Angel / Protocol / Part Four

PART FOUR

Wesley sat in a sitting room, which allowed the architecture to self-actualize but didn't actually do a thing for his own well-being.

He had been met at the front gate by a demon, which he should have suspected coming in yet somehow his mind wouldn't linger on it. Too much. It was all too much. He wanted it in stages, though he didn't know what the stages would have been. Humans with bad tempers, perhaps. Then some wizened old man with a nose like a broken tree branch who would crook a finger at him and rasp some greeting right out of a penny dreadful. "Arr, yes, the master be ready fer ye." Then he'd be led into a large, Gothic castle with gargoyles that hinted of the doom to come while the Scourge himself swooped out of a corner with -

Lord, he was nattering.

A servant of some sort had been his next contact. Some young red skinned demon with curly horns and a demeanor that suggested it was female but Wesley thought perhaps it would be best not to assume. It - for lack of a better category - had bobbed and bowed and made the appropriate noises of courtesy before leaving him here, and letting him know someone would be with him shortly.

Wesley sat. He didn't know what else to do.

He missed Lorne. And Andrew. Lorne would have made catty comments about the décor - "Gold on white? In *this* era? No, no, no. You know just because he has to live in the dark doesn't mean the walls should look like they were painted that way too." - and Andrew would have fidgeted and babbled and probably broken something but at least that would have been familiar, and given them a way to occupy their time.

For a moment Wesley wondered if he would be allowed to write to them. Then he remembered that soon he wouldn't care.

He stared at the walls. He began to wonder if he was being subjected to a test. He hadn't been warned about any such thing, but then again he'd had only his father for that intelligence. All things considered the surprise would not be an unannounced test but rather the foolish thought that his father *would* alert him to that possibility.

No matter. He could do this. His posture was straight, his demeanor calm. He knew what to do when the only job in front of him was to exist and yet not be in the way. Sometimes a spouse had no other role to fulfill.

"Your... uh… royal… ness?"

Wesley looked up. A young man stood before him, looking surprisingly human and very much out of his depth. "Yes?"

Relief was in the other man's eyes. He came forward. He started to offer a hand to shake then halted the gesture halfway when Wesley gave no indication that he was going to reciprocate. "Hi. Um - Charles Gunn."

When nothing else was forthcoming, Wesley quirked his eyebrows and repeated, prompting this time, "Yes?"

"I… " Charles finally took his hand back, hooking thumbs into his front pockets. "Guess you could say I work here."

"All right," Wesley said. He waited for this to actually mean something.

"With, you know, your husband," Charles added.

"If you work here I would presume that is who you work for," Wesley said. He wondered if he was being tested again.

"He's not here," Charles said.

"Apparently not," Wesley said. He decided that at least one of them needed to take the conversation beyond the obvious. "Any idea where he might be?"

"Not really," Charles said.

That hung between them for a moment. "Not really," Wesley repeated.

"Nope."

"We are speaking of the - " Wesley stumbled over the word 'man' " - of the one who is your king, are we not?"

"We are," Charles said.

"And you don't know where he is."

"Not right this second, no," Charles said.

"The location of your ruler is not considered an important point of trivia in your daily existence?" Wesley asked.

Charles took a bit of umbrage at this. "We know where he *is*. Just not *exactly*. He went out. He'll be back. Maybe tonight."

"I see," Wesley said. "And in the meanwhile we shan't worry ourselves over the fact that our leader is currently amongst the misplaced socks and might very well stay there for all that we're aware. Here's a thought: perhaps he's dead. Not that that should concern us, of course. Apparently we do just as well without him."

"What do you care?" a new voice said. It was smooth, British, and the body it belonged to was very clearly inhuman. "Only good vampire is a dead vampire, right?"

Charles's lack of deference to the newcomer was Wesley's only hint that this was not his husband. Wesley decided that his best survival strategy was to keep the offensive. Surely even vampires know the rules of protocol. "Who are you?"

"Didn't answer my question," the vampire replied.

"I don't speak without introductions," Wesley said, his voice crisp. He knew nothing of this culture but he knew *himself*. When all else failed he'd abide by his own rules and let the world adjust around him. "Charles, who is this?"

Charles was eager to make peace. "This is Spike, he - "

"Can introduce myself, mate," Spike said. He fixed Wesley with his own cold stare. "But now you got your info you can give me mine. Only good vampire is a dead vampire, right?"

The creature might be a killer, but Wesley had survived harder stares than this. The tension of the situation paled before the lessons his father had beaten into him. He ignored Spike's needs and stayed with his own. "Where is my husband?"

"I'm in charge while he's gone," Spike said.

"That's entirely irrelevant to me," Wesley said. "I answer to my husband and to no one else."

Spike watched him carefully. Wesley realized the test wasn't over yet. "He said you were to obey me."

"I take orders from his lips," Wesley said. "No other method." Scoffing, he added, "Do you think you are the only one to ever try such a ploy? The Council is many things, but wholly stupid is not one of them. My bond would be rather meaningless if it were so easily thwarted."

"Going to keep that bond right up 'til the moment you kill him?" Spike asked. "Get all warm and cozy then plunge the stake into his heart?"

"I'll do no such thing," Wesley said.

"Council'd probably give you a parade in your honor if you did," Spike said.

"I don't work for the Council," Wesley said. He had recited these words by rote since he was four years old. "I belong to my husband. My duty is to him."

Spike nodded, but didn't look mollified. "Yeah, we'll see. Come on, might as well put you into your digs."

***

His digs turned out to be a rather opulent apartment deep within the bowels of the hill behind the house - which answered his unspoken question of how on earth was the location any kind of a castle. The house was certainly nice, of course, but three of it could have fit into the Wyndam-Pryce summer cottage.

Wesley thought perhaps dozens of cottages could fit into the interior domain.

Spike and Charles lead him down twisting halls, through thick wooden doors, and turned him around so much that Wesley wasn't entirely certain that it wasn't on purpose. They eventually reached the apartment, though, and at that point they left him alone with his things.

Wesley examined his home. There were many rooms. Enough to be a house for a much poorer person. It had a bathroom, sitting area, dining area, kitchen, and more. All of the rooms were decorated with solid, heavy furniture and thick velvet draperies. There were also fireplaces, most of which are already lit.

There are no windows, which made Wesley feel stupid for not guessing that his husband might live in a cave. On the claustrophobia scale it wasn't much better than a tomb, but at least it had comfortable places to sit.

He washed up, doing the best he could to remove the evidence of travel-related wear and tear when he had no full-length mirrors to aid him. He changed clothes, tucking his soiled ones back into his trunk when he had no idea what he was expected to do with them.

He went into his magic kit, and took out Andrew's potion.

There were many rooms to choose from, but ultimately he placed himself in the bedroom. There was a small table there, and chairs. Wesley put the bottle onto the table, then sat and waited to get the whole thing over with.

***

"So?" Spike said, pointedly.

Angel shed the remains of his trip. Sword. Stakes. Two - no, three knives. "So… he was fine."

"*Told* you," Spike said. "So where is he now?"

Angel coughed, then tried to slip this one in under his non-existent breath. "Going after a nest of Raptors he found in - "

Spike's bark of laughter cut him off. "He has got you wrapped around his bloody finger."

"He does not," Angel said.

"Does *so*," Spike said, matching him wit for wit. "You were all ready to haul the boy home and now you're letting him run off again. Wrapped around his finger."

"I am *not*," Angel tried, then abandoned it. "It's not the same when I know he's doing it."

"Sure, right, you keep telling yourself that," Spike said.

Angel closed the weapons cabinet, then returned to the original topic. "So he's here, huh?"

"Yup," Spike said.

"Is he… " Angel asked, then gestured vaguely. "What's he like?"

"Bit of a stick up his backside but he claims it's in your honor," Spike said.

Angel mulled that over. "You're speaking metaphorically, right?"

"Right," Spike said.

"I mean I don't know all the customs so for all I know - " Angel shrugged it off. Then something bothered him. "Why was he being rude in my honor?"

"Dunno if I'd call it rude," Spike said. "Just didn't take too kind to me questioning him."

Angel gave him a hard look. "You did what?"

"Don't try that with me," Spike said. "You bring the Council here you'd better believe I'm going to shake them down and see what falls out."

"That part had *better* be metaphorically, Spike," Angel said.

"Relax, I didn't - "

"You *can't*," Angel said. He faced his grandson down. "This is a *deal*. This is a *bond*. If this is going to work then it's got to come from my side as much as his. That means he is under my protection and he is *not* to be touched. Not by anybody and that includes you!"

"Didn't lay a finger on him," Spike said.

"In *any* way," Angel said. "For God's sake, can't you even *fake* diplomacy?"

"Was putting keeping splinters out of your chest a bit higher on my list," Spike said. "And don't you ask me to regret it."

"Fine, fine," Angel said. He rubbed his eyes. "The damage is done. Just tell me he didn't get too pissed off about it?"

"Handled it fine," Spike said. "Swears he's only in this for you. Which is about as believable as flying pigs, but there you have it."

"That's the way it works," Angel reminded him. "That's why it had to be marriage. This isn't a regular business deal. The Council can't back out."

"Just don't put your blinkers on," Spike said.

"I won't, I haven't," Angel said. "Where is he?"

"Your place," Spike said. "Figured it'd keep him out of trouble."

"Great," Angel drawled. He patted himself down, trying to smooth out his clothes. "Thanks for giving me a chance to get changed and make a good first impression."

"If you being a vampire hasn't snapped the deal in two I don't think a little dust on your shirt's going to do it," Spike said.

"Spike, I am *married* to this guy," Angel said. "Politics aside we're talking about my husband. Don't you think it'd be nice for me to treat him like it?"

"Once a Council boy, always a Council boy," Spike replied.

"Okay, let me amend that," Angel said. "We are talking about my husband. Which means *you* had better start treating him like it or our fights aren't going to be as funny as they used to. Like it or not, he's in the family."

"Fine," Spike said.

Angel fussed with his shirt some more. "So now what?"

"Go and introduce yourself," Spike said. For some reason he found that amusing. "He likes it when you introduce yourself."

"Okay, yeah, that," Angel said. He looked at the door, but stayed right where he was.

"Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"Sometime this century, maybe?"

"It's just… *weird*," Angel said.

"Couldn't have had that thought back when you were agreeing to the arranged marriage?" Spike asked. "And some wise vampire was telling you not to do it?"

"No, not that," Angel said. "Well - that. But not that part."

"What part?" Spike asked. Then got it. "Oh for - you're not actually worried about the wedding night."

"No," Angel said. Then added, "Not *worried* about it, no."

"You've got an 18 year old boy who proves you've done this at least once in your life," Spike said. "It's the same thing, promise. Well - few crucial differences but you're bound to work it out."

"Ha ha," Angel said. He folded his arms across his chest. "It's not that. It's just so… planned."

"Don't have a plan then," Spike said. "Throw him up against the wall and let nature take its course."

"That's still a plan," Angel said. "I mean - how do you do it? How do you go up to a guy and say 'Hi, nice to meet you. Okay, now let's have that sex.'?"

"Wouldn't do it that way, for a start," Spike said.

"I don't - " Angel made a wavy, thrusting gesture with his hands. " - *plan* sex. I just *have* sex. You know, get in the mood, find the right person, and let it happen. This - this is like an appointment."

"The hardships you bear," Spike said, giving him a look. "Gosh, I don't envy you. What you poor Champions have to go through."

"It's just *weird*."

"Christ, leave it to you," Spike said. "Only you would take a job of having some tasty bit of meat come up to you - "

Angel perked up. "He's tasty?"

Spike ignored him. " - and say 'Hi, I'm here to get your rocks off whenever you damn well tell me to' and have a bloody *crisis* about it! For God's *sake*, man! It's shagging, it's not conquering a two ton demon! Go in there, say your hellos and then fuck the boy's brains through the floor. It doesn't have to be so bloody complicated."

"It's still weird," Angel said.

"Cope," Spike retorted.

"Things'll be okay here?" Angel asked.

"Nothing's blown up yet," Spike pointed out. "I'll mind the fires 'til you're done with the honeymoon."

"Okay," Angel said. He stared at the door again, then braced himself. "Holler if you need me."

"You know if you do it right *he'll* be the one doing the hollering."

"Shut *up*," Angel said, then left the room.