Angel told himself he wasn't sneaking in on them. He was, but it was for a good cause, so it didn't really count as sneaking. Besides, if no one woke up, there was no harm. No foul. He had the door to Gunn's and Wes' room open, after listening for several minutes to make absolutely sure they were still asleep. Really asleep, not faking it. He'd learned to check and triple check after being sent to wake up Spike and Xander, only to find them leaping at him as soon as he opened the door.

Gunn and Wesley seemed to really be asleep, though, so he stepped into the room. The sun was streaming through the curtains -- not creating a vampire hazard, just lighting the room enough that if any humans were awake, they'd be able to see the big hulking vampire walking on tiptoes into the bedroom. If any humans *did* wake up, he was even deader than undead. But if he left now, he'd have to face Cordelia.

Angel made sure the video camera was running, stepped up to the bedroom doorway, and focused. Oh, now *this* was worth engaging the little fisheye button he'd discovered while zooming in on Lorn's mouth while he was singing and mugging for the camera last night. Angel let the iris shrink to spotlight the image of Gunn and Wesley in bed.

Gunn was lying somewhat awkwardly on his side, and cuddling Wes as if he were a combination of precious child, teddy-bear, and heir-to-the-throne-of-Kaskaskia-who-must-be-protected-from-assassins-and-used-car-salesmen-at-all-times. Wesley lay curled up in Gunn's arms, looking utterly relaxed, one arm around his *real* teddy bear, and the other around Gunn's neck. His right thumb was very plainly in his mouth, with his little finger stroking the fur on the top of his bear's head, in his sleep.

Angel played with all of the camera features he could remember, including the time-date stamp, the photonegative effect, and the little bouncing ball icon that you could get to cross the bottom of the screen in time with the ambient sound, in this case the rhythm of Gunn and Wesley's breathing. Finally that ball started bouncing a little faster, and the fingers on Wesley's teddy bear were pointing towards him in a characteristic V-shape whose meaning Angel had learned *long* before Spike re-introduced him to its frequent use in the late 1800's.

"Hi," Angel said in a normal volume. He waved one hand. "Could you move a little this way? I wanna get a better angle."

Then he ran.

He heard something hit the door behind him, and hoped it wasn't Rupert -- there would be pouting and look what you made me do, at breakfast, if Wesley had hurt his bear because of Angel. He smiled, though. The film was worth it.

"Did you get it?" Cordelia asked as he came down the main stairway.

Angel held up the camera like a demon's head he'd sliced off and brought home as a trophy. Except he didn't do that sort of thing any more. Maybe like a pizza he'd gone to pick up when the delivery guys weren't working that night. Cordelia squealed and grabbed the camera, hitting the rewind button and peering at the display screen, even before it began to play.

"It was perfect. The best one, yet," Angel told her, sitting down beside her.

"Worth an entire roll of Giles-at-play photos?"

"Are you kidding? This is worth a weeks' worth of Xander and Spike being dads photos."

"So glad to hear we can provide the agency with a decent profit," Gunn said dryly.

Angel looked up at him. He was carrying a pajama-clad Wesley on his hip. Wes was clutching a handful of marble race-track pieces in one hand and what looked like a very large number of marbles in the other. Until one fell out of his hand and landed on the floor, of course, and Gunn rolled his eyes, set Wes down, and got down on his hands and knees to look for it.

"You just do that to prove that he'll drop everything to do what you want," Cordelia teased the amused-looking Wesley.

"No, I knew that already. I do it because I enjoy the view." Wes looked at Angel. "Are we really bartering the photos? I thought it was simply an 'I'll show you mine, if you show me yours' deal."

"I'm *not* making that offer to Spike," Cordelia said without removing her eye from the video camera.

"We were," Angel told Wesley, for once recognizing that Cordelia's comment was one he should not attempt to address. "That was before Anya called to say she had a photo of Spike frantically trying to find Cheerios."

"Cheerios?" Wesley frowned.

"Tara wanted them."

Wesley nodded, understanding. Then he asked, "Why would she want Cheerios? They're disgusting."

"They're *good* for you," Gunn countered.

"They're disgusting, unless you fill the bowl with sugar, first. Then the only good part about them is drinking the sugar-laden milk."

"And if you think for one second that's what you're getting for breakfast--" Gunn began.

Wesley looked at Angel. "I'll get breakfast," Angel said. He was three steps towards the kitchen before Gunn grabbed his arm.

"Don't do it, man."

"What? He wants Cheerios, you said they're good for him...."

"Not the way *he* eats 'em. Unless *you're* gonna take complete responsibility for him all day."

Angel considered. It wasn't as if there were all that much to get into around here. He'd been perfectly fine the other times he'd watched Wesley, after all. And, dangerous eyes or not, Wes *still* hadn't managed to be as difficult to control as a sugar-freaked Xander and Spike, trapped in Buffy's tiny house in the middle of the day. Here, Wes would have an entire hotel to exhaust himself in. And there was only one of him.

"I could do that, I guess." He looked down at Wes. "What do you think, Wes? You wanna spend the day around here, eating sugar and driving me nuts?" It was something of a rhetorical question, considering that Wesley hadn't left the hotel since the call from his parents came through. Nor were any of them about to ask him to.

Wes glanced quickly over at Gunn, then shook his head. Angel nodded. He understood -- Wesley was still feeling too insecure to want to spend time more than arms' length away from Gunn. But Wesley said, "I want to go to Bozo Burgers!"

"For *breakfast*?"

"No. I want waffles and bacon and super sugar crisp cereal and poptarts for breakfast. I want to go to Bozo Burgers right *after*."

"Eggs and orange juice, too?" Angel asked, trying to remember if they had any waffle mix. Gunn was gaping at Wesley, then he gave Angel a glare.

"You feed him all that, then take him to Bozo Burgers, then *you* get to clean up after him."

Angel looked from Gunn, to an innocently-beaming Wesley. "He's gonna make a mess?" What would be wrong with that? It wasn't like he worked at Bozo Burgers, he wouldn't have to clean up *everything* Wesley could do.

"He's gonna be sick all *over* the place," Gunn explained. "He only wants to go to Bozo Burgers to play at their indoor playground."

"Oo, is that the one with the swing thing that spins around?" Cordelia asked, cheerfully.

Angel had a vague memory of that playground. Wesley just smiled innocently, some more. "Or we could stay here," Angel suggested.

Which was entirely the wrong thing to say. "I want to go to the playground," Wesley pouted.

"Um..." Angel said intelligently, trying to remember what he'd done three weeks ago when Spike and Xander pouted at him this way... It had all become sort of a strange, disturbingly happy blur in his mind. Rather like being drunk -- if you were a couple of pints of O-negative.

Wesley was looking at the floor and digging one foot into the carpet, now. Gunn was giving Angel the 'Hey, he's all yours' gesture with his arms, and Cordelia had pressed the damned record button on the camera -- Angel could hear the tape whining at him.

"You don't want to take me to the playground?" Wesley asked finally, looking up at Angel. "I see. That's fine. I understand." Wes looked at Cordy, who had moved the camera away from her eye -- but hadn't stopped recording. Angel knew *that* trick. "He doesn't want to be seen with me," Wes told her.

"Not while you're barfing," Cordelia said with no sympathy.

Angel had, meanwhile, remembered what he did when Spike and Xander had pouted at him like that. "If I don't feed him sugar, you'll watch him?" he asked Gunn.

Gunn grinned, but folded his arms. "Sounds to me like the little guy wants his Uncle Angel to take him to Bozo Burgers."

"Which would be fine," Angel allowed. "If Uncle Angel weren't bursting into flames as soon as he stepped out the front door. He gave Wesley his best apologetic look. "Wes, you *know* I'd take you, otherwise."

Wesley hadn't stopped pouting. Angel got a bad feeling. It got worse when Wesley said, "You can take me to Bernie's Taco Palace."

"Oo, that has a playground," Cordelia reminded him, brightly. "And tacos." She smiled.

"*And* it can be reached via the sewers," Wesley said proudly.

"I have an appointment?" Angel tried.

"With Madame Foo-Foo?" Wes said dangerously. When Angel chose not to dignify that with an answer -- his stylist was a perfectly straight man named Mitch, after all -- Wesley fixed him with an accusing stare. "Anyway, you didn't have an appointment when you were offering to spend the day with me, here."

"Ahhh..." Good point. Angel fished around for another excuse. Then wondered, actually, why he was fishing around for an excuse -- he actually *liked* spending time with mini-Wes. As long as he wasn't reenacting _The Exorcist_ , with Wes in the Linda Blair role. "Taco Palace it is -- but *only* if you have one bowl of Cinnamon Life, a glass of orange juice, and two slices of toast, for breakfast," he said firmly.

Wesley looked like he was considering the offer, then shook his head. "I want bacon and eggs."

"Okay," Angel agreed readily. Cordelia snickered at him, but he ignored her.

"And I don't want toast," he added. "I want cereal."

"Okay," Angel nodded. "Life? Cheerios?"

"Super Sugar Crisp."

"What about some Wheaties?"

"Super Sugar Crisp."

"We have some cornflakes."

"Super Sugar Crisp."

"Captain Crunch?"

Wesley opened his mouth, then stopped. "Sure!"

"He may be short, but he ain't stupid," Gunn reminded him.

Angel just gave Gunn a pained look. "We were out of Super Sugar Crisp," he mouthed.

"No, we aren't," Wesley declared. He took a hold of Angel's hand, and began leading him towards the kitchen. "It's called Super Golden Crisp, but it's the exact same cereal."

Angel blinked, then sighed. "You want that, or the one with the crunch berries?" he asked as he walked toward the kitchen.

"I want the one with the hologram stickers in the box," Wesley said happily.

Angel tried to remember which one that was. "Wait, isn't that the one that's not open yet?" Wes gave him the 'And?' look. "But there's half a box of the same cereal already open," he protested as he opened the cabinet above the stove.

"But I already *have* the prize from that box," Wesley said logically.

Angel studied the back of the opened box. Glowing Green Goo, TM. Yes, Wes did indeed already have that. Or rather, the drain at the bottom of Angel's shower had that, since he'd spent most of Tuesday evening getting it out of his hair.

"It's not like I won't eat it all, sooner or later -- that stuff has a sell-by date of sometime after your next sesquicentennial," Wesley said, with some *actual* logic this time.

Angel turned around and looked at him-- he'd climbed up in one of the high stools that wasn't actually a high *chair* but was still tall enough that he could reach the table. "Say that again."

"Sesquicentennial?"

Angel got the cereal down, checking the box to make sure the prize was, as Wesley had said, just a sticker. Surely he couldn't cause Angel any...much grief with a sticker. He found Wesley looking at him, sternly. "What?" Angel asked, innocently as he could. Not as good as a four year old, but he *did* have a couple centuries' more experience.

"Did I mispronounce it?" Wesley asked, doubtfully.

"No." Angel shook his head, grabbed a bowl, and gave Wesley the box of cereal.

The stern look became suspicious. "I do *not* have a lisp."

"Never said you did." Angel got out milk, and orange juice, and the bacon and eggs to begin cooking while Wesley foraged for his sticker.

There was silence except for the rustle of a small hand inside a cereal box. Then, "You're teasing me."

Angel could *hear* the pout. He had to steel himself against the reflexive apology and offer of poptarts. "I'm not teasing you," he lied.

Wesley frowned at him. Angel could *feel* the frown, boring into his back. Finally the small voice said, "Bacon and eggs taste better if you fry them on the gas stove, you know."

Angel glanced over to the second stove -- the nineteen-forties hotel-sized gas stove that Cordelia had been forbidden to use the minute Gunn had gotten it in working order. "I'll take your word for that, since Uncle Angel isn't all that comfortable with open flames."

"Coward."

"Hey, if I burn up while I'm cooking you bacon and eggs, who's gonna take you to Taco Palace?"

"Cordelia."

Angel frowned. "Why don't you ask her, then? She'll take you." He focused on the eggs, and told himself he wasn't sulking. As though it *mattered* if Wesley wanted *him* to take him anywhere.

He heard Wesley getting down off his chair. A moment later, a small hand reached up and took his. Angel looked down. "But I want you to take me."

Angel started to smile. It wasn't often that he heard his friends saying they wanted to be with him like this. To kill big things, and carry heavy stuff, sure, they said that all the time. But wanting to hang around with him....

"And I want you to cook the bacon and eggs on a gas-stove."

"Learn to live with disappointment, then." He cracked the eggs into a skillet, and set it on the electric stove top. He glanced down to give Wesley a grin, and froze.

Wesley's huge eyes were staring up at him, with the most solemn expression Angel had ever seen. But that wasn't the problem. The quivering chin was the problem. Because he *knew* what was coming. He closed his eyes as he heard, "You don't love me."

"I do love you. But I'm not setting myself on fire so you can have a bit of light entertainment with your breakfast."

Wesley sniffed. "Well, I hardly want you to *sing* during breakfast. I'd rather wait until the playground, to get sick all over you."

"Gunn's right -- you *are* a mean little kid." The words were out of Angel's mouth before he could stop himself, even as he watched Wesley's face rearrange itself from pouting to predatory, in reaction to them. Angel thought about just how *long* Wes had stayed on the phone with Spike, a few days ago, and about the fact that Wes had a phone up there in his room. Would it be paranoid of Angel to call the phone company and ask how many calls had been made to Sunnydale from that line in the last few days?

"I can't imagine Gunn ever saying anything like that," Wesley said primly. "I'm a perfect little angel."

More like a perfect little Angelus, Angel thought -- but was wise enough not to say out loud. He reminded himself he had spent several centuries in Hell. He had survived that. He could survive a pissed-off mini-Wes.

"How many strips of bacon do you want?" he asked, hoping to distract Wesley.

"Are you making it on the gas stove?"

"I..er...Wesley, I'm not even sure it works. I don't think--"

"Gunn fixed it. It works perfectly."

"Would it matter if I reminded you I'm bigger than you?" He could always try holding Wes upside down. It had worked with Xander -- he'd started laughing so hard he'd choked, and forgotten all about his revenge on Angel for almost half an hour.

Wesley reached up and grabbed the package of bacon, and headed towards the gas stove. "Fine. Be a big wanker. I'll make it, myself."

And this was bad, why? Angel asked himself. Wes *wasn't* actually four. He could cook bacon. He was perfectly capable of putting an iron skillet atop a gas stove and standing up on a chair and reaching over to turn the flame on and falling off the chair and landing on the burner and setting himself on fire, all by himself.

Which in no way explained why Angel was sighing, and taking the package of bacon away from him, and doing all of that stuff *for* Wes. Except for the setting-on-fire part. Well, at least it meant the bacon and the eggs would cook faster, in separate pans, he rationalized. "Go sit down, Wes."

"No. I want to watch and make sure you don't cock it up."

"I've been cooking for two hundred and fifty years, Wes. I won't cock it up."

"You didn't cook while you had no soul," Wesley countered. "And don't use such language in front of me. I'm a mere child."

"You're a smart ass, and I did so cook when I had no soul." He stopped short of saying what he had cooked. Wesley, four or thirty, didn't need to hear *that*.

"Didn't."

"I did so. Now go sit down."

"Won't. And you didn't, because you didn't eat."

"Fine. I didn't," he pretended to concede. "Sit down and I'll bring you your breakfast."

"It isn't done yet," Wesley pointed out.

"I'll bring it over when it's done," Angel told him.

"Then I'll go sit down when it's done. Did you really cook when you were an evil nasty stupid vampire?"

"I wasn't--" Angel sighed. "Yes, I used to cook. Why don't you help, and go get--"

"What did you cook?"

Angel reminded himself that this was only the beginning. This was the easy part. Wesley wasn't running around, wasn't screaming, and wasn't making Angel pay for things. This was easy. "Um, things. Darla liked to eat, sometimes."

"Eat food, you mean? Because obviously she liked to eat blood, that's what vampires eat. She ate real food? And you cooked?"

Angel was tempted to say he heard Gunn calling Wesley's name. "I cooked," he agreed. Saying nothing, again, about *what* he had cooked.

"But what did you cook?"

Easy. This was easy. He slid crisp slices of bacon onto a plate, then added two sunnyside-up eggs. "Here. Sit down and eat."

Wesley studied the food. "I want scrambled eggs."

Angel calmly took the plate back, scraped the eggs back into the frying pan -- the one on the gas stove -- and scrambled them. Then he returned them to the plate. "Sit down and eat, Wes."

Wesley looked dubiously at the food, but took it over to the table, while Angel turned the gas flame off. When Angel turned around again, Wesley was cheerfully crunching his cereal -- leaving the bacon and eggs to get cold.

Angel glanced at the plate, but didn't mention it. He knew Wesley was only doing to it wind him up. The only way to get back at him was not to notice. He sat down opposite Wesley, and watched him eat, a very small smile on his face. He told himself over and over again, that Wes looked adorable.

Every time Wesley glanced up at him, he found Angel watching him. Watching him with *that* expression. The first three or four times, Wesley just rolled his eyes, or gave him a disdainful look. The bacon and eggs were fully ignored, now, as Wesley ate his cereal.

There was a moment when Wesley reached for the cereal box to pour more, when Angel considered stopping him. But he thought about Gunn's comment that after a few hours of running around at high speed, Wesley would get sleepy and fall asleep on just about anything. Or anyone. His 'isn't he adorable' expression got a little stronger.

Wesley threw his spoon down, glared, then shouted. "Angel's being mean to me!!"

Strangely, no one responded. "I think they might've left already," Angel said calmly. He added a dash of the 'Aww, how sweet, he should be in pictures, he really should' expression that the cashier at Taco Bueno had given Wes a few nights ago. From Wesley's disgusted snort, Angel had got it right. Wesley picked his spoon back up and grouchily attacked his cereal. Angel wondered if he should offer Wes a glass of chocolate milk to drink with it, or if that would give the game away.

*****