiny new red truck-- which was so ridiculously bright that Angel had taken to calling it 'the fire engine' in his head, and still had "In-Laws-of-the-Grooms" scrawled all over it in black and white chalk-- to take care of it. Back in half an hour, he'd said. Two hours ago.

He'd taken Willow and Tara with him, partly to show them around the city and partly so they could stop at Mocha Joe's on the way back. Maybe that was where they'd been for the last hour and a half? Standing in line? Angel considered calling them on the cellphone, but if he did, Gunn would rag him for the rest of the day. Over-protective worrying naggy vampire, just because it was daylight and he couldn't get to Mocha Joe's *or* 512 Maplehurst Lane without bursting into flames.

So maybe he should stay here, where he could pace. Or he could go into the office in the back, and do some paperwork. Then it occurred to him that 'paperwork' was probably all related to the wedding, and that Cordelia had just had him sign it all.

All right, he could go into the library, and brood.

"Try it, and we turn your leather duster into pink vinyl."

Angel blinked. Wes was looking up at him with a mixture of fondness and irritation that was utterly serious, despite the way it made Angel's insides do that weird mushy thing that they'd been doing ever since he'd seen Spike all not-quite-dressed in his tux. "Sorry. I just can't hear myself think, in here. I'm used to living in a zoo, but that's more like a petting zoo, and this is the San Diego Zoo. I keep expecting Joan Embry to pop in and grab one of these people to take with her for a Tonight Show appearance." Or, preferably, all of them?

"So find someone to talk to-- but no brooding. You've already used up your allotted two hours per week, when you watched 'Old Yeller,' this Sunday."

"I did not--" He caught himself just in time to avoid being newt-ered by Wesley's spell.

"Oh, I just *love* that movie," Harmony said. Angel knew how much she liked it, because she'd watched it with him. He didn't like thinking about that.

He ignored her, and said, "I don't *want* to talk to anyone. I want to sit somewhere, alone, in the dark. I haven't had a moment's peace since last Sunday." He knew he sounded like he was whining, but he didn't really care. He wanted to brood, damn it. Actually, he wanted to be someplace private with Wesley and Gunn. But failing that, alone was good.

"Come here." Wesley waved him over. Angel frowned, and Wesley said again, "Come *here*." He patted the couch beside him.

Angel found himself going over there, even as he wondered about the fact that Wes was *supposed* to do whatever *he* said. Right? He sat down, and Wesley smiled at him. Right, and *who* was on the top in this relationship? Angel felt his mouth smiling back, even though his grumpy brain was desperately trying to tell it to frown.

"You know, that's rather frightening," Giles said from his seat across the coffee table from them.

"What, Angel smiling? Nah, seen it before," Buffy said lightly.

"Actually, I mean the whole 'coming when called' thing. I wonder, could you teach it to me, Wesley?"

Wes raised an eyebrow at him. "To use on *Anya* ? I think not."

Angel agreed. If Giles tried to use whatever spell Wes had cast on Angel and Gunn, on an ex-vengeance demon with a fuse shorter than her skirts, he'd be in for a world of trouble. Plus she'd do that 'head up the ass' spell on Wes, for giving the other spell to Giles, and... it just didn't bear thinking about.

He found Wesley looking at him, and Angel raised one eyebrow. "What?" Wesley just continued to smile as he turned back to the conversation he'd been in the midst of, when he'd interrupted Angel's flight for freedom. Angel sat there quietly for all of two minutes. "Wes?"

"--but I don't suppose they would-- yes, Angel?" He sounded remarkably patient.

"When you said you wanted me to find somebody to talk to, with no brooding...for how long? Because I've been sitting here for quite some time, now."

Wesley gave him a Look, and Angel caught Buffy stifling a giggle. "Should *anyone* ever wonder where Spike got his incapacity to sit still for three seconds, wonder no more."

"I can sit still!" Angel protested. "When...I'm alone, in a dark room...."

"Brooding!" all three of the people around him chorused.

"Well, it's not like I have all that many other things that can keep me occupied," he protested. "I mean, I like to read, but you won't let me go into the library by myself, 'cause you're afraid I'll come across a copy of 'The Yearling' and never recover. I kinda like to sing, now, but I'm forbidden to do that on pain of...some sort of unspecified thing that sounds really scary when Cordy doesn't describe it. And I could go do the other thing that I like to do, but it's just not as much fun without you and Gunn around."

"Oh, ewww!" Harmony called from across the room, demonstrating that her vamp hearing worked just fine-- so maybe the blaring MTV was her idea of masochism? Which was fine with Angel, if only she wouldn't share it with the rest of the sonically-enhanced population. Or... maybe that was her idea of sadism, come to think of it?

Buffy and Giles were looking amused at Harmony's reaction, and Angel replayed his last words in his head, wondering what he could have said-- oh. "What? Swimming. I like to swim. What did *you* think I meant?"

"Angel, you cannot possibly lead me to believe that in two hundred and sixty-some years, you haven't learned how to divert yourself in a manner which neither involves bloodshed, nor brooding." Wesley sounded stern, but his eyes were smiling.

He thought about it. He thought about it some more. "I could go get drunk," Angel suggested.

"At ten o'clock in the morning?"

"It's evening in London," he pointed out, helpfully. "You could get some more Batham's, and maybe something decent and Irish for me--" He paused, and evaluated the expression on his lover's face. "I just screwed up my chances of getting *anything* good to drink out of you, didn't I?"

Wesley opened his mouth, and was interrupted by Giles. "If you say anything like the expression on your face indicates you are going to say, I shall be forced to toss you into the pool. As a muskrat."

The look on Wesley's face was entirely too innocent. He was saved from having to answer, however. Angel was saved, as well, from having to go all bristly and growly at his new in-law (In-law. He had in-laws. He was a father-in-law. Help.) for making threats at his lover. Their rescuer poked a bright green face into the conversation, and started humming.

"Hey, great song. Muskrat Suzy, Muskrat Sam... Do the jitterbug out in muskrat land..." he trailed off, as everyone stared at him. "What-- like you've never heard me sing obscure 70's tunes before?"

"I, ah, think it's what you're wearing," Angel managed to utter. It wasn't that the clothes were bright. Or flamboyant. Or, as Spike would say, positively flaming. They'd all seen the Host in clothes that would put some of Xander's high school excesses to shame. It was that they *weren't* any of those things. Lorn was wearing tight jeans and a plain black t-shirt.

"You like? It's the Spike look." He winked. "By request. And, by the way, anybody seen little Miss C?"

"Kitchen!" They all shouted. Lorn blinked, nodded, and sauntered away. Sauntered. Not sashayed.

"I am very frightened, suddenly," Angel said.

"Why? He looks rather nice in jeans and a t-shirt," Giles commented.

"Because I didn't think Cordelia *liked* the Spike look," Angel clarified, only to find everyone staring at *him* like he'd just appeared wearing a bright red shirt with yellow stripes.

"Which would explain why she has the complete 'Fishing At Home' series on DVD? And signed photos of a certain not-here-because-they're-on-a-honeymoon pair in their complete naked glory -- which, by the way, I want signed copies of, as well. It isn't fair - I almost married Spike, once, too." Buffy pouted.

"You're saying she *likes*--" Angel shook his head. "But she's always complaining about them having sex in places where she might see them."

"Because she doesn't want to be caught on camera. You *do* know Skippy and Buster, Junior, are programmed to follow them around?" Wesley asked.

"What happened to Buster?"

"Gunn caught the camera in our shower."

"I've been meaning to ask," Giles interrupted. "How is it that those things can fly? I *know* Apple has raced ahead in the technology market -- believe me, I know, since Anya never shuts up about the fact that she invested when everyone was still complaining about the iMac -- but I didn't think they'd got around to anti-gravity cameras."

Angel blinked at Giles, then looked at Wesley. Who ducked his head. "I owed Spike a favor." Wesley explained. At Angel's stern glare, he seemed to shrink into the sofa even further. "It was two years ago..."

"Yes, but you gave them a battery-powered spell. It won't ever run out!"

"Neither will my roya-- er, that is. I didn't think of that," he finished weakly.

Angel kept glaring -- and it occured to him that dragging Wesley upstairs to punish him might be more fun than brooding. And he wouldn't be obligated to wait for Gunn to return, since when Gunn found out he *didn't* wait, Gunn would punish them both. "Royalties? You get *royalties*?"

"I needed the money," Wesley said quietly. Then he glared back. "As if you don't hide monthly checks from Scooby, Inc, which are payment for a certain collection of recently released videos."

"I don't--! I mean, it isn't...." Once again, he stopped himself just in time from saying anything that had a chance of turning him small and bright and amphibious. Angel suddenly looked over at Giles and Buffy, who were whispering to each other. And laying money on the table between them. "Excuse me-- what are you two doing?"

"Nothing," Buffy said innocently. But he knew her quite well enough not to believe that.

"Buffy..." He gave her his best 'Wes, do I really have to get out the cinnamon-flavoured hot-lube that makes your tongue go numb, or are you gonna cooperate?' tone.

She just giggled. Wes, on the other hand, looked like he'd be willing to cooperate with just about anything, now. Angel re-evaluated the drag-him-upstairs plan. He gave an experimental tug on Wesley's arm.

"Er, yes, what, yes?" Wes said confusedly.

Giles laid another bill on top of his pile. Buffy muttered something under her breath. Angel pretended to ignore them. "Wes? Why don't we go upstairs where we can...discuss...this camera-levitation spell?"

"We came, we saw, we kicked its little patootie!" Everyone looked over, as Gunn, Willow, and Tara came into the lobby. Willow was smiling, still doing something like a jitterbug, after having mis-quoted the Ghostbusters.

"How did it go? Are you guys all right?" Angel couldn't detect any sign of blood, bruises, or 'pretend nothing happened and maybe they won't notice the dents'.

"We're cool," Gunn assured him, hurrying down the steps. Angel suddenly noticed Gunn was carrying a large take-out tray, filled with large cups. Mocha Joe's.

"You guys weren't in line all this time, were you?" He'd thought he'd been kidding....

Willow colored. "Well, ah... no. He...tookustoMorrie's."

Angel blinked. "You took them to Morrie's?"

"Why don't you say it louder-- maybe they haven't heard it in Sunnydale, yet," Willow hissed.

Angel blinked again. "*I* was just surprised that Morrie opened the place, considering how late he stayed up last night, and how much he drank. And *what* he drank. You mean you *care* that people know you've been there? *Everybody's* been to Morrie's."

"Sooner or later." Wes raised an eyebrow at him, and Angel couldn't totally hide his own guilty look. But he didn't think he'd get painted pink for it, since Wesley was trying to make him feel guilty on purpose.

"Of course we've been there," Tara said easily. "Willow means, if the crew riding back with us know we stopped by, they'll be all over our stuff on the way home. And we don't want any of our videos disappearing."

"Morrie wasn't there," Gunn put in. "His manager guy --um, I think it's a guy-- said he'd called in and told them to open as usual, and not to call him even if the world ends or the Cubs win the World Series."

"Actually, I think the Indians are in the series," Wesley said.

"The who?" Angel looked at him, and saw that the effect of the cinnamon-lube voice had worn off. He also saw that Buffy was reaching for the money, and Giles was arguing with her. *Then* he realized that a) Gunn was home, b) he had been social for half an hour almost, and c) he really didn't care if Buffy or Giles won the bet, as long as he got to go upstairs with one or more of his lovers.

Which reminded him why he'd been looking for Gunn and Wesley in the first place, even though he'd pretended it was just for sex. "So! Indians in the series? Um...which series is that? Baseball? Hockey? Fisti-- fishing?"

Gunn gave him a look. The 'Angel, why do you even try' look. "Are you really asking that question?"

"What, I can't take an interest in manly... um...sporty, things?"

"Not in my experience," Wesley said. Angel felt a hand on his forehead. "Hmm. Doesn't have a fever."

"He *can't* have a fever," Buffy pointed out. "Well, no, he did when he was poisoned, but that was pretty much a special case. Vampires don't get sick, otherwise."

"Define 'sick' " Cordelia said, emerging from the kitchen. "Because I could tell you about sick-- do you know that Spike and Xander have taken over a *third* fridge with their collection of not-to-be-touched-by-normal-people fruits and veggies?"

"How can you tell it's theirs?" The residents of the Hyperion Hotel all turned and stared at Buffy. Who shrugged and asked, "Like I'd know?"

"They label everything," Cordelia explained.

Buffy just looked confused. "Um, like you can't tell it's an apple or asparagus?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes, and Gunn took pity on her. "No, they label what the fruits and veggies are *for*."

"Oh?" Buffy blinked. "Oh. Oh! Um, oh, ok, can we talk about something else so I can get rid of an image?"

"We could talk about the stuff we bought!" Willow said excitedly -- then subsided when Tara frowned at her. "Or not. I'm thinking not. Because at least one item wouldn't make you stop thinking about veggies and I'm really gonna shut up now."

"Well, we already tried sports. That's pretty much out," Gunn said.

Angel had a bright idea. "Why don't we talk about how Spike and Xander got those cameras of theirs to *float*. Wes and I were having an interesting discussion about that, before you came in." Out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw Giles grin, and put his hand flat on the pile of money that Buffy had been slowly inching towards herself.

Gunn snorted. "Well, duh. Who else woulda made 'em float-- Ethan?"

"Did I hear someone taking my name in vain?" a cultured voice asked from behind Angel. He looked up to see the speak-of-the-devil, grinning at them and tossing an apple up and down in his hand. A red apple with a prominent white label on it.

Buffy noticed it too, and squinted to read it. Angel didn't have to know her as well as he did, to hear the giant, clanging alarm bells going off, screaming 'Mis-Take!' in her head. She got slightly paler, and her pulse quickened. "Um, Ethan, you might not want to..." she started, then stopped. Grinned. "No, what was I thinking. Go right ahead. Take a nice big bite."

Ethan gave her a smile. "As though I can't read? Actually, I was hoping to use it for its intended purpose. Has anyone seen Drusilla?"

There was no immediate response. Angel thought that, like himself, everyone was trying desperately not to think about what they were thinking about, regardless. Angel firmly told himself that if he could get Gunn and Wesley upstairs, he could not think about lots of other things. And if he thought about them anyway, he could pretend it was Gunn with the apple.

"Gunn, I think you missed my point about the cameras," he continued, giving Gunn his best 'work with me here' look. They'd rather perfected it, to the point they could gang up on and strip down Wesley within seconds. Apparently Gunn had decided the working day was over, though, because he didn't pick up on it. He just shook his head, and set down his axe against the wall.

"Hey, watch where you put that thing-- I don't want blood and guts all over the carpet." Cordelia put her hands on her hips.

Gunn shook his head again. "Poltergeist. No blood, no guts."

"Oh. Then why did you need the axe?"

"Well, you never know..."

"In other words, because it looks cool and you wanted to take it out in the sun and twirl it for Willow and Tara."

"Maybe. But Morrie's was having a 'Boss Stayed Home, Everything He Thinks Is Cool But Is Really Lame Must Go, Go, Go' sale, too. It was crowded. I almost had to use the axe on a Forgoth Demon."

"Did you buy anything?" Wesley asked, sounding rather interested. Which was good, exactly what Angel wanted. They could go try stuff out...or on...or whatever, depending on what Gunn had bought.

"Nah. Put some stuff on layaway, though, until--" He stopped, and looked around the room. "Oh, almost forgot. Poltergeist people paid us." He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. Cordelia swooped down on it and squealed happily.

Buffy and Giles were back to discussing something rather intensely, shooting glares at Gunn. Angel felt like glaring, himself. What did a vampire have to do around here to get a little naked-alone time with his lovers? Besides actually say 'excuse me, can we go upstairs and have sex?' Which would work, but then Buffy and Willow and Giles and Cordelia would all laugh at him. Not that they hadn't been doing that all morning anyway, but it was the principle of the thing.

He wished he was evil again. Then he wouldn't *have* principles. Okay, he wouldn't have two do-gooding lovers who painted his toenails pink when he went over his allotted brooding time, either. Not that he'd be brooding, if he were evil. If he were evil, he'd be having sex. Just not with Wesley and Gunn. He sighed.

"Oo, very good. I'd give it a seven. Not quite tragic, but definitely a cut above plain old melancholy," Buffy said admiringly.

"You have a rating system for my sighs?" he asked. Then wondered why he asked. Of course they did. They had a rating system for everything. Even Spike's pouts were numbered, down to decimal point variations.

No one had told him about this part of the curse. No, all they'd ever mentioned was the deceptively straightforward 'be happy and go to hell' part. Maybe this was just karmic retribution for a few decades' worth of sin. Trapped downstairs without any chance of getting naked with Wesley and Gunn. Or even Wesley *or* Gunn. If he could just get *one* of them to follow him upstairs...or precede him. He wasn't picky. He was just frustrated.

Maybe he should sneak off to the library and brood, anyhow. Except he still wanted to take Gunn and Wesley with him, and they wouldn't let him brood. Not that he minded -- it was hard to brood with them around, anyhow. But he wasn't so sure he could get them to go to the library with him, with as much trouble as he was having hinting that they should accompany him upstairs.

Once again, even one of them would do. Because the other would eventually follow. But Gunn would just look at him like he was crazy if he suggested they go off to the library together. And Wesley would accompany him happily, but he'd bring Giles along with him. Which would spoil the party. Or possibly create one, if they were planning on having an orgy, but that *wasn't* the plan.

*****