Angel / Protocol / Part Eleven
PART ELEVEN
The supply room turned out not to be a room so much as a wing in its own right. Room after room greeted Wesley as he tried to track down Charles's path. Dishes, silverware (very possibly not made of actual silver), cleaning products, canned goods, produce, meat lockers (powered, Wesley assumed, by the same generators that gave the entire complex its well-hoarded store of electricity), grains, and more stretched out before him, each with their own special area and storage needs.
People and demons were scattered about. Wesley nodded greetings to them, but did not speak. It wasn't arrogance on his part. It was his voice. Though there was nothing in the fortress which was not underground this, more than anywhere else, felt like a basement. It made Wesley's hands cold, and he knew if he spoke it wouldn't be without quaver.
Self-reliance, then. He searched for Charles on his own and in the meanwhile tried to calm himself through breathing.
He finished the second and accomplished the first at roughly the same time. He pushed open a door and found himself amongst the linens. Charles was there, frowning at a clipboard he held in his hand.
"Excuse me," Wesley said.
Charles looked up. "Oh. Your - uh - lordship. I'm sorry, did you need anything?"
"A great deal, I'm afraid," Wesley said. He came into the room, taking in the sight of shelf after shelf of towels, sheets, pillowcases, blankets, and the like. "My Lord has asked that I learn from you."
"Okay," Charles said. "Anything in particular or was Angel leaving that part up to us? 'cause I can do a mean juggle if that's what you're looking for."
Wesley smiled. "I need to learn all that I can about running things here. And are you amongst the group who are allowed to call my husband Angel?"
"Yep," Charles said. "Met him back when he was just a vamp with a soul, a mission, and a whole lotta houseguests. But I respect what he's doing now."
Wesley nodded. "Then you may address me in kind as well. If my husband does not demand that you use his title, then I won't demand it of you either."
"Good to know," Charles said. "'cause I was running out of guesses as to what I was supposed to say."
"Your majesty," Wesley said. "Prince. Sir, always does in a pinch I find."
"Yeah, I'm not so good with that last one," Charles said. He grinned. "Must be my thing with authority figures. Hey, you mind if I - " he gestured to the work he was doing with the shelves " - while we talk? I got a thing going here."
"Of course not," Wesley said. "Please, I didn't mean to interrupt."
"Thanks," Charles turned back to the shelves, pulling down three fluffy green towels and then checking them off on his clipboard. He placed the towels into a basket on the floor then moved on to another shelf. "So Angel wants you running the joint, huh?"
"Yes," Wesley said. "Apparently you're the one to talk to about that?"
"Don't know if I'm *the* one but I'm *a* one, yeah," Charles said. "There's actually a lotta folks that run this place."
"Everyone has their specialty," Wesley guessed.
"Morelike everybody does what they can and so far we haven't made too much of a mess of it," Charles said. "This is what happens when nobody has a plan."
"Who's in charge now?" Wesley asked.
"Technically Angel," Charles said. "But he hates doing it so it's as good as nobody. We've *got* a system but without anybody watching it we might as well do nothing."
"I suppose learning what you have can be my first step," Wesley said. "Is it written down somewhere?"
"I've got notes," Charles told him. "My office. Be happy to share 'em."
"Thank you," Wesley said. He watched Charles pull some sheets down and add them to his basket. "What do you do, exactly?"
"Brains and brawn," Charles said. "If you're going for what I'd put on a business card. In reality? Whatever needs to be done. It's what we all do. This place doesn't exactly run itself."
"Connor told me how everyone has a job here," Wesley said. "That's quite remarkable. Particularly considering the diversity of your population."
"Which is a polite way of pointing out not everybody here is human, right?" Charles guessed.
"It's a polite way of pointing out not everyone here is the same," Wesley said. "Historically speaking vampires, humans, and demons don't tend to like one another overmuch, and they like being forced to spend time together even less."
"Historically speaking things aren't as bad as they are outside," Charles said. "'Enemy of my enemy' gets a whole new meaning once you've had some nasty at your throat."
That had sounded personal. "You've suffered loss because of this."
"We've all suffered loss because of this," Charles reminded him. "But yeah. My sister. Vamp got her."
"I'm sorry," Wesley said. He allowed a moment for quiet respect, then offered, "My mother was… killed by demons."
"Sorry," Charles said.
"It isn't a safe world," Wesley said, philosophically. He pondered what Charles had told him. "So you are human then?"
"Last time I checked," Charles picked the basket up and moved it down the line. Washcloths went in. Then he searched out pillows.
"May I - if it's not too personal," Wesley said, "may I ask why you work for a vampire?"
"You mean Angel," Charles said.
"I mean my husband, yes," Wesley said. "With no disrespect to him, obviously. It is not that I put down who he is or what he does. But since I was not here to see him build his empire I wonder at how he managed it. How did he inspire loyalty from those who would normally have every reason to hate him?"
"You've met him, right?" Charles asked.
"I have," Wesley said.
"So that would be part of it," Charles said.
Wesley couldn't help but wonder if the other man meant Angel's personality or his good looks. He decided it was a question best left unasked. "What would another part be?"
"You're from England, right?" Charles asked.
"All my life," Wesley confirmed.
Charles paused in his searching, the basket balanced against his hip and his clipboard laid casually on top of the items inside. "I don't know what it's like over there. But I do know what it's like over here."
"Tell me," Wesley said.
"When I grew up," Charles said, "I knew there were nasties out there. I even had my own crew to help me take care of them. We didn't win, but we kept our area clean."
"That sounds commendable," Wesley said.
"It was," Charles said. "But years went on and it got worse. Demons kept coming. Nasty kept happening. It got to the point where I forgot what it was like to go out and not smell smoke from houses burning. Or blood from all the people some pack of vamps decided they'd have for a meal."
"Is that when you met my husband?" Wesley asked.
"Around then, yeah," Charles said. "Knew he was fighting the good fight before I knew what he was. Then we clocked so many hours together I didn't care."
"What did your crew say?" Wesley asked.
"They didn't like it," Charles said. "And that's part of the answer to your question. Some of them fought for so long they lost the mission. They were ready to kill anything, long as it wasn't human. Time was I would've agreed with them but with Angel I saw that wasn't the way. It's not the species that makes you worth keeping on this planet. It's what you do."
"Is that why others follow him?" Wesley asked. "Because of what he does?"
"Yeah," Charles said. "But that's too simple a way of putting it. Here, come with me."
Wesley watched as Charles pulled a few sheets into his basket, then followed him back out the door. He didn't realize how confining the room had felt to him until they reached the comparative openness of the hall. He took in a deep breath, trying to relax himself.
"When Angel decided he was going to be king," Charles said, "he wasn't doing it because he had an ego. He did it because he knew he *had* to. He saw what was going on. He knew people - and when I say that I mean *good* guys, no matter what species they were - were suffering. He also knew that being a Champion was a pretty big deal."
"It is," Wesley said. "Particularly considering that the Powers do not often chose vampires."
Charles nodded, then lead Wesley up a staircase. "He decided that if he was going to help, *really* help, then he had to go back to the old ways. He's in charge of the land and he *protects* who's on his land. Hurt one of his people and he'll come hurt you right back."
"Many have similar rules," Wesley said. "The Council, for instance. We all wish to protect our own."
"Not like Angel does," Charles said. He paused by a doorway, his hand resting on the knob. "Most people have limits. Those they will and won't help. Like my crew. Humans were okay. Demons could suffer and die. Angel's not like that. He helps *everybody*. If you need it, he'll give it to you. No matter what you are."
"A true Champion," Wesley said. He weighed the word in his mind, wondering if he could truly believe it of a vampire.
"You want to know why I'm here?" Charles asked. He tipped his head in the direction of the door. "It's because of this."
Wesley followed Charles out into what he recognized as a small alcove by the common area. A man and a woman were there, with a small child at their feet.
"You can wait here," Charles told Wesley, by way of reassurance. He then approached the couple. "Mr. and Mrs. Pisano? Thanks for waiting. Here, these are for you."
The woman reached out to take it. As Wesley's eyes adjusted to the light he could see the shabbiness of her clothing, and the fact that to all appearances they carried no luggage.
"Thank you," she said. "They - we would have brought something. My sister kept telling me to bring something. She said over and over that we should prepare, but - "
Mr. Pisano put his arm around her, squeezing her close. "They came too quick," he said.
"It happens," Charles said.
"It was my grandmother's house," Mrs. Pisano said. Her hands were tight around the rim of the basket. "It survived all the earthquakes. I thought it would be safe."
"I'm very sorry for your loss," Charles said. Wesley watched him draw himself up formally. "And his Majesty Angel also extends his regret at what has happened to you. He's asked me to welcome you to his home on his behalf, and to offer you anything that we can to help you through this difficult time."
"I was a teacher," Mr. Pisano said. "Math. I don't know anything about fighting, or weapons."
"Don't worry about that right now," Charles said. "Take some time. You've been through a lot. Nobody expects you to leap back on your feet again."
"I can cook," Mrs. Pisano offered. "Or clean. We're not proud people, Mr. Gunn. We can do our share."
"When the time is right," Charles assured them. "And you'd be welcome here even if you couldn't."
Mr. Pisano looked uncomfortable. "Mr. Gunn, my wife and I - our daughter - "
"Years ago," Mrs. Pisano murmured.
Mr. Pisano nodded. "Years ago. She was just a baby. Hospitals being what they were - "
"You were lucky to get a hospital," Charles said.
"I was a traditionalist," Mr. Pisano said. "I was so scared about Anna giving birth at home, something going wrong - I had no idea who - *what* - was running the place."
"It's a common mistake," Charles said. "And you don't need to worry. Your daughter will be taken care of here."
"Mr. Gunn, our daughter is a beautiful, intelligent girl," Mrs. Pisano said. "She is a blessed child, no matter what anyone may say."
"It was just a bite," Mr. Pisano said. "So quick we didn't even know it had happened. One bite and now she's - she is what she is, Mr. Gunn."
"She's a *good girl*," Mrs. Pisano insisted. "But sometimes others - they make fun. They point."
"Sometimes they attack," Mr. Pisano said. He reached down to touch his daughter now, drawing her close so she could stand beside him.
"We just need to know," Mrs. Pisano said. "Will our daughter - can she stay with us? Will she be okay?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Pisano," Charles said. "I can *assure* you that his Majesty - "
On impulse, Wesley stepped forward. "Charles, may I?"
Charles frowned, but then stepped aside. "Of course, your - "
"Thank you," Wesley cut him off before he could say the title. He smiled at the two parents. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice your little girl. I wondered if I might say hello to her?"
Mr. Pisano looked uncertain. He glanced at Charles as though looking for hints, then nodded. "Sure."
"You're very kind," Wesley said. He squatted down. In his head he could hear his teachers: *You may marry someone who has children already. It is your job to learn how to interact with them and treat them as you would a member of your own family. More importantly, as a member of your intended's family.* Wesley smiled at her. "Hello, my name's Wesley. What's yours?"
The girl was withdrawn, her face shadowed by the scarf that was wrapped around her head. Wesley had assumed it was there for religious reasons. Now that he was close he could tell it was there to hide the aspects of the demon that had infected her. "'rinna," she murmured.
"Marianna," Mrs. Pisano helpfully said.
"Marianna?" Wesley said. "My, that's a very pretty name. It sounds a bit like your mum's. Were you named after her?"
Marianna nodded. Her thumb went into her mouth, and she eyed him warily.
Wesley took her sign of nerves as a cue. He leaned in as though to whisper to her. "Is it your first day here, Marianna?"
"'s," she said, around her thumb.
"It's mine too," Wesley told her. He pretended to make sure no one was listening to them, then leaned in closer. "Do you know, I'm a bit scared by it all. This is rather a large and confusing place, don't you think?"
There was a vigorous nod this time.
"Not just me then?" Wesley asked. He affected a look of relief. "Oh thank goodness. Well I shall feel much better now, knowing that I'm not the only one to be frightened. Still, you seem quite brave about it. Moreso than me. How old are you?"
"Four," she said, managing to get the word out around her thumb. She held up her other fingers to demonstrate.
"All of *four*, are you?" Wesley asked. He sat back, looking impressed. "Well no wonder you're handling it so well. Four is a very brave age. But - " he gave her a supsicious glance now. "Are you *certain* you're four years old? You seem much older to me. Are you not perhaps seven?"
"No," Marianna said. shaking her head.
"Ten?"
"Nooo," Marianna said, bubbling the sound out as she started to giggle.
"Twenty?"
"No!" Marianna said, grinning now. "I'm four!"
"You're a million, did you say?"
"Four!" she laughed. "I'm four, I'm four, I'm four!"
"Well then, that's a very good age indeed," Wesley said.
"She just - " Mrs. Pisano looked uncertain. "Her birthday was just last month, if you're asking."
Wesley hadn't been, but he took that information in stride. "You just *turned* four? Why didn't you say so? I would have brought a present."
Marianna leaned in close. She whispered softly enough that Wesley almost didn't hear her. "Lost mine."
Wesley nodded sympathetically. "I heard. That's very sad. Still, would it be all right if I gave you something as a gift? Perhaps something to help you start over." Here he looked up at her parents, making sure he hadn't crossed any lines.
"You don't have to," Mrs. Pisano said.
"It's no trouble," Wesley said. "May I?"
Mr. Pisano seemed to understand what Wesley was trying to do. "Make sure you say thank you," he reminded his daughter.
This left Wesley momentarily stuck. But fortunately he was able to improvise. He took off his watch - a possession of his own, and therefore his to give away as he liked - and handed it over to her. "Here. I know it's a bit big. But it's made with gold. I think it would look quite lovely on your wrist."
Marianna took it with both hands, then smiled up at him. For the first time he could see the light fall on the bumps and markings that had marred her face. But her smile was bright, and Wesley found that it didn't matter that her lips were no longer entirely human. "Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome," Wesley said. He could recognize the species now. Infection only came from the bite of a pureblood. He decided to brush her cheek with his hand. Her skin was rough, and warm to the touch. "A pretty watch for a beautiful girl. Happy belated birthday."
"Thank you," she said again. She was already lost in playing with the dials, enraptured as she was able to change the phases of the moon with a twist of her fingers.
Mrs. Pisano stepped forward. "That was very kind of you, Mr - "
Wesley stood up, offering his hand. "Wyndam-Pryce. Prince Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, spouse to his majesty Angel."
Mrs. Pisano looked taken aback. "I - sir, I - "
Wesley smiled at her. "On behalf of my husband I would like to welcome you to our home. I know it cannot replace what you have lost, but we hope that you will find a new life here, one for your entire family."
"Thank you," Mr. Pisano said.
Wesley offered his hand out to shake. "You've a very remarkable little girl. I'm glad I had the chance to meet her."
"Say thank you," Mrs. Pisano prompted her daughter.
"'nk you," Marianna said. She'd moved on to changing the time, watching as the hands swept back and forth.
"Enjoy your watch," Wesley told her.
"If everybody's okay I can take you to your apartment," Charles said, stepping forward again. "It's not too far."
"Charles, I'll take my leave now," Wesley said. "There are things I need to take care of."
"Sure," Charles said. "We can catch up later with those notes."
"Excellent," Wesley said, then left to see if he could possibly find the kitchen.
***
Some distance away, hidden in the shadows of a doorway, Angel and Spike watched the meeting unfold.
"Okay," Spike admitted. "That's a bet I would've lost."
Angel couldn't take his eyes off of Wesley's retreating back. "See? Told you I had a good feeling about him."
He continued to watch Wes until his husband faded out of sight.
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