The comfortable, relaxed look on Wesley's face was enough to remove any fear Gunn might have had that he'd get bored with reading Victorian mystery stories out loud. All he had to do to keep Wes smiling was keep reading, and actually sound like he understood what he was talking about. That was worth a hundred pages of chicks in long skirts putting one over on the Great Detective who didn't seem all that bright when it came to falling for a brilliant mind behind a pair of pretty eyes -- but who the hell was Gunn to judge.

It was easier to pay attention to the book when he was doing the reading -- when Wes read out loud, Gunn tended to get lost in the sound of that choirboy voice, so terribly concentrated and serious, rising and falling, and the look on Wesley's face. That always got him pouted at when Wes looked up and caught him zoning, even though the brat *knew* why he was losing track of the storyline. Because he'd told Wes, in great detail, just to watch his ears turn pink.

"It's Eye-ree-nee," Wesley corrected him at one point. Gunn stared at the letters, wondering how 'Irene' could possibly be intended to be spoken that way. But then again, these were people who went out of their way to invent Worchestershire Sauce, just so they could laugh at Americans trying to pronounce it. Gunn shook his head, but repeated the woman's name, the certified-correct-by-Wesley way.

He continued reading, hesitating once or twice over every proper noun to see if Wesley was going to correct those, as well. After the third time Wesley simply poked him and said, "It's pronounced the way it's written."

"Uh-huh. I told you this wasn't in English." Wesley poked him again, but let him continue. Gunn read, trying occasionally to figure out the plot. It was hard, though, when most of his attention was on the child in his arms.

Gradually, though, the book drew him in. Which was why it surprised him to glance down and see Wesley's eyes closed and his face completely relaxed. Gunn realized he'd felt Wesley relaxing as he read, but hadn't noticed him falling asleep until now. But that wasn't what made him stare. What made him stare, and try very hard not to smile even though Wesley wasn't awake to see -- was the small thumb stuck in Wesley's mouth.

Gunn couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Wesley look so utterly relaxed, awake or asleep, other than the time Gunn had spent three hours rubbing the adult Wesley's back then fucking him senseless. Of course, Gunn hadn't been in much condition to enjoy the sight, that time.

He had half a mind to think real loud -- since he couldn't yell without waking Wesley up -- for Cordelia to come upstairs with the camera. But he knew Wesley wasn't ready; as of this morning he was still trying to prevent Gunn from discovering that Wesley had been sucking his thumb in his sleep. It had almost been more than Gunn could stand, the past few days, to lie there quietly with his eyes slitted open, peering at Wes through his own eyelashes and waiting for his lover to wake up.

Not that the view wasn't wonderful, just that the temptation to reach out and stroke his hair, or kiss his forehead, was so overwhelming. But if he did, Wes would wake up and take his thumb *out* of his mouth, and feel all self-conscious, so Gunn had learned to simply watch and wait.

Eventually, Wesley would wake up on his own, and blink sleepily. Realize where he was and what he was doing. Look furtively around as he popped his thumb out of his mouth, then give a sigh of relief that he hadn't got caught. Gunn always let Wesley 'wake' *him* up, putting on a big show of yawning and stretching and grumbling, when he'd been awake for half an hour or more, just watching.

Now, though, he could sit and watch all he wanted to, without peeking and without needing to be ready to feign sleep at the slightest movement that meant Wesley might be waking up. Even if Wesley were embarrassed when he woke, he couldn't think that Gunn hadn't seen him. Gunn was willing to not say a word about it...but he was glad to get the chance to just sit back and watch.

He reached up, very slowly so as not to jostle anything, and stroked Wes' hair. Leaned forward, just as slowly, and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. Wesley didn't wake. Maybe there *were* good reasons to feed him four bowls of sugar for breakfast.

Gunn wasn't quite sure how long he watched Wesley sleep in his arms. It couldn't have been longer than half an hour, though -- not nearly long enough --before the thick eyelashes eventually fluttered open. Gunn looked down, prepared to try to forestall any uncomfortable reaction on Wesley's part, with his most neutral, not-worried-about-it expression.

Wesley just stared at him for a second, eyes opened impossibly wide -- as usual -- then smiled, shyly. He did pull his thumb out of his mouth fairly quickly, but he obviously wasn't trying to hide it, nor did he seem too upset at having been caught out. Gunn gave him another kiss on the forehead, and picked him up as he stood.

"You think we missed dinner?" Gunn asked, setting the book aside for tomorrow.

"Cordelia wouldn't have dared let us miss *this* dinner," Wesley asserted with confidence. Then, "But perhaps we should get downstairs, in case Lorn is already here."

Gunn felt Wesley wriggle, wanting to be let down. He considered ignoring it as he usually did -- but if the Host *was* already here, Wesley might feel less self-conscious about greeting him on his own two feet. Rather than in the arms of his current boyfriend. Gunn glared at Wesley. "I'm not gonna be getting any more details, over dinner am I?"

Wesley looked surprised. "Why Charles, I do think you doth protest too much!"

"What! You're saying--" But Wesley was wriggling out of his arms; this time Gunn let him go so he could chase Wesley out of the room and down the hallway. It occurred to him as he hit the bottom of the stairs, Wesley a good ten feet ahead of him, that maybe *he* should start thinking about a four-bowl-of-sugar breakfast, too, if he was gonna try to keep up with the scandalously younger man that he was dating.

Gunn was looking down to make sure he didn't trip on that loose edge of the carpet-runner that he kept meaning to fix, when he heard Wesley give a sudden "Eep!" He glanced up to see that Wes had run straight into a pair of legs in white linen pants -- that were attached to a torso draped in a matching jacket and an expensively hideous Hawaiian shirt. Which was attached to a head that could be detached and still survive, as long as you didn't mutilate the body. That knowledge might come in handy, if Wes supplied Gunn with many more unwanted details like the green-all-over thing.

"Well, hey! Who do we have here?" The Host bent down to give Wesley the once-over, and Gunn blinked at his smirking lover. "You know, you look a lot like..." The Host's eyes narrowed, then his face smoothed over into a surprised, shocked, neutral smile. "At least I know *I* won't be getting the paternity suit," he said, and Gunn realized he was going to have to tell *Lorn* about the 'no-details' policy, too.

Gunn glanced down to see Wesley doing the eyes thing. Gunn sighed and shook his head. "He isn't gonna buy you a pony, either."

But the Host looked up at Gunn. "Well, of course I will! If he wants one." He grinned at Wesley, still obviously clueless, as he asked, "Where's your daddy, short stuff?"

"England," Wesley said simply. Gunn wasn't sure if that meant he was going to try to pull the joke on throughout dinner, or not. Could be fun....

"England? Is that why I haven't seen him in two weeks? Then why are you here, if he's--" He suddenly snapped his mouth shut, as if realizing the explanation might involve a dead or in trouble mother.

Gunn saw Wes realize it too, and frown, then grin, then let his face slip into a truly phenomenal pout, all in the space of a couple of milliseconds-- fast enough that the Host most likely caught none of it. "He's a horrible daddy. He took off to go see some sort of all-nude bathing competition at Brighton Beach, and left me here with all these strangers."

"Wes went all the way to Brighton for a nude beach? There's one right down near La Roca, just off the freeway. I *know* he's been there..." Then the Host clammed up, as it dawned on him that he was talking to a four-year-old kid about nude beaches.

Gunn glared at Wesley. "What did I say about details?"

"*I* didn't say it," Wes protested. "The big green man said it!"

"You *made* him say it," Gunn said sternly. Well, as sternly as he could ever manage when Wes was giving him the innocent choirboy look. He usually folded when faced with the adult version -- so why was he even remotely surprised he was falling for the mini-'Who, Me'?

"For that matter," Lorn said, as if he wasn't listening to Gunn's and Wesley's exchange, "Why aren't you at the beach with him, Charlie?"

"Don't call me Charlie." It was a reflex, and Gunn hated how it made him sound like Angel telling Xander not to call him 'Dadboy'. Gunn thought it was better than 'Deadboy', but nobody asked him.

Wesley tugged on Lorn's hand, and asked, "Is Uncle Angel here?"

Gunn watched as the Host tried to recover from the infusion of cuteness, before responding, "I haven't seen him. Cordelia said something about roaming the sewers, and that he'd be back later."

Then, and Gunn should have *known* this was coming so he could videotape it and show to Angel, later, Wesley said, "He went to get his hair done. He likes you."

The Host blinked, and seemed --for once in the entire time Gunn had known him -- to be at a loss for words. "Uh... He does? I mean, he is? Getting his hair done?"

"Yes. He goes to Madame Foo-Foo's." Gunn knew damn well Wes had just made up off the top of his head, and he couldn't help snickering.

The green demon still seemed a little thrown by Wesley's earlier comment, but he grinned at the name of the alleged beauty parlor. Guy probably knew every hairdresser and clothing store in L.A. -- even the ones Cordelia didn't know about. "Madame Foo-Foo's, huh?"

"Uh-huh. She charges him fifty dollars to stick his finger in a light-socket. That's what my dad says."

The Host laughed. "You probably shouldn't say things like that...but your daddy's probably right. I think Angel's brave to wear his hair that way. It shows his individuality."

Gunn looked sharply at Lorn. Was that a note of sincerity? Was Wesley *right*? Wesley, who was even now holding his arms out to Lorn in a classic pick-me-up gesture, which Lorn then did. He rested Wesley on his hip and looked tickled green to have been accepted by the small boy. Gunn was tempted to tell him, just to see if he'd drop Wesley. On his head.

"Can I have a Pergeron?" Wesley asked. "I want a white one."

"A what? Dearie, don't you think a Shetland would be more your speed?"

Wesley made a face. "Shetlands are for babies! I want a Pergeron. Gunn won't buy me one."

"Yeah? Where you gonna keep it," Gunn asked, knowing there was no *way* Wesley would waste the buy me a pony eyes at him, when he had the Host to torment.

"We can put it in Uncle Angel's dungeon. He never uses it anyway, and there's all kinds of saddles and bridles in there already."

The only reason Gunn didn't choke on his own tongue was that he was too busy watching to make sure Lorn didn't drop Wes while *he* choked on *his* tongue. Of course, Gunn's stifled laughter soon gave way to the disturbing realization that Lorn *liked* that kinda thing, judging from the speculative look that was creeping over his face. And that Wes *knew* he liked that kind of thing...

He decided to concentrate on his admiration for Wesley's ability to keep a straight face while saying it, though Gunn made himself a fervent promise to do something extremely rotten to Wes the *minute* he grew up again. Or at least an hour or so after he grew up again.

"Oh, good, you found Wesley and Gunn!" Cordelia's cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts of revenge.

He looked over and said quickly, "Yeah, me and Wesley, Junior, are entertaining Lorn until Angel gets back." Cordelia stopped, and mouthed 'Wesley, Junior?' before glancing at the Host and a delightedly grinning Wesley. In a somewhat lowered voice, Gunn said, "We've told him Wes went to Brighton Beach, so don't tell him the truth about him being in the hospital to get those polyps removed."

He looked over to see Wes giving him a dirty glare. Gunn didn't react -- after all, if Wes was gonna drag *him* into playing a joke on Lorn, then Wes deserved getting dragged into whatever popped into Gunn's head to provide cover for it.

But the light had gone on in Cordelia's head, and she was smiling and nodding. "That's right. We're stuck baby-sitting this little rugrat until he gets back."

"I'm not a rugrat," Wesley protested.

"Are too," Cordelia informed him. When Wesley stuck his tongue out at her, she simply responded in kind.

"She's being mean to me!" Wesley protested, giving Gunn a pitiful look.

"Good. Be mean back to her."

The Host smiled. "I can tell *someone* has baby-sat before."

He did hand Wesley over to Cordelia, who took him, grinning evilly. "I think someone should come help me with dinner."

"You're cooking?" Wesley asked, doubtfully.

"No. I ordered Chinese. But we have to set the table." From Cordelia's expression, Gunn guessed that *somebody* had just been volunteered to do the dishes, too. And that Cordelia would make sure they used lots of plates....

"So, um," Lorn said, as they watched Cordelia taking Wesley towards the dining room. "Wesley never told me about...?"

"Mini-Wes, the Tiny Terror?"

"I am *not* tiny!" Wesley shouted back over Cordy's shoulder.

"I'm not sure whether he's got really good hearing, or he just has the place bugged," Gunn told the Host.

Wesley stuck out his tongue, then assumed a very haughty expression. "If you're asking where I came from, my daddy says the angels dropped me on his doorstep."

"Head-first," Cordelia added immediately.

"My daddy says you're a razor-tongued harpy," Wesley told her.

"That's cause your daddy keeps forgetting who does that direct-deposit thing with his paycheck, and has access to all his bank account numbers," she responded.

Wesley opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. Very carefully, he said, "I don't think I'm old enough to know what that means."

"Uh-huh," Cordelia kept glaring at him. "It means that somebody is gonna get spanked and sent to bed *before* dinner with Uncle Angel and Uncle Lorn."

Wesley immediately turned on the eyes. Like a switch, he was begging and pleading and promising to be the bestest ever and if someone spanked him could it be Gunn because he never spanked very hard? *That* made Cordelia turn red, and Gunn reconsidered waiting until Wesley grew up again, before doing something extremely rotten.

Wesley ignored them both, and went back to his story, calling loudly over Cordelia's shoulder back at Lorn, until Cordelia sighed and let him down so he could walk back over.

"My daddy says he wasn't 'specting me, but that the angels knew he wanted me a lot. That's why they dropped me -- not on my head," he added with a glare to Cordelia. "And daddy says I look just like the angel that brought me here, that I'm the handsomest little kid he ever saw and that I don't look a thing like him and that I'm the smartest and funniest and bestest kid ever."

Wesley was hanging onto Lorn's hands, talking up to him, while the Host smiled and listened. Gunn listened, as well, but had to force the smile out.

"And daddy says he wouldn't ever ever trade me for anything, not even a new motorbike because Uncle Gunn is gonna buy him one with a sidecar. Daddy thinks I'm gonna be the cleverest Watcher ever, even though he doesn't think I should be one, he says he's not gonna make me. And he says that I'm the best present he's ever had, and that I'm *perfect*!"

Lorn laughed. "You are, I can tell. I can see your daddy thinks the world of you."

Wesley nodded, smiling and solemn. Gunn wondered if Wes had told himself those things when he was a kid, because he *knew* Wesley's 'daddy' hadn't ever said them. He wondered as well if what he'd been doing for the last couple of weeks was enough to convince Wes that it was all true -- or if there was always gonna be that little kid in there who had to say it out loud like it was a lie, because he didn't believe it in his heart of hearts.

He wanted to pick Wes up right now, and tell him his 'daddy' wasn't the only one who thought he was perfect, and damn straight he could have a sidecar for the motorbike, and a fucking team of Clydesdales, if he wanted one. Even if it meant blowing the whole 'fool the Host' gag. Then Wes looked up at Lorn, with eyes suddenly shadowed and uncertain, and said softly, "Uh-huh. My daddy loves me."

Gunn leaned back against the wall behind him for a second, and closed his eyes. Tightly.

"Oh, Wes, everyone loves you," Cordelia said softly. Gunn opened his eyes to see her kneeling beside him, and hugging him tightly. Wesley looked a little confused, accepting her hug with one arm wrapped around her neck.

He was looking at Gunn, though, so Gunn pushed away from the wall and went over and picked him up. Kissed him hard on the cheek, and whispered, "I love you, too."

"What's going on?" Angel asked. They all turned around, and Angel's curious expression faded. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. We're ordering Chinese," Cordelia explained. "You entertain our guest while I go order." She waved absently at Lorn.

"Um, okay?" Angel watched her head for the phone, and looked at Gunn. "Is Wes okay?" He was glancing towards the Host, apparently making the wrong connection as to what had upset him.

"Yeah, he's fine. He's miffed because Lorn won't buy him a Pergeron."

"I never said I wouldn't!" Lorn objected. "I just think maybe I should ask his father, first. You know, see if his apartment takes pets."

"His father?" Angel repeated. "What does Wesley's father have to do with this?"

"You know -- his father? Who's makin' us babysit him?" Gunn tried to sound as casual as possible while still speaking to Angel on a 'Practical Jokes For Dummies' level.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly put it that way," Angel said, frowning. "I mean, maybe at the beginning it was touch and go, with the whole rogue demon hunter gag, but now..."

"Now he's more of a family man, yeah," Gunn said agreeably.

"Family man? Wesley's father?" Angel was looking at Gunn like he'd just said he wanted to get a nose job and a skin-bleaching and change his name to Biff, and did Angel think it would be covered under the company medical plan. Which they still didn't have.

"Oh for god's sake," Wesley muttered under his breath. "Uncle Angel, you didn't cut your hair! You said you wanted to look good for dinner."

Angel's mouth froze in the 'catching flies' position. He tried to give Wesley a glare while looking clueless for Lorn. He managed a sort of half-laugh, half-shrug, all 'I'm going to kill them later, don't mind me' look.

"Madame Foo-Foo couldn't see you, huh?" Lorn sounded amused, and flattered. Gunn realized that Wesley better know what he was doing, or the Host might see if Wesley's head could be removed from his body without inflicting permanent damage.

"Huh? Who?" Angel looked from Lorn to Gunn to Wesley.

"Your hair-dresser," Wesley reminded him.

"I told you, I wasn't getting my hair done. I was...hell, I was meeting a guy about your book of Casters."

There was a silent pause. Gunn tried to figure out how to say 'You mean Wesley's *father's* book,' without making Angel blow everything. He figured Wes was doing the same thing, only distracted by the discovery that Angel might be able to replace one of the rare books that had been destroyed when their old office had exploded.

"You're up to *that* already?" Lorn was asking. "I would have thought you'd still be reading Mother Goose."

"Why would Wesley be reading--"

"He likes to pretend, you know. Be like his dad." Gunn interrupted Angel.

"Am I missing something, here?" Angel asked. "Why are you pretending that Wesley can't read?"

"Of course I can read." Wesley rolled his eyes. "Hooked on Phonics, remember?"

"Yeah, but you're not quite up to the book of whatzamajigger, yet," Gunn reminded him. Well, *tried* to clue-in Angel, while pretending to remind Wes. He was starting to lose track.

"Hooked on what?" Angel was asking.

"Who wants egg drop soup?" Cordelia called from the office.

"That's disgusting, and if anyone puts it in front of me, I shall be sick. Loudly," Wesley promised.

"Check, no egg drop soup for the rugrat."

Lorn was looking at Wes, now, grinning. "Your dad doesn't like egg drop soup either. I bet he's happy he's corrupted you, too."

Angel frowned, then stared at the Host. "You know Wesley's father?"

Gunn groaned. Lorn turned around and blinked at him. Then he suddenly smiled. "Oh, don't worry. Just 'cause I know what he likes to eat, doesn't mean I know him in the *biblical* sense, honey."

"Um... I guess that's good..."

"Not for years, now."

Angel's eyes looked like they might just roll completely back in his head.

"And it really didn't mean anything. Well, not anymore -- not that I would kick him out of bed, but he's taken," Lorn gave Gunn a sly smile, and Wesley grinned triumphantly.

"You mean you really *did* sleep with him?" Angel squeaked, staring at Wesley.

Gunn could tell Wesley was considering a baldness spell, and spoke quickly, "Angel, why don't you go see if Cordelia needs help finding your wallet?"

"Huh?"

"To pay for the food."

"She's got the number memorized. What? Why are you all looking at me like that?" Then he blinked. "Oh! Are we pretending that Wesley is Wesley's son? Um, why are we doing that?"

Wesley thumped himself on the forehead. "Thank you, you moron. I had Lorn utterly convinced otherwise. Now he'll *never* buy me a Pergeron."

Lorn was gaping at him. After a minute he seemed to figure out, and believe, what was going on. "Wes?"

"Magic spell. Be reversed in two weeks. Physical regression only, though they tell me it affects my emotions as well. I don't believe them." He stuck his tongue out at Angel. Then he gave the Host a bright, totally guilt-free smile.

Lorn narrowed his eyes. "I seem to recall someone saying you needed a spanking."

"You can't! Not anymore, anyway."

Gunn put his hand over Wesley's mouth. "What did I *tell* you about details?" Two round, wide, innocent pony-eyes stared at him above his hand. He'd be a complete idiot to remove that hand, right?

"You told me I shouldn't tell you things like Lorn's very good at that sort of thing. But I'm not telling you. I'm telling Angel. Since he was asking earlier." All heads turned towards the sputtering vampire, although only the Host's was turning out of surprise -- the rest of them just wanted to see how he'd react. Gunn put his hand back over Wesley's mouth, even though it resulted in Wes biting his finger reasonably hard.

"I was *not* asking about any such thing. I was asking about --" Angel stopped. "I don't remember what I was asking about. If I go out and come back in again, will this conversation not have happened?"

"No, we'll just have time to think of better questions." Everyone turned to the Host, who seemed to have regained his composure, and his sense of humour, at least as far as 250 year old clueless vampires were concerned. The way he scowled at Wesley made Gunn think Lorn was gonna be standing in the 'extremely rotten once he's grown' line.

Wesley just looked back, and about two seconds later Lorn was a big tall, green, pile of Wesley-controlled mush. "Did you really get me a new copy of the book of Casters?" Wesley asked Angel excitedly.

"Er, uh, yeah...maybe. I don't have it, the guy said he might not sell it." He tried to look casual.

Wesley frowned. "You're saying that to get back at me for telling Lorn you like him."

"I am not! And I don't-- er, I mean, I don't *not* like you," he said to the Host, who looked entirely amused. "As a friend. I like you."

"Which is why you're wearing *navy blue* instead of black?" Cordelia asked, pointing to his shirt.

"I was wearing navy blue this morning," Angel protested.

"You were not! Liar!" Wesley shouted.

Angel looked abashed. "Well... Maybe not the shirt. But I was wearing navy blue... Oh, never mind."

"You were wearing navy blue neverminds? For me?" The Host winked at him, and Angel turned around to bang his head against the wall.

"If I say I'm not playing this game, you'll all just deny that there's any game," Angel said slowly, thoughtfully.

"What game?" Wesley asked. Gunn choked slightly, but kept his mouth shut.

"The 'try to convince Angel he's still in Hell' game. I've been going about this all wrong -- thinking that I was safe because I'm back home, away from Spike and Xander. But I should have realized everyone's in on it. Spike was calling to get the latest update, of course." He sounded terribly, terribly logical. And utterly insane.

Gunn seriously considered taking a step backwards. Grabbing Wesley and running. But he knew Angel was only faking it, in order to get back at them all for messing with his mind. Except -- and he had to sometimes remind himself of this -- a two hundred and fifty year old vampire had a lot of experience to draw on, for the 'how to play mind games' event. Maybe he should grab Wesley and run to San Diego.

"Angel?" Wesley had walked up and pulled on Angel's pants leg. Stared up at him, and Gunn wondered if he thought the eyes thing would counter Angelus' decision to show them who was boss.

Angel looked down, and his logical, insane, thoughtful expression didn't change. "Yes?"

Wesley pointed to his elbow. "I've got a boo-boo." Which was true -- there was even a glow-in-the-dark band-aid on it. Angel was crouching, halfway down towards Wesley's elbow, his face wiped clear of everything except concern -- when he stopped, and cursed. At least Gunn thought it was a curse, as it wasn't in English. Wesley laughed. "Evil vampire, nyah nyah!" He stuck his tongue out at Angel, and Angel, who had been glaring at him, laughed.

"Heh, you got me, Wes," Angel said. Then he stooped down and picked Wesley up. The logical, insane look was back. Gunn peered at him, trying to decide whether there needed to be comments about someone's bipolar undead ass getting staked if anything bad happened to Wes while Angel was holding him. But Angel just smiled at Wesley, and asked, "Hey -- you wanna watch cartoons after dinner? They're having a Thundercats marathon."

Wesley gave him a disgusted look. "As if I'd watch trash like that. Besides, you're going out to a movie with Lorn after dinner."

Angel and the Host both replied with, "Excuse me?"

"Casablanca's playing at the Regal Cinema on Lower Sunset. Eight-thirty. Tickets are on Cordelia's desk," Wesley said smugly. "Now take me into the dining room, please. It's my turn to help set the table."

Angel and Lorn exchanged helpless looks, while Gunn put a hand over his face, attempting to hide his own look of overwhelming pride. "Just how long have you been planning this, you... Bad Seed," Angel asked.

Wesley looked like he was about to go into serious pout-mode, then he laughed. "The specific movie? Since Monday. You two going to one? Oh... years. Lots and lots of years." Gunn was impressed by the guy's daring. To say that to Angel, to his face -- while Angel was *holding* him...spoke either of Wesley's stupidity, or great faith in his ability to look too cute to kill.

"That would imply you were setting us up when you and I started sleeping together," Lorn pointed out, and Gunn couldn't tell if he therefore didn't believe Wesley, or was amused, or...what. The Host sounded casual enough to have been talking about sporting events he knew nothing about.

"Why do you think I wanted to know if you liked--" Wesley stopped, and tried to look down his nose at the hand covering his mouth.

"Since I don't like Casablanca, why don't you and Gunn use the tickets?" Angel asked.

"*I* like Casablanca," Lorn said.

Angel just opened his mouth, then closed it. "Er," he finally said.

Wesley tapped on Gunn's hand. Gunn didn't move it. Wesley raised an eyebrow. Gunn left his hand where it was. Wesley pushed his hand away, and said to Angel, "Be sure to buy popcorn with lots of salt, no butter-flavoured oil."

"I like salt, what can I say?" Lorn shrugged.

Angel turned his pained look on Gunn, who raised his hands and shook his head. "No way am I helping you get out of this one. After what you and Cordy pulled to get me and Wes to start talking to each other again after Wes wrecked my truck?"

Wesley gaped at him, and looked hurt, shocked, and angry all at once. Which was how he always looked whenever Gunn mentioned the truck wreckage -- but seeing it on a four-year-old face was much, much worse. Gunn held his hand over Wesley's face. Aha. A new, working defense. Except for the tongue sliming his hand.

"You mean the locking you in the bathroom together, or the spell to dissolve your clothes? Because the clothes thing was Cordy's idea," Angel said.

"Uh-huh. Cordelia? Destroyed clothes? Try again, bubba."

Cordelia's voice floated out of the dining room. "*Those* clothes? Trust me, they needed dissolving. You were all covered with Brujala Demon guts."

Wesley chose that moment to bite Gunn's hand. Hard. Ish. As Gunn was sucking on his finger and glaring, Wes said, "Which demon I finally had to run over with that damned truck, because it kept *healing*. And is it my fault the thing exploded on contact?"

"No, but it's your fault you were *in* the truck when it exploded. You coulda been killed. Then I would've been out a boyfriend *and* a good truck."

"I think this has the makings of the perfect country and western song," the Host intervened with an air of thoughtfulness. "All it needs is something about somebody's mother..."

"Your momma," Gunn obligingly replied. Then grinned.

"I'm sorry-- have you *met* his mother?" Angel shook his head. "Not a country and western type."

The Host nodded. "Can't see her ordering Numfarr to do the Dance of Achey-Breaky Heart, somehow."

Angel was saved, suddenly, by the bell. Ring, rather, as the phone rang. Gunn felt it an unfair use of vampiric speed to drop Wesley into Lorn's arms and run to the phone before it could ring a second time. "Angel Investigations, we hope the..er, hello?"

*****
Part 19:

Lorn was grinning at Wesley in a way that made Gunn uncertain if he should rescue his lover, or leave him to the consequences of his actions. As long as it didn't cross the 'details' boundary, he was tempted to leave him where he was.

"Wes?" Angel called over, and his tone of voice told them the jokes were over.

"Yes?"

"Do you want to talk to your mother?"

Wesley didn't reply, immediately. Then he shook his head. "Best tell her I'm out. I don't--"

But Angel interrupted with, "She knows."

Wesley stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. Then he grinned. "Good one, Angel. I didn't think you'd be able to really pull a joke off -- now we need a train, and jail, and rain -- was there something else in that verse?" He asked Lorn, only semi-seriously.

"Wes," Angel said again, holding the phone with one hand over the mouthpiece quite firmly. "It really is."

Wesley went back and forth between a worried frown and a strange little smile, before he finally nodded, and held out his hand for the phone. Lorn shot Gunn a look-- which told Gunn all he ever needed to know about how close they'd been. Close enough for the look to *almost* match the one on Gunn's face.

Then he let Wesley down. Gunn was expecting him to do what he usually did when he had to speak with one of his parents-- head for Angel's office and shut the door. Instead, he stood there uncertainly in the lobby for another few moments, before finally lifting the phone to his mouth.

"Hello, mother." A pause, then a nod -- the same kind of nod he'd given Spike over the phone earlier today. This time he caught himself nodding, though, and shook his head, frowning. "Yes, it's me." Then the frown deepened. "No, I-- No, nothing's wrong. It was...er, well, it was intended. Part of a spell to--" He nodded again, then glared at no one in particular, in a way that let Gunn know it was *himself* Wes was angry with. "Yes. No, I'm sorry, you and Father were never supposed to be bothered with this..."

Gunn was walking over to him, now. He didn't want to interrupt -- but he didn't like the look on Wesley's face. The anger that shouldn't be there, and then, as Wesley said, "Of course, yes, I understand" there was no emotion on his face at all. Wiped clean.

Gunn was to him and picking him up, before he could decide it was a good idea. Angel picked up the receiver as Wesley dropped it; Gunn saw him bring the receiver to his ear, listen for a moment, then his face clouded over and he hung up without saying a word.

"Wes? Man, what--" Gunn broke off his question. He could see Wesley's eyes -- wide, staring at nothing, and his face so tightly controlled Gunn knew it was taking all of Wes' will to hold it steady.

"Come on," Angel said quietly, and Gunn looked over to see him leading Lorn out of the room, towards the dining room. Gunn took Wesley over towards the stairs, intending to get him up to the privacy of their room.

"She said they received a phone call from a man saying I'd been turned into a child. That they needed to come fetch me and take care of me...." His voice was inflectionless. Gunn brushed his finger across Wesley's cheek, wondering what she'd *said* to do this to him. "She was rather upset at the suggestion. She explained she and father were entirely too busy to drop everything and come to California to rescue me."

"You don't need rescuing," Gunn said, feeling totally bewildered. His mother had said all that? Besides who had called her -- what sort of mother reacted that way to hearing that her son was in trouble?

"She--"

Gunn held Wesley close, hugging him tightly. "She what?" He could feel Wesley's hands clinging to his shirt, feel the tension in his entire body. But he didn't answer. "Wes?"

There was a small intake of breath, and a tiny shudder, then Wes said very carefully, "She said it was an upperclass Englishman. That at first she'd thought it was Rupert Giles, because the accent was so similar, but the voice was different, and Rupert would never participate in such a stupid, childish prank. That no real Watcher would spend his time playing infants' games, actually, is what she said."

"Funny, 'cause I seem to remember him being pretty short, the last time I saw him. And just about to stick a flag on a Lego castle."

Wesley didn't respond to Gunn's comment. He was disappearing somewhere, behind his eyes, and Gunn didn't know how to reach in and pull him out -- his big, manipulative eyes were flat and expressionless now. Very, very quietly, Wesley spoke. "She said... she said... that she hoped I'd someone here to deal with whatever mess I'd gotten myself into, because they certainly weren't about to take care of a child at their age." His voice dropped. "Because once was enough."

Then Gunn was hugging him too hard for Wesley to have said more, if he'd been going to. Wrapping his arms tighter around Wesley's back, hand pressed against the back of his head -- as if he could push hard enough to force him inside Gunn's body where he could feel what Gunn couldn't bring into words: I love you, love you so much you don't *need* them.

Of course that wasn't true. It didn't matter what Gunn felt -- it didn't change the look in Wesley's eyes when he explained that his parents didn't want him. He felt a shudder pass through Wesley's body, heard a gasp of air that preceded a sob -- which didn't come. Instead Wesley buried his face harder against Gunn's chest.

Gunn went faster up the stairs, towards their room. Towards their room and the chair where he could sit and hold and rock and tell Wesley that when it stopped hurting enough to look around again, someone would be there, loving him. He heard Wesley gasp, again, and choke back a cry. "Wes, don't -- just cry all you want, baby. Ain't nobody here to hear you but me."

"No... doesn't.. doesn't matter. Stupid. Don't need them to take care of me. Don't...want them...to." So why was Wes having to take a deep breath before each word? Why was he shuddering in Gunn's arms as the door shut behind them?

Gunn carried him over to the rocking chair and sat down. Shook his head, and wondered which of them was gonna break down first. Seriously giving odds that it wouldn't be Wes. "Yeah, you do. It's okay. It matters. It matters, and it's wrong, and... damn."

Gunn put his head down against the top of Wesley's skull, lips pressed to soft tousled hair, because he couldn't let Wes turn his face up and look at him or he might do what Wesley wouldn't do. So he rocked them both, slowly at first, then as his anger and hurt demanded he do something, he found himself pushing against the floor harder. Told himself not to tip them over, but he couldn't sit here and be gentle about it.

Not until he heard the first escaping cry - then all his emotions rushed out of him and left only the need to be tender and solicitous, and cradle Wesley as tenderly as he could. Hold him close as his small body began shaking, like the first tremors of an approaching earthquake. He kissed Wesley's head again, pressed his lips against every part of Wesley's head and face and shoulder that he could reach, while Wesley finally let go of what Gunn knew was a lifetime of held-in pain.

They sat there for what felt like an hour, or more. It was, at times, loud and wailing, other times stifled and shuddered, but Wesley didn't stop crying in Gunn's arms until he was gasping for air and too exhausted to keep his tight grip on his lover. Gunn continued rocking, continued stroking Wesley's back and wiping tears from his face, and continued leaning down and pressing his lips to Wesley's forehead and telling him to let it all out, let it go, I'm here and I've got you.

Wesley finally looked up at him, with eyes so red Gunn knew they had to be hurting as much as anything else. He traced his fingers along Wesley's cheek, down across his chin, up again to trace the line of his eyebrows. He wasn't entirely sure why he was doing it. He just felt a need to touch everything he could, as if reminding himself that Wesley was in there, somewhere.

"I..." Wesley's voice sounded like he had laryngitis, or had been walking out in the desert for a few hundred years. Gunn looked at him, waiting. "Could I have a drink of water?"

"Yeah." He started to get up; realized he was still rocking, and had to put out a foot to stop himself, he'd become so used to the motion. When he stood up, it was like the room was still moving, and he was half afraid he would drop Wes. Gunn's legs ached, too, whether from rocking for so long, or sitting in the same position, he didn't know. When he'd poured Wesley a cup of water from the bottle on the bureau, he sat down on the bed, Wesley still in his arms, and stretched out his legs.

Wes drank as if he'd cried out every drop of water in his little body, and maybe he had. When the cup was finally empty, he set it down on the bedspread next to them, but didn't say anything for a moment. Then he lay his head back against Gunn's chest, and whispered, "Thank you."

"Love you," Gunn replied.

There was a light squeeze, and Wesley said, "I know. I...appreciate it. Especially now. I love you, too," he ended in a softer tone. They sat there quietly, for a bit, and Gunn thought he might be willing to lean back and curl up with Wesley and sleep the rest of the day away. Angel-baiting aside, it hadn't been all that restful of a day.

Wesley was toying with one of the buttons on his shirt, and when Gunn looked down, he could see the worried expression that generally preceded a complex conversation that involved things one normally never discussed. He just waited, holding Wesley and making sure he didn't say out loud any of the uncharitable things he was thinking about Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce.

"Is...this is going to sound dreadfully childish, but...could I please have Rupert?"

It took Gunn a moment to realize Wesley meant his bear, and not his fellow-four-year-old countryman. "Of course," he said calmly, and tried to remember where they'd left him. He finally saw the bear up by the headboard of the bed, and leaned sideways towards it. He grabbed Rupert by a foot and pulled him over, handing him to Wes.

Wesley immediately held the bear in his arms, resting his chin on top of its head. "It's nice, being bear-sized again," Wesley whispered.

Gunn settled his arms around Wesley, and actually felt a small chuckle escape his lips. "Yeah. You make a good bear." He rested his chin on top of Wesley's head. After a moment, Wes let out something that might have been a very tired attempt at a laugh. Or just a yawn.

"No one did this with me, when I was little. The first time, that is," he said, snuggling back against Gunn. "Well, no, my Aunt Sarah used to, sometimes, when she came over. But Father didn't really approve."

"He was stupid. All kids need to be bear-hugged. It's in the Parent Handbook."

"I don't think they got their copy. Or perhaps they didn't think it was appropriate reading material, if it wasn't written in Latin." Wesley was playing grown-up again, but it seemed to be a pretty big effort for him, and finally, he sighed. "Why don't they want me?"

"Because they aren't parents," Gunn replied. "Not everyone is. Makes you think there ought to be an application process, before you can conceive a kid." Another hug, another kiss to the head. "Not everyone knows how to be a parent. Not everyone wants to. Doesn't stop the bodies from making more."

There was a pause, then in a tone once more too-adult, Wesley said, "I think that's the most understandable explanation I've heard."

"Yeah. I thought that one up for Alonna when mom decided she couldn't handle us anymore." He shook his head -- Wesley knew all his stuff, already. How it had been the drink and the drugs she couldn't handle, or the wild-ass boyfriends who spent more time driving and hanging, than noticing that their woman had a couple of babies, already.

Wesley's voice was softer, when he said, "I like it. It makes it sound as though it were their fault." As if it had never occurred to him that it might have been. Gunn squeezed his eyes closed.

"Wes, babe, you... man, you know you *were* brought to me by an angel. You are the handsomest man I have ever known. You are the smartest and funniest and best person I know, the cleverest and the most *perfect* damn man I have ever had the honour to fall in love with."

He heard Wesley sniffling, and reached over for another tissue. After Wesley had wiped his face and blown his nose, he said, "And you'll buy me a new bike, I presume?"

"Maybe just the sidecar for your old one. And you find a place to store the horses, and I'll get you as many as you want." Wes shook his head slightly, and Gunn assured him. "No, really. Might take a paycheck or thirty, but hell, it's worth it. Plus I think Angel's just about to cave."

Wesley gave a small laughed. "No, it's just I don't really want a pony-- I can't ride."

"You gotta be kiddin' me. I thought all proper little English boys got taught that at their proper little all-boys prep schools."

"Didn't say I don't know *how* to. Just can't. I must have tumbled off every horse in the stable before they finally despaired of me and sent me to go write a paper on equine anatomy during equestrian studies period." Gunn was silent, picturing Wesley sitting alone in the library, watching the other kids outside through the window... After a moment, Wesley nudged him. "You can laugh, you know."

"Why would I wanna laugh?"

"Because it's funny. There I was, being sent in disgrace away from something I couldn't stand, to be punished by having to do something I loved..."

This time Gunn did chuckle. Then before he could stop his mouth from opening, he was saying, "But you ride really well." His mind screamed 'Four-year-old! Bad mouth!' at him, and he groaned inwardly. "Uh, the bike, I mean." Among other things.

"Well, of course -- a motorbike doesn't know when you're afraid of it." Wesley paused for a moment, then added, "Nor does it decide to defecate on your foot when you're braiding its tail." Gunn mostly stifled his snicker. But Wesley just smiled up at him. "As for other riding, it helps when your mount is as distracted as you are."

Gunn sputtered for a moment, before snapping, "Don't be *saying* shit like that when you're four! What am I supposed to do, go make a pass at Angel? Uh -- I didn't just say that, did I?"

Wesley blinked, looking innocent enough that Gunn knew he ought to set Wesley down...and run. "I can pretend to be Angel, again, if you like. Role-playing--"

"Please, please, can we have the conversation when you're bigger? Older? Can we not have this conversation at all, I mean?"

"Do you really think Angel would let me get a horse?" Wesley asked, throwing Gunn completely off-track as his expression changed from amused and lecherous -- which just looked wrong -- to thoughtful.

"Wes, right now, you could get Angel to do *anything*." Among other people. God help him if Wes made the logical leap away from the pony he didn't really want, and started asking Gunn to buy him a Harley. Again. "Um, if you hadn't set him up on a date with the Host. Maybe you should hide for a while."

"Yes, I could stay in here for a day or two. You could bring me breakfast in bed and I could pretend I'm all worn out and want to hide under the covers and not see anybody but you."

The tone of his voice was asking something more, and Gunn answered, pulling his arms closer around Wesley's body. "Yeah, we can pretend that."

Wes rested his head against Gunn's arm, then went on. "And you can wait on me hand and foot. And bring me lime jelly because my throat hurts, and bring the tv in here and let me watch cartoons all day."

"I thought that stuff was trash?"

"No, *Thundercats* are trash. I'm talking about the Tex Avery Hour. And I want tea with peppermint. And lots of sugar."

Gunn just hugged him again, and closed his eyes. He had Wesley entirely wrapped up in his arms, pressed against his chest, legs dangling over the side of his lap. Almost completely encased within the borders of Gunn's body. "Yeah, we can do that. But lime jelly? Wes, man, that stuff is so *gross*."

"Won't matter," Wesley said, in a tone that said he was winding down, would be asleep soon if they both stopping talking. "Since you won't be kissing me...not with tongue, at any rate."

Gunn smiled. "Good point. You can eat all the lime jelly and raspberry flavoured junk you like." Wesley shifted, a bit, on Gunn's lap. He felt Wes yawn, again. "How 'bout we crawl into bed?" he asked, trying not to startle Wesley in case he was already dozing.

Wes responded by burying his face against Gunn's chest, and reaching up with one arm, to grab onto Gunn like he was doing to the bear, with the other. Gunn sighed, weighing the benefits of actually getting ready for bed and sleeping perfectly comfortably, against hearing Wes make those little sleepy noises of protest that always sounded to Gunn like he was being viciously abused by a tall, rude man with absolutely no care for his comfort or well-being.

In the end, he kicked off his own shoes, then carefully slipped Wesley's off, resisting the urge to tickle the small feet as he did so. Mostly resisting. After the first accusatory squeak from Wes had him promising to buy a new sidecar, *and* wear the pink helmet for a week, he resisted harder.

Then he leaned sideways, resting his head on the pillows as best he could, and drew the blankets over them, wrapping them up like a Wes-and-Gunn taco. Minus the spice. Then he was on his back again, with Wes curled up against his chest, eyes closed, smiling slightly, as Wes slipped his thumb into his mouth.

Gunn gave Wes, then Rupert, one last head rub, then he lay back, one arm under his head and the other wrapped tight around Wesley so that no one and nothing could get to him.

*****