"Look, I just want to get a few things. I'll be out in a trice." Wes was arguing very earnestly that he should be allowed to go into his apartment by himself. It might have been more convincing, Angel thought, if he could even get his seatbelt off by himself.

"A trice? Do real people in England actually say that, or do you just make that shit up cause you know I don't know?" Gunn asked Wesley. "Never mind," he said, before Wesley could do more than open his mouth. "Point is, you're not going out of this truck alone, so deal with it. Hell, you can't even reach the door lock on your place, now."

"Not to mention your keys are in Gunn's pants," Angel reminded him. While Wesley had changed into his new clothes, Gunn had pocketed all of Wesley's stuff -- wallet, keys, a few things Angel hadn't caught clear sight of as Gunn palmed them quickly and his heartrate accelerated.

Wesley sighed. "I don't need assistance. I can--" He broke off, and Angel could see that he was displeased with the facts his brain was giving him. There was *no* way he could reach the lock on his front door. Mind of a grown man or not, his body was that of a four year old.

Or three year old, Angel told himself silently. Again -- he'd figured out that it pissed Gunn off, to say it out loud. Why Gunn cared that Wesley was an extra-small four year old, he didn't know. "Come on," he said, reaching down to unlatch the seatbelt -- and grabbing Wesley by the back of the pants when he tried to scramble for the door.

"Do you *mind*?"

"Not if you don't mind falling out of the truck onto your head, no," Angel replied calmly. He'd had to be helped up *into* the truck-- so he'd either forgotten about that during the two hour drive, or he was in some serious denial. Angel was betting on the second one.

He shifted over and was about to grab Wesley to lift him down, when Gunn gave a curt shake of his head, unbelted, and opened his own door. In a few seconds, he was opening the passenger door and lifting Wes up in his arms.

Angel tried not to smile. Tried really hard. He didn't want to scare anyone, after all. But it was about as easy not to smile at four-year-old Wes as it had been not to smile at four-year-old Spike. With bubbles in his hair. Which, of course, made him picture four-year-old Wes with bubbles in his hair, and---

"Stop that!" Wes commanded.

"What?"

"Looking at me like that. It's eerie."

"I wasn't looking at you," he denied, though he didn't really expect anyone to believe him.

"And you can put me down, thank you," Wesley said to Gunn.

Angel noticed that Gunn seemed to be having some trouble not smiling, himself. "Look, English, there ain't no way I'm not carrying you up to your place. I'm doing it because I *can*, and you're not ruining my fun." Gunn turned towards the building and headed towards it. Angel followed, and heard Wesley sighing.

Then Wes gave *him* a glare. "You needn't come with us, you know."

"I know," Angel replied easily. And kept following. There was no way he wasn't watching as much of this as he could get away with. Wes was gonna make him pay for it, anyhow, so he might as well enjoy it while he could.

When they reached Wesley's floor, they were met by a friendly-looking woman in a blue housecoat, just coming out of the apartment next to Wesley's. "Oh, hello, Charles. How've you been?"

"Hey, Mrs. Jackson. Not bad." Gunn nodded his head back at Angel. "You know Angel, right?"

She smiled. "Yes, of course. But who's this little guy?" Angel twisted his lips to keep from smirking when she walked over and pinched Wesley's cheek.

"I'm--" Wesley stopped, and suddenly acted shy, ducking his head against Gunn's shoulder. Mostly, Angel figured, because he hadn't expected to meet his neighbor, and so hadn't come up with a plausible story for who he was supposed to be.

"My nephew, Reginald," Angel said quickly. "He's gonna be staying in town for a few weeks while his parents visit Bermuda." Angel smiled calmly as Wesley gave him a disbelieving look, and Gunn tried to stifle laughter he wouldn't be able to explain to Mrs. Jackson.

"Reginald?" She pinched Wes' cheek again. "Aren't you the cutest thing? Do you like visiting your Uncle Angel?" Wesley managed to nod.

"He's a little shy, but he's really a sweet kid," Angel explained, while Gunn fished the keys out of his pocket.

"Well, he's *simply* the cutest thing I've ever seen." Mrs. Jackson gave them a measuring look. "Now, if you boys have any trouble with him, you just call me. I've raised three kids of my own, and I know everything there is to know about bringing up boys."

Angel wondered if she knew how to get a four-year-old vampire down from off the top of the refrigerator, while his equally four-year-old boyfriend was hanging on to your knee and yelling at you that you were ruining the Great Cookie Jar Robbery and you were a Big Mean Doofus With Perpendicular Hair. Angel did. It mostly involved waiting.

"We'll keep that in mind," he promised as he followed Gunn into the apartment. Once inside, with the door shut behind them, Gunn set Wesley down. The diminutive demon hunter whirled on Angel. And just about tripped over his own shoelaces, because he'd insisted on getting the lace-up ones instead of the velcro. Angel had warned him that four-year-old feet had the magic power to make any shoelaces come untied within ten minutes of putting them on, but would he listen?

"Reginald?" Wes asked as he struggled to maintain his balance.

"It was the first thing I thought of," he said, as if it really had been, and he hadn't spent half an hour on the drive home thinking up good names. Wesley continued to glare at him, as if he thought it just might have an effect. Heh. He'd been the Scourge of Europe, and he'd babysat Xander and Spike for several hours at a time. This was nothing. "Besides, it's a good English name. Um, isn't it?"

Wesley didn't seem to care to dignify that with an answer. He sat down and began re-tying his shoes, while Gunn headed for the bathroom. Angel watched as Wesley tied his laces, and wondered if the four-year-old would appreciate Angel pointing out how adorable he looked with his face all screwed up in concentration like that.

Maybe he should have taken the disposable camera Buffy had offered him. After a moment's thought, he grinned, and pulled his pen and notebook from his pocket. Turning two pages past the one he'd shown to Gunn, on which he'd written 'No pony, right? We agreed, no pony' -- he began to sketch.

The short hair-- which had stayed short, unlike Spike's sudden mop of curls -- framed a thin, pale face, filled with a very adult sort of determination, as the small fingers doggedly looped the laces into a lopsided bow. Angel had finished the sketch, absently added his habitual Celtic A signature, and had been thinking deeply for at least thirty seconds about what to call the finished painting, before Wesley looked up at him.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing..." Angel said, pocketing the notebook with a particularly Angelus-like smirk.

Wesley walked over and, with his fists on his hips, looked up at Angel with the most *innocent* expression Angel had ever seen...in the last half hour. "Angel?" he asked, very sweetly.

"Hey, I got your toothbrush and every-- Angel? What are you doing?" Gunn stood in the doorway with a small bag in his hands.

Angel blinked. "What am *I* doing?" Wesley was the one looking innocent.

Gunn gave him a 'yeah, right' look. "Wes? What else you want besides your toiletries?"

"I'd like to take some books. I'm in the middle of Durst's Compendium of Demon Arts." He dropped the innocent look and went over to his bookshelf, then muttered and went over to the couch. Then over to the chair, then into the bedroom.

When he came back out again, looking frustrated, Gunn asked, "Uh, is that a little blue book, about this thin? Gold letters on the cover?"

"Yes, why? Do you have it?" Wesley walked over and took the bag from Gunn's hands.

"No, I think it's at my place." Gunn grinned. "You know, that night when we got back from fighting that banshee? And you said you were too tired, and you just wanted to read, and you got maybe through half of a chapter before--" Wesley kicked him in the shin."Damn, I'm gonna haveta start callin' you MLK, ain't I."

Wesley gave him a curious expression. "Doesn't that usually stand for Martin Luther King?"

"Yeah, but in your case, it's Mean Little Kid."

Wesley shrugged. "You were warned."

"When was I warned?"

"In the truck. You don't learn from experience?"

Gunn gave him a look like 'I bet I'm gonna have a *hell* of a learning experience this month' -- and Angel couldn't help but agree with him. "Yeah, maybe. Those shoes *hurt* though. What, they got steel toes?" Wesley sniffed, obviously having decided that wasn't worthy of an answer. "You got everything else you want?" Gunn asked. Wesley nodded, then frowned.

"I..." He looked distrustfully at Angel, then beckoned to Gunn, who walked over with a grin and leaned down. Wes whispered, "Rupert" in Gunn's ear, then blushed, as it hit him that Angel could hear what was going on outside in the hall, much less something whispered a few feet away from him.

Gunn just smiled. "That's at my place too, remember?"

"So it looks like we're stopping by your place, next," Angel said, trying to look like he wasn't thinking of drawing a picture of Wesley, sleeping with his teddy bear.

"Stopping at...? Angel, I'm staying there. Not stopping by." The four-year-old version of Wesley was as good as the adult version at looking at Angel like he'd done something inexplicable.

But this time at least Angel knew what he was talking about. "No, you're staying at the hotel. Gunn, too," he added.

Wesley got a stubborn frown on his face. "There is no reason--"

"I promised Cordy," Angel explained. It was sort of true -- Gunn had figured that if Wes stayed at his place, Wes would *stay* at his place, the entire time. Hide under the bed or something. If they were at the hotel...where Angel, and Cordelia, and anyone else who wandered by could get at him, they might stand a chance of making Wesley *enjoy* his second childhood.

Wesley challenged him, arms crossed over his little overnight bag. "And I should care if Cordelia kicks your arse for making promises that aren't yours to keep?"

Gunn stepped in and saved Angel from having to come up with any further excuses. "Come on, Wes. We stay at the hotel, you can sneak up and shove shaving cream under the door to Angel's room. And do that thing with the lights that--"

Wes cut him off. "Yes, all right, don't spoil everything. A man has to have *some* secrets." After double-checking that he really did have everything else he wanted, they shut and locked the door-- and Gunn grabbed Wesley again. "You don't have to do this, you know," Wes said.

Gunn grinned. "Yeah, you're right. Here," he said, handing Wesley to Angel, who grabbed him despite the well-timed kicking. He'd been expecting it sooner or later, and knew when to duck. Besides, Spike kicked harder than this when he *wasn't* serious.

*****

Cordelia looked up as the front doors opened. She'd been waiting impatiently ever since Dawn had called and said they were on their way back to LA. She'd already bought all the film she needed. It looked like she needed some *now* -- Angel was carrying Wesley, who was kicking Angel in the stomach, over and over. From the look on all their faces, Wesley had been doing so for awhile.

Then she blinked. "Oh my god! You are *so* cute! Is this what your kids will look like? Because if so, have some. Have lots." She grabbed Wesley out of Angel's arms, and held him up for inspection. Wesley rolled his eyes.

"I am *not* a side-show attraction. Would you please set me down?"

"Are you gonna run off and hide as soon as I do?"

"Of course," Wesley replied, sounding offended that she'd even asked. She giggled.

"Can I get one picture first?"

"I don't see why you're asking. You're all going to do your best to make this as uncomfortable and awkward as possible--"

"Uh-huh. That's why you keep kicking and pinching anyone who gets within arm's reach?" Gunn asked.

"He's not kicking Cordelia," Angel pointed out.

She snorted. Mini-Wes looked at her, and she stared right back at him. "That's because we understand each other. That is, he understands that if he kicks me, I'll make *damn* sure he regrets it, three and a half feet tall or not."

"I should think you'd know that I wouldn't hit a woman, whether you, or anyone else," Wesley said, sounding insulted.

Cordelia snorted. "Considering the number of women you know who could kick your adult-sized ass, it's a pretty smart philosophy. Now, I did ask politely-- can I get a picture?"

She could see in his face that he was about to agree -- put up a fuss, no doubt. But as he opened his mouth, Angel said, "That doesn't seem fair."

Cordelia looked over at him, setting Wes onto her hip as she did, before her arms gave out. "I don't believe this," Wesley muttered.

"What isn't fair?" Cordelia asked.

"Well, that he wouldn't hit women, but he'll hit -- and kick -- men. That doesn't seem fair."

Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "You think he should hit women?"

"No, I think he shouldn't be allowed to hit men, either. Or do things to their favorite black sweater."

"You're the one who insisted we stop for ice cream, so you could watch me eating it, and make hideous cooing noises," Wesley said. "It's your own fault, and besides, club soda will take that strawberry syrup right out."

"That still doesn't explain why you're using me as a walking punching bag," Angel complained.

"It's not as if you can't take it," Wes shot back.

"That's not really the point." Gunn's voice was quiet, and Cordelia looked up at him, startled to hear him sound so serious in the middle of what she thought was pretty much the usual snappy banter, more or less. "He's hittin' and pinching 'cause he hates bein' little, and he's afraid everybody's gonna take advantage of it. Which I guess we have been, kinda."

The blank look on Wesley's face said everything, if you knew him. Cordelia slowly set him down onto his own two feet. He adjusted his shirt slightly, then nodded his thanks to her. "I don't get it; if you don't wanna be four, why'd you touch the statue?"

Wesley glared at Gunn. "Blackmail." There was a pause, then Angel snickered. Cordelia joined him, even as Wesley frowned again. "It isn't amusing."

"Oh, of course not, Wes," Cordelia assured him. Then she snickered again, and she heard what sounded a lot like a snicker from Gunn.

"I might not hit women, but I think I could possibly bring myself to pinch one," Wesley said to her.

She bent down and looked in his face. "I'll pinch you back. Goes both ways, buddy-- you don't want us to push you around 'cause you're little and do stuff we wouldn't do when you're a tall skinny dork, you don't get to do stuff the tall skinny dork couldn't get away with, just 'cause you think I won't do anything, 'cause you're little."

Angel looked like his eyes were about to roll in opposite directions as he tried to figure out what she'd said, but Wesley got it, and nodded, finally. "That seems fair. To a point."

"Meaning you're still gonna kick Angel every chance you get."

"Well, of course."

"Good. Maybe I should have taken a turn; then I'd get to kick him, too." Cordelia gave Angel a thoughtful look. Angel looked scared. She smiled. It was good to keep Angel from getting too complacent.

Although she suspected that Wesley would be doing a good enough job of that, especially once he started really regressing. She thought about some of the things Willow had told her Spike and Xander had done, and decided that Angel should be uncomplacent enough to last a year.

"So how are the others? Did you get any pictures of Willow and Tara?" She remembered Willow at four, of course -- if vaguely. It wasn't that she really cared if those two were cute -- but asking would distract Wesley while she grabbed the camera.

"Dawn promised us copies of everything, if we give them copies of everything," Angel said, sending a guilty look to Wesley.

"Marvelous," was the only thing that came from that direction. Then, "No, actually, it is. There's some shots of you in...what was it? Care Bear boxer shorts, that Xander made you buy?" Wesley sounded thoughtful, now. "Do we have to trade picture for picture, or just a full swap?"

"I think I should get to go through them first," Angel tried. There were snorts all around.

"Doesn't matter, Willow will still have the negatives," Wesley said smugly. "And I believe she was talking about scanning them and creating a website?"

"Oo, really? That would be great. We could link to it right off the Angel Investigations page," Cordelia said as she pulled her camera out and snapped a picture of Angel, looking pained, and Wesley, smirking like all get-out. She snapped another quick picture of him, then held the button down and let the auto-wind capture his image as he went from smug, to annoyed, to pouting. When she put the camera down, she just smiled sweetly. "Thanks."

"You're not welcome."

Cordelia set the camera aside, and regarded the mini-Wesley. "You know, you really *are* grumpy."

"Yeah, why don't we...." Gunn came forward, and held out his hand. Wesley hesitated a moment, casting Gunn a doubtful look, before he took it, and let Gunn lead him out of the hotel lobby.

Cordelia watched them go. When they disappeared up the stairs, she turned to Angel. "So. You think we can make him loosen up and enjoy himself? Before we strangle him?"

"Before?" Angel looked thoughtful. "Maybe," he finally said.

"You think..." She stopped, not quite sure what she was going to say. "With the kicking, and the hitting, and the pinching... That's not Wesley's style, afraid of getting taken advantage of, or not."

The look that Angel gave her was one that she hadn't seen in a while, not since they'd had the telekinetic staying with them, and Wes had tried that damn fool stunt with bringing up her father. "I don't think he could get away with kicking anybody when he was really four," Angel said.

"You're saying he's been harbouring a secret desire to kick people?" she said, not believing for an instant that Angel had a clue what he was talking about. No big surprise there.

But Angel shook his head. "Not want to -- just being able to. Like last year when Spike's chip malfunctioned for an hour after he got zapped by the television? He spent 56 minutes hunting down people to bite...and didn't actually bite any of them."

"Because Anya would have kicked his ass." Angel sighed, and Cordelia thought about what he was trying to say. "You think he's just...letting himself do it, because he can?"

"Maybe not consciously," Angel replied. Cordelia gave him a look, until Angel gave her a paranoid one, back. "What?"

"You know, for a two hundred and some year old vampire, you're getting pretty good at the human pysche thing."

"Just...I'm gonna get struck by lightning if I say 'practicing,' aren't I?"

She made her face as blank and innocent as possible. "For having your own four year old?"

The look on Angel's face was better than a double hot-fudge sundae with chopped nuts and bananas and whipped cream and somebody rubbing her feet while naked men wrestled in oil in front of her. Well, almost. It was really fortunate she'd been anticipating it, and had raised the camera in time.

When he scowled, she put the camera down. "Because, I just gotta say, I've already done my pregnancy bit." Then she turned and walked away, smirking to herself at *that* expression.

*****

Wes went upstairs with Gunn, not saying a word. He held Gunn's hand readily enough, but Gunn knew somehow that if he tried doing as he'd been doing at every opportunity -- carrying him -- he would get a fireball up his ass.

They headed for the room he'd asked Angel to set aside for them, having anticipated needing to bring Wesley here, rather than his own place. Partly for the strength in numbers thing -- he figured it would take three adults to control Wesley once he got into the kid thing. But partly to *get* him into the kid thing. He wouldn't unless he knew he was safe. And that meant safe *emotionally* as well as physically, and that was what Gunn had forgotten til now.

Somewhere in the middle of looking at Wes in his four-year-old body, in the BabyGap cords and the plain black Keds because he didn't want any shoes with cartoon characters or lights that go off when you run, thank you, he'd gotten caught up in going 'awww,' and he'd forgotten that Wes had some major issues going on.

It wasn't like Wes ever minded playing the idiot if he had to, or looking like one accidentally, as an adult, so it hadn't really sunk in how *serious* Wesley was about them drawing attention to his kid-size body. His brain might know that the three of them would not only not hurt him, but would protect him from anything that even looked like it was gonna sneeze at him, but that wasn't all there was to protect him from.

He turned on the light, and set Wesley's bag down on the dresser. It was a low one that even squirt-Wesley could reach, which was a nice touch. He'd have to thank Angel. He turned around to find Wesley surveying the room, wandering over to touch the chair, then the dresser, then the bed. Like he was learning how to navigate a room where the furniture was suddenly all taller than he was.

Gunn watched for a moment, taken aback at how he *looked*. Not just 'isn't he adorable,' though it was tough getting past that one. The serious expression on his face and the careful way he moved made Gunn want to catch him up and hold him tight. Give him a raspberry in the middle of his stomach, just to see if he could make Wes laugh.

But there was also the hint of other things in his eyes, on his face, in every motion he made. Hesitant, and worried, the way no four-year-old should look. It might just have been because Wes *wasn't* four.

Gunn held out his hand, when Wesley looked over and found him watching. His young face darkened briefly, before he walked over. Gunn picked him up, then, ignoring for the moment Wes' immediate objection. He stepped backwards, towards the chair, and sat down, arranging Wesley in his lap.

"Really, Charles, I--"

"I'm sorry, Wes," he said. Wesley was trying to squirm down, and Gunn tightened his arms. Just tight enough to say 'Stop it now, let me talk to you for a minute.' Just loose enough, he hoped, that Wes wouldn't freak out and start squirming even more. "I know this stuff scares you. Forgot for a while, cause I got all caught up in how cute you look."

There was a sniff, or maybe it was a snort, from the little body in his arms, but the squirming had died down. Maybe it was what he said, maybe it was the fact that he'd started the chair rocking, very slowly.

"You should be used to it, you know," Wesley said casually.

"Huh? Oh - you looking cute? I am, I mean, you are. I just...." He stopped as Wesley giggled. Gunn grinned. Giggled. Damn. He'd have to make Wes do *that* more often. He pressed a kiss against Wes' temple, and heard a sigh.

"You realize you needn't keep doing that. I'm fine." Wes didn't sound as if he expected his lover to believe him, but felt obligated to assert it anyhow.

"You realize I don't care? For once I can hold you and kiss you as much as I want, even in public, and the only dirty looks we'll get is from people who think a fine young black man like myself shouldn't have a white boy for a son."

"I thought I was to be Angel's nephew?"

"Ain't like we're gonna hang a sign around your neck. Every time we go to the Discovery Zone, or Dave and Buster's, or the park, or Disneyland--"

"We aren't going to just stay home?" Wesley tilted his head back to look up at him, his voice serious and with a hint of pleading, but his eyes were dancing.

"For a month? Even you can only watch so many re-runs of 'Keeping Up Appearances' before you start throwing things when Hyacinth comes onscreen."

"I can't help it; she reminds me of my aunt Millicent. *She* used to sing at me, too." The shudder Wes gave him was mostly faked, he could tell.

"Yeah, well I can guarantee we're not gonna spend every day inside while you throw popcorn at Mrs. Bucket. You and me, we're goin' places."

Wes pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Can we go to the aerospace museum? They have a lunar lander that you can crawl into. If you're small enough."

Gunn smiled. "Yeah, we can go to the aerospace museum. Hey - we only have to pay half price for you." Wesley poked him in the ribs, and Gunn laughed. "Hey! And think of all the places where they have cool children's menus."

"Like Burger King?" Wesley asked, snidely. They'd once had a large debate about whether they could stop at the fast food place that was *right* next door to where they'd finished slaying some demons, or if they ought to go two miles over to a place where Wesley claimed he could get real food.

"You can get a paper crown."

Wes snorted. "I think not."

"Do that again."

Wesley looked up at him, raising one eyebrow. "Do what again? Insult your taste in alleged eating establishments?"

"Make that noise. The one where you... um... or hey, we could go to the barber shop and pretend it's your first haircut, and you can throw a big fuss and they'll all give you candy to make you shut up..."

Wesley snorted again.

"Yeah, that noise."

"Why?" Wesley demanded, glaring up at him.

"Because," Gunn replied calmly, "If I don't tease you, you'll think I've been taken over by a burrower demon." Wesley regarded him for a moment, his glare softening into something else. He sniffed. Gunn glared at him. "You better be yanking my chain with that poor me pout."

There was silence for a moment, before Wes said quietly, "Well, possibly," in a very normal tone of voice.

Gunn smiled, and they rocked quietly for a while. It was actually nothing they hadn't done before; Cordelia had found him a beat-up old glider loveseat at Goodwill, a year or so ago, back when she'd taken one look at his apartment, declared it not fit for man or demon to live in, and gone on a redecorating spree. He'd thought it was kind of old-granny looking, but it had grown on him, especially late at night when he and Wes would stay up talking in front of the TV, softly gliding back and forth, neither one of them even noticing who was pushing against the floor with a sock-footed toe, to keep the thing going.

"You feel like I bullied you into this?" he asked eventually. Wes looked up, seeming startled, and Gunn cursed inwardly-- Wesley had almost been about to fall asleep, and now he was blinking and flattening his lips. Like it couldn't have waited until tomorrow.

But Wes' eyes cleared quickly, and he shook his head slowly. "I admit, I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't...persuaded me. But I could have said 'no' - I *am* a grown man, and have--"

He stopped as Gunn lost control of his grin. Wesley's gaze held steady, one beat, then two, then Gunn lost all control and laughed. He tried telling himself that he'd decided *not* to laugh at Wes, at least not until his lover was more secure in his four-year-old state. But to see that little face and hear that high-pitched voice assuring him that he was quite grown up....

"I *am* a grown up, Charles," Wesley repeated, sounding quite stern. But he was very obviously fighting a smile of his own.

Gunn just pulled him close -- mostly so he wouldn't have to look Wesley in the face -- and hugged him tight. "I know you are. But -- damn! You're adorable. I can't help it."

"Well, of course you can't," Wesley replied, smugly. After a few seconds he added, "You can, however, loosen up a bit. I've been de-aged, not vampirized; I still have to breathe."

"Yeah, yeah. 'Cause you're talking with what, now-- your amazing mind powers?" Gunn didn't loosen his hug, not one bit.

"My mind isn't amazing? That's not what you told me last week."

"Last week you figured out a way to use a socket wrench as... Damn, I can't say this stuff to you when you look like this. Somebody's gonna arrest me." Wesley looked up at him with wide, guileless eyes. Gunn wanted to poke him in the nose to see if he'd deflate. "Yeah, like that." Gunn nodded. Then he realized something -- "Damn! I'm gonna get no sex for four weeks!"

Not unless he cheated on Wes, which would involve a lot more than being guilted by adorable eyes. Suddenly he understood what Spike had been whining about. It wasn't like he'd never gone that long, or longer, without -- but never when he'd been in a relationship like this one. It would be like before, when they were still just friends and playing around, and he was stuck with fantasizing. Only this time he'd *know* what he was missing.

Wesley laughed-- or, no, giggled, really. Which was gonna take some getting used to. Gunn glowered at him, purposely hiding the smile that the high, innocent sound was teasing out of him. "Oh, fine for you-- you ain't gonna miss it."

Wesley shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "And how exactly is that my problem?"

"It's--" Gunn had the sudden urge to stick his tongue out, but he didn't give in.

"Yes?"

"Ain't it past your bedtime or something?"

"Hardly." Wesley settled back against Gunn, wriggling a little until he was snuggled in. Gunn snickered, but adjusted his hold on Wes so he'd be comfortable. They sat that way for a while, slowly rocking again. It was, despite all the weirdness attached, the most comfortable thing he'd felt in a long time.

Made him wonder if he should be thinking about kids. His own -- if he thought for a minute he could keep them safe from the evils of the world, long enough for them to grow up and join the war. Bad enough you had to protect them from germs and bullies and guns at school. He wasn't so sure he could have his kids running around while daddy was off killing vampires.

He looked down at the small figure in his lap, hearing Wes' breathing evening out again and feeling him grow steadily more limp. Wondering, not for the first time tonight, or even the tenth, how his lover had ever managed to survive being this small, this fragile, in the world in which he'd grown up. Which didn't have guns in the schools or vampires on the streets-- at least not until he'd become a Watcher-- but had been just as dangerous. How had he managed to grow into the man he'd become?

Gunn wondered what that man would look like, holding a child. He grinned, and was happy nobody else in the room was awake to ask what he was grinning about.

*****
Part 4:

Xander let his head fall against the wall, panting hard. He was careful not to let it thump -- didn't want to wake up any Slayers sound asleep upstairs, or any four-year-old witches asleep on the couch. Xander had *tried* to convince Spike to go a little farther than right outside the door on the back porch -- but that had lasted until Spike started unzipping his jeans. Now, he was just concentrating on not falling over.

After a moment he had more air, and he said, "Spike? If we ever go *more* than two weeks without sex...I think it may kill me. Not the not-having sex," he clarified quickly. "The having-of-sex, afterwards."

"Sissy," Spike accused. "That wasn't even remotely rough. You've done more athletic stuff with Anya, before I even came into the picture." Said the guy who didn't *have* to try to breathe and think at the same time.

"Not after abstaining for two weeks," Xander reminded him. Spike gave a little chuckle, then a 'huh' sound.

"What?"

"What's the longest you actually went without, back when it was just you two?"

Xander tried to think. And breathe. "Um... utterly without? Couple of days, I guess."

Spike raised an eyebrow. Xander sighed, and waited. "I'm impressed," Spike finally said. "Two whole days. My, how ever did you--"

Xander slapped a hand over Spike's mouth. "Do you want to be invited to round three of the 'Welcome Home, Anya' party?" Spike just blinked at him, over his hand. Then he nodded. "Then shut up and go inside before I wonder why it is I'm still standing. Because I *don't* know why I'm still standing. I wanna go to bed." Spike waggled his eyebrows -- and looked ridiculous, since Xander still had his hand over the vampire's mouth. Then he pulled his hand back with an exaggerated "Eeew!" He wiped Spike-saliva off his palm, then grabbed Spike by the jacket-sleeve. "Inside, buster."

As he manhandled, or rather, vamphandled, Spike through the back door and tried to push him quietly through the darkened kitchen, Spike was grumbling under his breath. "Why the hell do I let you push me about like this, again, peabrain?"

"Something about how I can kick your chipped ass if you don't?" Xander pulled him up short when they got to the kitchen threshold, and covered Spike's mouth again, over whatever answer he'd been about to make. "Shut up, ass-chip," he hissed. "Gotta make it back upstairs without waking up the perimeter guards."

"What perimeter guards?"

Xander slowly turned and looked over at the doorway. There, in a adult-sized t-shirt nightgown, stood a sleepy little Willow.

"Um, hi, we were just--" Xander began.

"Sneaking in after finally getting a good boff in," Spike said,

Xander hit him. He wasn't sure exactly why - it wasn't like Willow didn't know he had sex. Even sex with Spike. But still... Of course there was the simple fact that hitting Spike was *fun*. Xander hit him again.

"Oi! Not in front of the children," Spike chastised. Then he moved forward, crouching down to scoop up the fake-child. "Do you need a glass of water, little one?" His voice was all talking-to-a-kid, and it made Xander roll his eyes. Willow gave him a suspicious look.

"No, actually I wanted more ice cream."

Spike didn't do very well at hiding his snort. Xander couldn't blame him-- Willow had walked right into that one. "I think you tots ate it all. But we'll pop out and get some. Anything for you, Will," Spike oozed sweetly.

"We will *not* pop out and get some. I want to go to bed," Xander said, hauling Spike up by his collar.

"Well, all right. Bed's as good a place as--"

"To *sleep*, peroxide-breath." Xander looked down at Willow. "You really want some more ice cream? I think there's Neapolitan left." She nodded, after sticking her tongue out at Spike. "You do know," Xander said as he released Spike and swooped Willow from his arms in a move that used up every last bit of energy that his body possessed, but was worth it, "that I can't make ice cream without a witch under my arm. Right?"

She squealed, then settled down to wriggling and thumping him with her fists, as he fixed her a bowl of ice cream. He did let her start to 'slip' once, so that she was dangling head down-wards. It would have been a bad move had she had the strength to pummel him well. As it was her fists bounced off his butt with little enough force that he could pretend not to notice.

"You do know that's my butt you're hitting?" he heard Spike say -- after about the fiftieth strike.

"So? You weren't hitting it," she said in a reasonable tone.

"I can fix that--" Spike began.

Xander whirled around, pressing his back up against the counter and letting Willow drop to her feet. "You are *not*, no way, no how, in any way shape or form hitting me in the butt in the kitchen in front of Willow."

Spike smiled. "Wills, darling, here's your ice cream. There's a good girl." He handed her the bowl, then nudged her towards the door.

"Eep!"

"You didn't say anything about behind Willow's back," Spike protested as Xander marched him through the living room with one hand yanking up the beltloop at the back of his jeans, so that Spike was forced to either walk on tiptoe or suffer the dreaded Xanderwedgie.

Xander yanked Spike's jeans up higher, and rubbed his own butt with his free hand. He seemed to be doing that a lot, tonight. "You know, even Anya's finally figured out when it is and isn't appropriate to smack somebody on the ass," Xander said as he nudged Spike up the stairs. "Why haven't you?"

Spike snickered. "I know when it's appropriate. I just don't care."

"Gee, just like you were evil, huh?"

"Yeah! Grr!" Spike sounded proud of the fact.

Which was what Xander was aiming for. "Which explains you tucking the blanket around Tara after she fell asleep earlier, how?"

Spike didn't say anything as Xander steered him up the rest of the stairs. Xander let go when they reached the second floor, and Spike took a step towards Joyce's room. "Hey." Xander stopped him.

"What?" Spike gave him a suspicious look.

He grinned, and pointed towards Buffy's's room. Spike was still looking confused, then the lightbulb blinked on, and he followed Xander over to the doorway. They both peeked in, to see a small figure tucked under the covers of Buffy's bed.

"Looks an utter innocent, don't he," Spike whispered. "Like he never called up demons or played electric bass or told anybody who might not know otherwise that he toured with Pink Floyd."

"He told you he toured with Pink Floyd?"

"Nah, told Anya that, when she was flippin' through his LP collection."

Xander looked at the sleeping four year old, and grinned. "She thought Floyd was some kind of pink demon, didn't she."

Spike just grinned evilly.

"He seems awfully...." Xander trailed off, but waggled his eyebrows.

Spike frowned. "Awfully evil?"

Xander whapped him on the head. "No. Well, yes, but not what I meant. What I mean, is, he's all alone in there. Who's he gonna wake up snuggling?"

Spike slowly grinned. He shot a look at the sleeping-unaware Giles, then nodded. "It'd be a shame, him waking up all lonely and the like. Poor bugger'd probably have a fit."

They exchanged grins, just like they did right before they snuck into Giles' office or bathroom or bedroom or kitchen with a jar of plastic bugs. Once it had been real ones that they'd spent hours collecting, but Giles had simply squashed them. Then he'd told Anya on them, which, of course, was half the fun. The other half was the fact that he *had* to know by now that she wouldn't do anything to them that they didn't like, so it was kind of one step away from...

Xander couldn't even finish the thought, looking as he was at the itty bitty version of Giles. They tiptoed into the bedroom, Spike with one eyebrow raised an a finger to his lips, and Xander carefully pulled back the covers. "You want left or middle?" he whispered.

Spike looked at him. Looked at the sleeping Giles. Frowned. Xander could see him trying to work out the logistics of who would wake up snuggling who, and what would embarrass Giles more, vs. a certain vampire's unadmitted addiction to hanging onto Xander at night like he was a giant stuffed teddy boy. Um, teddy bear. "Don't suppose we could all just sleep in a big pile, like we do at home?"

"We'd squish him," Xander whispered back. "He's little, and he still has to breathe." He slipped off his shoes and slid into the bed, carefully moving Giles over towards the wall, and making a space beside himself for Spike.

"What if we put him on top of you, and I grab you both?" Spike suggested.

"Hmm." Xander realized the idea had merit. Giles was small and light enough that *he* wouldn't get squished, and it had all the benefits of embarrassing him when he woke, *and* letting Spike sleep soundly. Xander carefully laid down and pulled Giles on top of him. Giles mumbled a little, stirred slightly, then latched onto Xander as tightly as Spike usually did.

Spike grinned, nodding in approval, then slid into bed next to them. "Right, then. Say 'goodnight, Xander'."

"Kiss me, and I'll consider it," he whispered back. Then he had a tongue in his mouth, and couldn't say anything.

*****

Buffy stretched as she crawled out of bed, and accidentally-on-purpose whapped Dawn in the side of the head. "Hey... watch it, buttface," Dawn muttered without even opening her eyes.

Buffy stuck out her tongue at her sister, and walked down the hall towards the bathroom, still yawning. A quick peek into the room that had been her Mom's had her blinking. Xander and Spike couldn't have gone out for ice cream *again*, could they? Nah-- it was a bright, cheery morning, and even Spike wasn't horny enough to risk being turned to ash for a backseat quickie. Well, not usually. She glared at the empty bed.

They'd *better* not be doing it in the bathroom. It was her house, and she was *not* going to stand in the hallway doing the Peepee Dance while Pointy Face and Puppy Head got it on in the shower. All right, so she *could* go downstairs and use the toilet. Except flushing it *wouldn't* affect the water temperature in the upstairs shower, darn it, so there wasn't much point.

But a quick recon told her there were no young-adult delinquents in the bathroom. So - where were they? Making breakfast? Sheyeah, right. Buffy shook her head and decided to cheat. She closed her eyes and used her Slayer senses to locate the nearest vampire. Who was apparently in *her* bedroom. Buffy narrowed her eyes. If they were desecrating *her* bed, they were dead men-and-vampires.

She stomped -- quietly, so she wouldn't wake any four year olds -- up to her door, and got her best glare ready. And stopped. Then ran back to grab Dawn's camera.

"Hey, m'tryin' to sleep here," Dawn protested as Buffy threw clothes left and right, trying to find where Dawn had left her camera.

"Oh, God, get up; you have to see this." She used a little unfair Slayer advantage to haul Dawn bodily out of bed, stopping to grab the camera when she spied it among the mess that covered the top of Dawn's dresser.

"What the--" Dawn said huffily, and Buffy put a finger to her lips, pointing in the direction of her own room. Dawn gave her a quizzical look, but followed her over to the doorway, and peeked in.

Dawn's hands flew to her mouth, stifling whatever squealing noise she would have made. Buffy just raised the camera and started snapping off shots.

All three were sound asleep -- though Xander *might* have been faking, and who cared as long as he didn't move and wake the other two. He was on his back, one arm around Spike, at his side, and one arm around Giles. Who was lying partly on top of Xander, snuggling him, and partly on Spike. Snuggling *him*.

Buffy took several more pictures, just in case the photo-mart ruined five of them. These photos were going to get her out of interfering-with-her-life training bouts, for *years*.

"What's going on?" came a little voice behind her, and Dawn leapt down to slap her hand over Willow's mouth. Buffy pointed to the bed, and Willow, after prying Dawn's hand away, shrugged. "So?" she said, quietly enough that Dawn didn't try to shush her again. "Xander and Spike sleeping together. We've seen it before. Okay, not usually with this many clothes on..."

Buffy lifted her up, so that she could see Giles, lodged between/on-top-of them. Willow shrugged again. Buffy stared at her.

Dawn grinned, however. After Buffy put Willow back down, Dawn knelt down and patted her on the head. "Someday, when you become a woman, my child," she intoned, "you'll understand."

Willow just rolled her eyes. "You two have obviously never seen the two of them sleeping on the floor after being up all night watching movies."

Buffy gave the threesome-in-bed a doubtful look. "Cuter than this?"

Willow nodded. "Much."

Buffy gave the threesome another look, then shook her head. There was no way. But she shooed Willow and Dawn out of the room, to let Giles wake up and find himself snuggling two men he'd swear he'd rather see dipped in demon-attracting goo, than admit he'd ever snuggled. Hence the incriminating photos.

Of course, a virtuous person would follow her best friend and her sister down the hall, towards showers and other things that bathrooms could be used for, and leave the boys to deal with that precious moment, when it came, in relative privacy. Good thing I'm a bitch, she thought happily, as she stood in the hallway and peeked back around the doorframe. Then she took a deep breath.

"Spike, put down that book-- it's really old, and I don't think Giles would want you to use it for a coaster."

Three pair of eyes shot open-- Xander's faster than the other two, which confirmed, at least for Buffy, her suspicion that he'd been faking.

"Spike, get your blood-soaked paws off my-- " Giles trailed off as he looked around and realized where he was.

"Hey, I've not got my paws anywhere it's not proper to have 'em, and I washed my hands after dinner, like a good lad," Spike protested, grinning.

"What the *bloody* hell are you two doing?" Giles demanded in what would have been his most imperious voice, had he been older than four.

"Sleeping," Spike replied, sounding innocent.

"We fell asleep on *our* side of the bed," Xander added, though Buffy suspected that was a huge bald-faced lie. She could see Giles glaring at them, then he crawled off them -- causing Xander to yelp. "Watch those feet!"

Giles simply muttered, and crawled off the bed and stomped towards the bathroom. Buffy had to duck into Dawn's room to avoid being seen.

A minute or so later, Xander poked his head around the door. "I *assume* you got pictures of that," he said.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Duh..."

"I didn't see a flash," he said suspiciously.

"I turned it off-- how dumb do you think I am?"

Xander opened his mouth -- to tell her, undoubtedly -- and she threw a pillow at him. She quickly snapped another picture as the pillow fell. Then she grinned, and ran.

She headed for the bathroom, because by now the just-woken-up-gotta-go dance was becoming the get-the-hell-out-of-my-way-Slayer-on-a-mission boogie. She was annoyed, but not surprised, to find the bathroom door shut.

She knocked, and Dawn answered. "In a minute, jeez..." Which meant another five, at least. Buffy headed down the stairs. She reached the landing and sped around the corner towards the hall bathroom, only to skid to a halt.

Giles was standing in the doorway, asking patiently -- but loudly -- if someone was going to be out soon. Buffy hurried up behind him, intending to cut in line. After all, he might be her Watcher but *she* was the Slayer, and the Council and the world would go downhill without her. If she couldn't use that to pull rank and get into the bathroom first, then what use was being the Slayer?

She paused when she saw Tara sitting on the counter, leaning towards the mirror but looking back over at Giles, and laughing. "You sound so silly, being all stern, in that voice!" she said.

"Yes, well, you look rather silly, sitting on the countertop in shorty pajamas," he responded. "Especially since your shorts are falling down again."

Tara quickly re-arranged her shorts, and frowned at Buffy and Giles in the mirror. "I could have *sworn* I was a chubby little kid." Then she frowned at herself. "I don't look anything *like* me. This is so weird."

She *was* a little on the small side. Not as small as Wesley had become, but smaller than Willow and Giles. Buffy gave about three seconds' thought to the fact that poor Willow and Tara would have to go shopping with Spike and Xander again, to buy Tara some clothes that were *small* enough. Then she was once again reminded that the world was depending on a Slayer who had a fully functioning bladder.

"Of course you look like you-- who else would you look like?" she asked, then pulled Giles out of the doorway. "And can you two continue this conversation somewhere else? Some of us actually want to use the bathroom for not-mirror-looking things."

Both Tara and Giles looked at her blankly, as if they hadn't any idea what else a bathroom could be used for. Then Giles frowned at her. "I believe I was in line next."

"Yeah?" Buffy reached down and picked him up, then set him down -- behind her. "Now you're *next* after me!" She turned a stern, vampires run from me, look at Tara.

Who had turned back to the mirror. "I don't understand. Could I have gotten a different body? Giles, do you look like yourself?"

"Yes, actually. And according to the photographs of Xander, he regressed exactly, as well. Tara, I'm sure you just mis-remember--"

"Could we *please* continue this conversation somewhere else?"

"Yes, why don't we talk about it in the kitchen? You could run ahead and make us some breakfast, Buffy. We'll meet you." Giles' face was utterly serious, except for the little tic at the left corner of his mouth.

"If you guys don't skedaddle, the only breakfast I'm gonna make is pancakes out of both of you. Does that qualify?" Buffy threatened.

Tara laughed. "Skedaddle? I thought only my Grandma said that."

Buffy felt herself smiling a little, in spite of the seriousness of the issue. Which was very serious. "No, my mom used to say it, too. Now do it. Please?"

"But I have to use the bathroom," Tara said, with a shy duck of the head.

"As do I," Giles said, sounding deceptively patient again.

"Argh!" Buffy seriously considered tossing them both down the hall. "Tonight you and Willow are at Xander and Spike and Anya's and you guys can fight over the one bathroom to your hearts' content, but right now--"

"I'm out," Dawn called down the stairs.

Buffy ran. "Slayer speed, Slayer strength, Slayer muscle control..." she was chanting as she sprinted up the stairs to the other bathroom. She skidded to a stop in front of the closed door. "Dawn, I thought you said you were out?" She was *not* whining. Not yet, anyway.

"I am," Dawn said from behind her.

"Then who's in there?"

"I am," called Xander. "Just be a second-- I've gotta shave and get off to work. They're not all that happy about two weeks' vacation with no warning, to start with. I show up late my first day back, I'm in deep third-shift."

"I can't believe this! This is *my* house, and I can't even use a bathroom!"

"Hey, if you need to take a shower, you're welcome to come on in," Xander replied through the door.

Buffy glared at the door. "Don't make me slay you, Xander."

"Hey! Nobody slays Xander except me. Or Anya." Spike stepped up behind her. When Buffy glanced back to give *him* a glare, she stopped. Spike was still barely-awake, eyes half-open and his hair... Buffy giggled. Spike opened his eyes briefly, then narrowed them. "What?"

"Bed hair! Spike has bed hair!" It was Willow who said it, jumping up the last stair into the hallway, inserting herself in the middle of the gaggle of grown-ups. Buffy grabbed her as she jumped too near the bathroom door.

"*Mine*."

"I beg to differ," Spike said, crossing his arms.

Buffy blinked at him. "Don't *tell* me you have to use the bathroom. I'm a Slayer-- I know these things."

Spike blinked back, harder. "Oh. Thought you meant Xander."

"I am Xander, the Free," came the resounding voice from behind the bathroom door, over the sound of an electric razor. "I belong to no man, no woman, for I am--"

"About to get your ass kicked if you don't get out of the bathroom *now*," Buffy finished.

"Gee, who's a little grumpy in the mornings?" Xander asked. Buffy ignored the comment because he'd opened the door as he said it, and was stepping *out*.

Buffy started to hurry past him, then heard, "Um, Buffy? You think you might put me down first?"

She stopped and looked down at the four-year-old she was holding. "Oops." She let go-- and Willow laughed and dashed into the bathroom. "That's it. I'm moving into a hotel." Buffy raced after her, and caught her before the door shut. "Uh-uh," she said, grabbing Willow under the arms and depositing her firmly outside the door.

"But I'm your best friend," Willow said.

"I love you, Wills, but if it comes down to a choice between you and my duty as a Slayer..." Buffy was shutting and locking the door as she said it.

"What does your duty as a Slayer have to do with getting into the bathroom first," Willow asked.

"It's complicated. I'll explain later."

"Nice towel, Xander," Dawn said loudly from the hallway.

There was the sound of shuffling, and running, and Spike laughing, while Buffy blinked repeatedly and wondered how she'd managed to miss what Xander was wearing -- or wasn't-- in her mad dash for the Holy Grail.

She tried not to think about it as she finally --finally!-- got to use the bathroom. Thinking of Xander and towels was *not* conducive to relaxed muscles. Mostly because it made her think about the time she'd accidentally walked in on Spike, Xander, and Anya, all playing snap-the-towel as a form of foreplay. She shivered, flushed the toilet, then washed her hands vigorously, as though washing her brain out, as well. Xander and towels.

When she opened the door, she found Willow standing there, looking up at her looking as pathetic and matchstick girl as she could. Buffy smiled. "All yours!"

Willow grumbled something under her breath and marched past Buffy. Buffy ignored her, and instead turned her attention to Dawn, who was staring at Buffy's bedroom door, her expression one slightly akin to shock.

Buffy tapped her on the shoulder. "What? You've never seen Xander in a towel before?" She frowned. Thought. Hmm. Maybe she hadn't; with the number of times Xander and Anya had babysat her, you'd think, but Xander had always been really insistent that Dawn wouldn't end up seeing anything she shouldn't, so...

Dawn gulped. "I've never seen Xander *without* a towel before." Her eyes were almost as big as the four-year-olds' eyes. "I mean, not as a grown-up."

Buffy's eyes, on the other hand, narrowed, and she stormed up to her bedroom door and pounded on it. "Xander Harris!"

Dawn shook her head. "Spike did it."

"Spike Harris!" she yelled.

There was a laugh, then an innocent-sounding vampire called, "What?"

She started to yell back that he was a dead vampire, when she suddenly realized - Spike and Xander were in *her* room. And Xander was naked. "I'm going to kill you *both*! Get out of my room right now! And you both better be fully dressed!"

There was no immediate reply. Then Xander asked, "Er, which would you prefer? Out of your room, or fully dressed?"

"Both, in reverse order. And Spike can come out now, since he *is* fully dressed."

There was a chuckle, then Spike said, "You heard the lady," and he opened the door. *He* was fully dressed, in the jeans and rumpled shirt he'd slept in, bed-hair still in place, lips suspiciously redder and puffier than they'd been a few minutes ago. Beyond him, in the middle of the room, however...

Buffy covered Dawn's eyes-- then her own. "Great, I'm blind. How am I gonna kill vampires, blind?" Buffy complained.

"Oh, like you've never seen it before," Xander said.

Buffy gasped. "I have *not*!" At least no one was supposed to know she had. It wasn't like she'd told anyone. Other than Willow.

"What are you guys doing?" Willow asked, and Buffy felt something brush her leg. She peeked through her fingers and saw Willow staring into her bedroom.

Buffy found herself starting to yell something like "not in front of Willow!" when she stopped, took a deep breath, and turned around. Pushing Dawn ahead of her, Buffy decided that today, right now, she *really* really wanted to be in class.

*****