He was just about to throw caution to the winds and go find the Nestle's syrup, when Wesley looked up at him with an utterly serious expression. "All right, suppose we call a truce for a moment, since Mum and Dad are gone, and you tell me what they've found out about whoever's behind this whole thing. I know you've heard from Buffy since you lot bawled out Spike."

Angel blinked. It didn't *sound* like a trick. He seemed perfectly sincere. And Angel hadn't been specifically ordered *not* to tell Wesley anything, now that he knew. He'd just been ordered not to upset him. Talking to him would also allow Wesley time to eat a third bowl of cereal. Angel nodded.

He relayed all the information they'd gotten while Wesley ate. He forced himself not to look smug when Wesley reached over and took a piece of bacon and began munching it as he listened to Angel's account. It didn't take long to tell -- since basically all they knew was that Ethan Rayne *might* be behind it, and was somewhere in Sunnydale -- so he told Wesley about the Sunnydale crew's plans to find Ethan, and some of their thoughts on why he was doing it and what they might do with him once they found him.

"Giles wants to turn him into a squid, whether or not he sent them the statue. Just on general principle."

Wesley grinned. "He's obviously regressed."

"No, Buffy said he feels like that all the time."

"Do you think they'll find him?" Wesley asked, as he stealthily moved his hand towards the sugar cereal, to pour a third bowl. Angel pretended not to notice.

"Probably. Willow's spell would have worked, if they'd had something owned by Ethan more recently than his underwear."

Wesley blinked. "His underwear?"

Grinning, Angel relayed *that* part of the story. Wesley listened quietly, until he was halfway into his third bowl of cereal. Then he was laughing too hard to eat. "Don't spit on the table," Angel said, watching as Wes lost all semblance of control. "It's not polite."

Wes just laughed harder.

Angel watched carefully, as Wesley started to turn pink, then slightly bluish. "Um, you know I can't do CPR, right? And if Gunn won't let me do the Heimlich Maneuver on *him*, I think it's probably not an option for you."

Wesley didn't answer, just kept giggling. Angel began to wonder if Wes hadn't gone and got vamped, when Angel wasn't looking. It would explain the evil behaviour, and the lack of respiratory distress...

"If you choke to death, Gunn is going to stake me," Angel said matter-of-factly. "Do you *want* to have to go to Taco Palace by yourself?"

Wesley didn't stop laughing. Maybe he knew that Cordelia would take him to play at Bozo Burgers, after Angel had been turned to dust. He was probably right. Angel waited patiently, knowing that even Xander hadn't been able to keep laughing without a break for more than half an hour. Wesley was reaching for his bowl of cereal, though, even though he hadn't stopped laughing enough to continue eating. Angel pulled it out of his reach.

"Not until you're breathing normally, again."

Wesley opened his mouth, probably to insist he *was* breathing, only he was still laughing and couldn't speak. Then he gasped, suddenly, and Angel knew they were either settling in for round two, laughing hysterically, or Wesley was about to start choking.

Wesley coughed once, and his face screwed up into a little red ball. Angel moved fast enough to be holding him before the next cough came. When it did, he listened. No blockage of the airway. Blood pumping normally towards the brain, if a little fast.

"Not funny, Wes," Angel said, letting his hands unclench from Wesley's shoulders. Taking a breath himself, he wondered if that was why he was still in the habit, after two and a half centuries -- because his friends enjoyed scaring the shit out of him.

Apparently Wesley didn't agree with him, because that remark sent him off into new paroxysms of laughter. Angel sighed, and sat down in Wesley's chair, settling Wes on his knee. At least while he was holding the miniature munchkin from Hell, he could make sure no actual oxygen-deprivation was going on.

Angel glanced down at the table as Wes continued to laugh. With a sudden grin, he reached for Wesley's spoon, and shoved a nice large spoonful of sugared cereal into his own mouth.

"Hey! What're you doing?" The laughter had stopped instantly.

"You weren't eating it..."

"That's mine!" Wesley reached over to grab the spoon away, which Angel held just out of his reach. Wesley glared at him like he'd stolen one of Wes' treasured books. "Give that to me."

"This?" He brought it closer. Wesley lunged, and Angel took it out of reach again. Wesley glared, and pulled back a hand to thump him. Then Wesley's face changed, and he turned around and grabbed the bowl with both hands. Bringing it quickly to his mouth, he tipped it and began swallowing.

Angel had to give him points for determination. He thought about scooting the chair backwards, next time Wesley set the bowl down. Only he didn't set it down. He held it, and continued to gulp -- until he coughed, again, and the remainder of the cereal spilled out, all over Wesley.

Angel grabbed the bowl before it could fall and shatter, and set it on the table. A quick check told him Wesley was only coughing, not no-air-choking. He was looking down at himself, though, and making some *other* noise in the midst of his coughing. Angel guessed that it had something to do with the milk and super sugar crisp all over his pajamas.

When the coughing stopped, Wesley looked up accusingly at him. "Look what you did! Bad vampire."

It really was amazing how much he sounded like Giles. Maybe it was part of Watcher training. Angel stood up calmly and carried the dripping Wesley out of the kitchen. "I'm not a bad vampire. A bad vampire would suck your blood out and stash you in a closet and tell Gunn he'd lost you at the playground."

"He'd stake you."

"It might be worth it," Angel said contemplatively as he carried Wesley up the stairs.

Wes kicked him lightly in the rib. Not enough to really hurt, just enough to remind Angel that he really needed to hide all of Wesley's shoes that didn't have soft toes. "Where are you taking me?" Wesley asked, squirming.

"This place has lots of closets. I thought I'd pick one, then think about whether I'm a good vampire or a bad vampire."

"You're going to lock me in the closet?" Wesley asked quietly.

Angel blinked, then did his best to pretend he had no idea what he'd just said, or what Wesley might have taken it to mean. "Nah. Not really much fun. I think I should suck out all your blood, then turn you into a vampire."

Wes looked up at him, shocked -- for a second. Then he grinned. "Okay!"

"Then Spike will be your big brother," Angel pointed out.

Wesley's delighted expression fell. "On second thought, I don't want to be a vampire."

"Oh, come on! You and Spike will have such fun. Huh -- I wonder if I change you while you're four, if you'd stay four forever?"

"No. And he would not -- he'd be my nephew. Drusilla sired him, no matter what Spike tries to say." Wesley got a thoughtful look on his face. "That would *really* bug Spike, wouldn't it? If I were his uncle." He grinned. "Turn me! Turn me!"

Angel obliged. He turned Wesley upside-down, and kept going up the stairs. Wesley squealed, and thumped Angel, but it was with his fists, not his steel-toed shoes, so Angel ignored him. He realized he was going to have to change his own shirt, as well, after holding a milk-soaked Wesley. Briefly, he considered changing into another navy shirt, but *not* because Lorn said he might stop by. He hadn't, but that didn't mean Angel couldn't take little Wesley out on the town. Right? And if they happened to stop by Caritas...

"Please, please, please!" Wesley was begging happily. Angel grinned, thinking he was gonna get to carry Wesley upside-down all day. Then Wes finished his sentence. "Turn me into a vampire! Please, please, I wanna thump Spike on the head!"

Angel frowned. "But you can do that as a human."

"That wouldn't be fair -- he can't hit back, when I'm human."

Angel paused at the door to Wes and Gunn's room. "You *want* him to hit you back?"

Wesley laughed. "No, dummy. I'd hit him and run away. He couldn't *catch* me, if I was a vampire."

Angel was still confused, as he walked over to the bed, and held Wesley out over it. "Then why do you want him to be able to hit you back?"

"Because he wouldn't bother to *chase* me, otherwise. Stupid bad vampire!"

Angel wasn't sure if Wesley was referring to him, or Spike, but he dumped Wes on his head onto the bed, just for the hell of it. Wesley just laughed, then rolled to his feet and started to bounce.

Angel stifled a grin -- Wes was going to be wearing himself out sooner than expected -- and walked over to the bureau. He pulled open a drawer at random and peeked in. Uh-huh. Gunn's underwear. Interesting fashion choice, he thought as he eyed the tiger-print briefs.

"I bought those for him to wear with the vest," Wesley announced, standing beside Angel.

Angel closed his eyes briefly. He was a fighter of Evil. He regularly did battle with demons, vampires, lawyers, and got covered in all kinds of slimy, muddy, ooey things. But this was a little more than he was prepared to deal with. He most definitely did not want to know what kind of vest, and he was most certainly not imagining possibilities.

"Wesley? How about I make you a deal -- I don't take any more photos of you until noon, and you never, ever tell me about the kind of underwear you buy for Gunn." He glanced down -- carefully keeping his gaze away from the drawer as he closed it, and considered the chances of it being safe to keep searching for Wes' clothes.

He found Wesley looking up at him with a maniacal grin and a gleam in his eye that Angel would have sworn only Spike could do. "Deal! Want to see the non-underwear things I've bought for him?"

Angel groaned. Then he glared at Wesley. "You don't have them here. You would've left them at your place, or Gunn's." Wide, innocent-looking eyes told Angel he was right. Angel glared harder. "We need clean clothes for you to change into."

Wesley started to pout, then he just pointed to another drawer. "My shirts are in there."

Angel went over to the drawer, glad to see Wesley was getting himself out of the splattered pajamas. He pulled the drawer towards him, hesitantly -- and was relieved to see shirts. Normal, unassuming, child-sized shirts. Except-- Angel blinked. Then he grinned. "How about this one?" He pulled out a Rover the Werebat cartoon t-shirt.

"No, I want the other one," Wesley commanded.

"Which other one?" Angel asked as he sorted through the shirts in the drawer. There were a month's worth of t-shirts alone, and that was before he started on the button-downs and... sweaters? It was early May, in California. Wes would be an adult in less than two weeks. Why would he ever need sweaters? Angel shook his head. Apparently someone had gone a little overboard on the 'wouldn't this be adorable.' She'd probably done it with the agency credit card, too. "This one?" he asked, holding up a plain blue T whose general Wesley-ness gave him some sort of forlorn hope that Wes would say yes.

"No." Wesley rolled his eyes. "The Pet Shop Boys one." Angel raised an eyebrow. Wesley raised one right back at him, which was just eerie. "What? Gunn found it for me at the Salvation Army store."

Angel kept his mouth shut, and returned to sorting through the t-shirts. Winnie the Pooh. Tigger, too. Plain. Sugar frosted. Green with purple stripes. But no sign of anything with the Pet Shop Boys on it. "Are you sure it's in here?"

"Of *course* it's in there. Where else would it be -- in Gunn's underwear drawer?"

Angel could only hope not. "It's just that I don't see it."

"You just don't want me to wear it because you don't want people to think you dress your kid in outdated eighties band clothes."

"I'm almost three centuries old. To me, outdated kids' clothes involve ruffles and velveteen, and breeches that button at the knee. I don't care what kind of t-shirts you wear. I just don't see it in the drawer. Maybe it's in the laundry?"

"It can't be in the laundry. I only wore it yesterday. Or the day before." Wesley headed for the bathroom, though, presumably to look.

"If it's in the laundry, which one do you want instead?"

Wesley stopped and looked back at him. "Why can't I wear the Pet Shop Boys shirt?"

Angel actually had to stop and think of a response to that one. Not because he didn't know the obvious answer -- but because he couldn't decide if Wesley were serious, or not. He couldn't be *that* regressed, could he?

More likely this was a 'mess with Angel' game. A rather harmless one, if so. It didn't involve anything to do with his hair, or his own clothing, so he could deal. "Um, Wesley, even if you did wear it already, if it were clean, it wouldn't be in the laundry hamper, would it?" he finally tried.

But Wesley shook his head. He looked a little bizarre, frowning sternly and wearing only what Angel suddenly realized were Harry Potter underoos. He had to try very, very hard not to crack a smile. "Gunn puts my clothes in the hamper. He says otherwise we'd be living in a pig sty." Wesley pouted, without warning. "It isn't my fault it's so far from the dresser to the bathroom. When I get undressed in the evenings, I'm too tired to carry my clothes."

"Uh-huh." Angel was glad he hadn't been saddled with baby-sitting four-year-old Wesley, Spike, *and* Xander. The excuse was a lame one, but he knew where it was going. Or rather where it went, every time Gunn had to get Wesley into bed. Chalk up a point for the vampire who didn't have to put Wesley to bed. "If it's in the hamper," Angel said as logically as possible, "it's got to be dirty. Even if it wasn't dirty before, now that it's been in there with all the other dirty clothes..."

"It isn't dirty," Wesley said just as logically. Except *his* logic was all in the tone, not in the actual content of what he was saying. *His* logic was saying 'I'm four years old, and I'm going to pout if you don't do what I want...' Wesley folded his arms. "Just go look in the hamper. I'm sure it's clean."

'But I'm *afraid* of what I might find in your hamper,' Angel didn't say. Instead, he moved past Wesley -- and when exactly did Wes lose the use of his arms and legs, since *he'd* been headed in this direction a minute ago? -- and into the small bathroom. After a moment's careful digging through the clothes, uncertain as to what might spring out at him, Angel located the t-shirt, and held it up, examining it. "Wes, it's got spaghettios all over it." He could count the little dried orange pasta rings. One, two, three... there was a constellation of them.

Small arms uncrossed. Small hands went to small hips. Small lower lip jutted out. "Are you saying I'm clumsy?"

Angel blinked. "No, I'm saying it's got spaghettios all over it, therefore it's dirty, therefore you'll have to pick something else to wear."

"But I want to wear that t-shirt." The utterly logical voice was straying towards *too* logical, now. Angel looked warily at him. It was difficult to gauge Wesley, on some things. Spike and Xander, for instance, would already be throwing tandemized temper tantrums, checking each other out every so often to make sure the other one's kicking and screaming was still in sync.

With Wesley, he was so subtle about it that you never knew when or if he was going to have a tantrum. When he did, you could never be entirely sure it wasn't for real. At least Angel couldn't, and he suspected Cordelia couldn't, either. Gunn seemed to always know -- either that or he was faking it and just coddled Wesley, regardless. If Wesley was just playing the Angel game, it wouldn't really matter if Angel said yes or no -- the fun was in making things as difficult as possible. All of which meant that if Wesley really wanted to wear this shirt...someone was going to have to do laundry.

"Why don't we have Gunn do the laundry, and you can wear it tomorrow? You can wear Tigger, today." Angel thought he sounded reasonable. Wesley's mouth puckered into the ugliest mad-frown he'd ever seen. "Pokemon?"

Two seconds more and Wesley was going to be screaming. It was still uncertain whether Gunn and Cordelia would come check on things, but a vampire's hearing *was* sensitive. He still didn't know how Spike had managed, when it had been both he and Xander screaming their heads off.

"You have to wear *something* that's clean," he finally said, as sternly as he could.

"Fine. But I'm not going to wear anything stupid!" Wesley stomped over to the bed and sat down, bouncing a few times, belying his angry mood.

Angel sighed in relief, and went back to the drawer to pull out a shirt. He could hear Wesley bouncing, still, then he bounced hard and landed on the floor. "Which shirt *do* you want?"

Then he heard Wesley laugh, and heard light footsteps running for the door. He turned around in time to see Wesley streaking out of the room into the hallway. Literally. His underoos were lying on the bed.

Angel sighed. Right. He could do this. He could catch a single, naked child. He'd chased two of them around Buffy's house for a week. He had vampiric speed on his side, and the naked child wasn't a vampire, nor was he being carried by a maniacally giggling naked four year old vampire who was shouting, 'You're too slow! Quick! Climb aboard!' He was just naked, four year old Wesley.

Who was heading downstairs towards Gunn and Cordelia. Not that either of *them* would be shocked by the sight, but then they would *know* that Angel couldn't catch him. They would know that Angel had been manipulated into a situation where he would *need* to catch Wesley. He took off after the sound of laughter that floated down the hallway.

At the top of the stairs, Angel looked around. No Wesley. No Wesley's naked four year old behind bobbing down the stairs. He looked around to make sure no one was watching, then sniffed the air. Wes had stood at the top of the stairs for a second, but hadn't gone down. Clever little bugger. Angel stalked further down the hall, past the stairs. "Oh, Wesley..." he called lightly, trying to inject just the right amount of psychotic-vampire-gonna-grab-you-suck-up-every-last-drop-of-your-blood into his tone.

He heard a stifled giggle, but Wesley didn't move from wherever he was hiding. Angel walked slowly after him, clearly able to hear Wesley's quick heartbeat not too far away. He wondered if he ought to catch Wesley right away, or if 'can't catch me' would wear him out even sooner than otherwise.

He drew nearer the room Wesley had ducked into, and pushed on the door. "Oh, Weeeeeeeesley," he called out. He looked into the room and spotted Wesley easily. The room was one that had never been cleaned up for occupancy, and was full of dust and sheets draped over the furniture. He headed towards the chair Wesley was hiding behind, exaggerating his tip-toeing up to one side of the chair.

Wesley sped away around the other side, and headed for the door. Angel gave him a two-second start, then went after him. "Nothing a vampire likes better than toying with his meals," he called out, and heard more giggles, which were quickly muffled again.

Angel managed to chase Wesley up and down the hallway, up a flight of stairs and around *that* floor, before he finally had to grab Wesley around the waist or make it entirely too obvious that he was only faking his inability to catch the small but hyperactive human. Wesley screamed that he was about to be eaten, someone come save him, and help, help the bad evil vampire's got me.

Angel didn't have the heart to tell him Gunn and Cordelia had actually left the hotel, ten minutes before. Wait a minute. Not torture Wesley, back? "Wes, they're gone. It's just you and me." He smiled.

"You're lying," Wesley accused.

"No, they really are. I saw them getting into the truck, when I passed the window in Suite 117. Bye-bye, humans. It's just us vamps and pre-vamps, now."

Wes frowned, then his face broke into a wide grin. "Oh, right! I forgot. I'm gonna be Spike's uncle! Okay, I'm ready. Turn me!"

He assumed a vaguely crucified posture, which looked utterly ridiculous when he was being carried down the hall under one of Angel's arms. After Angel had gotten down the stairs and back to Wes and Gunn's room, Angel looked down at Wesley again. Still on his invisible cross. Angel rolled his eyes and dropped Wes on the bed. Wesley rolled over, still playing the martyr, then after a few seconds of Angel not doing anything, he opened his eyes. "You said you'd turn me!"

Angel shook his head. "I'm not turning a naked person. You have to pick some clothes that are good enough to become a vampire in, first."

Wesley frowned suspiciously at him. "Since when? I'll bet Drusilla was naked."

Angel blinked at him. He didn't particularly want to have *that* discussion with Wes, either, though he assumed the adult version had already known most of the details. But still... "No, she was wearing sackcloth, as a matter of fact."

"Penn?"

"Er..." Angel frowned. "I think he was wearing a hat."

Wesley giggled. "What about Mortimer?"

Angel frowned again. "I never had a childe named Mortimer."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I'm pretty sure I'd remember."

"Spike says you did."

"Spike lies a lot. You might have noticed."

"Spike says you had a childe named Mortimer Snerd. And he was even poofier than you."

"Why would I turn someone named Mortimer Snerd? Remember, I was Angelus at the time, which means I was evil. Evil doesn't turn Mortimer Snerds."

"Does, so."

"Doesn't," Angel said reflexively, then suppressed the urge to slap himself on the forehead.

"Does so!" Wesley exclaimed gleefully. He'd climbed to his feet, and began jumping on the bed again. Angel found it vaguely disturbing. Of course, there was the thought that once Wesley had grown up again, he might be quite embarrassed.... Angel found himself smiling. Wesley stopped jumping. "What?"

"Nothing. You wanna get dressed? Something dark, now. Can't be a vampire if you wear bright clothes."

"Xander can. He's said so. If he ever gets turned, he's going to wear neon. And didn't Jay-Don wear bright clothes?"

"None of *my* childer wear bright clothes," Angel growled.

"But I can still wear my Pet Shop Boys t-shirt, right?" There was a hint of a frown which might have been genuine.

Angel pretended to consider. "We could dye it black, I suppose. But only when it's clean."

"OK!" Wesley bounced off the bed and ran towards the dresser. In about ten seconds he'd pulled out dark clothing, and put it all on. Including underwear, socks, and a belt. Angel blinked. And he had no photographic proof.

Of course, Wesley had no shirt. "Wes?"

"What?"

"Aren't you going to pick a shirt?"

Wesley gave him the most hurt, pathetic face he'd ever seen on a living human. It was the eyes. Even Xander couldn't quite get his eyes to go that wide. If Wes ever taught him how to do it, god help the world. "But... you said I could wear my Pet Shop Boys t-shirt."

Angel shook his head. "Yes. After it gets washed."

Wesley was all smiles again. "Okay!" He walked back over to the bed and sat down.

He looked expectantly at Angel. Who blinked and stared at him for a good thirty seconds, before it dawned on him. "You want me to wash the shirt. Now."

"You will? See, I *knew* you weren't a lace-wearing Alsatian-faced monkey-sniffer, no matter what Spike says."

"That's very generous of you," he said politely. It was by far nothing like the worst Spike had ever said about him, even in jest. He was about to explain that Wesley still couldn't wear the shirt if washed, because he'd said it should be dyed black. That would only get him heading down to the store to find fabric dye, so he just sighed. He had to do some of his own laundry, anyway.

He took the shirt, and headed for the door, deliberately not asking Wesley if he would be able to stay out of trouble for two hours. When he reached the door, he stopped and looked back. "Um, you *have* researched this, right? Read the Persivous' Essays on Vampires? It's almost required reading for new vampires."

Wesley blinked slowly. "I've never heard of it."

Which didn't surprise Angel, because he'd made the title up. "Oh, I have a copy of it somewhere in my library. Why don't you go get it, and read a bit while I get this clean?"

He'd barely finished speaking before Wesley was running, again. At least this time he was half-dressed. Angel knew the search for the non-existent book wouldn't keep Wesley busy for two hours. However, the chances were good that he'd find something else interesting, in his search, and get caught up in reading it until Angel was done with the impromptu laundry.

An hour and a half later, Angel was more than impressed with himself. With a little judicious overstuffing of the washer, and understuffing of the dryer due to half of Wesley's shirts being hung up to air dry on the line, he'd managed to cut half an hour off his usual laundry time. Of course, since he hadn't actually washed a single thing of his own, he wasn't sure what he was supposed to be so proud of, but he was studiously ignoring that fact as he walked up the basement stairs and into the lobby.

A trail of knocked-over debris marked Wesley's comet-trail towards the library -- including an overturned potted plant whose scattered dry soil was sad testimony to how often Cordelia remembered to water it. After picking up the pot and replacing it on the front desk, Angel held the basket of garden-fresh (tm) laundry in front of him, and shouted out Wesley's name as he walked towards the library. "I'm in here," came the plaintive response.

Angel poked his head inside the room, to find Wes, still shirtless, sitting atop a large pile of books with a veritable mountain range of them stacked around him. Wesley looked up as Angel entered, his brow knit in frustration.

"What's wrong, Wes?" Angel picked up the Pet Shop Boys shirt, from the top of his neatly-folded laundry pile. "Here you go -- all clean."

Wesley glanced at it, but didn't move to take it from Angel. "I couldn't find it."

"Couldn't find what?" slipped out, before he remembered the book.

Wesley frowned, and even Angel could see that it was for real this time. "Persivous' Essays on Vampires. I've looked everywhere and I can't find it. So I haven't read any of it; I'm sorry."

Angel set the laundry down, and crouched down next to Wesley. He held out the shirt, which Wesley took, reluctantly. "It's OK, Wes--" he began, intending to tell him the joke.

Wesley shook his head. "It isn't OK. I'm supposed to be good at this sort of thing...." He picked up a pad of paper and a pencil, apparently prepared to take notes on his directed course of study. "I'm supposed to be trained for exactly this kind of thing."

Angel knew he'd better act fast to distract Wesley from his perceived failure. Sugar cereal would do it -- but he had something better. He smiled, and said, "That's OK, Wes. I'll still change you."

He changed into his vampire visage and leaned forward, fangs to Wesley's neck.

*****