Part One  

Gunn stayed right behind Wes the whole time. Not just because he got to
see Wesley's ass, which wasn't pansy but was nice, but mostly because he was
half-convinced Wesley would chicken out if he could.

Threats against the Royal Doulten whatever or not, they were spending way
too much time, in his opinion, getting prepared to undergo the spell. Wes
was just using the failure to find anything acceptable as for an excuse to
weasel his way out of it. He hadn't said anything out loud, but Gunn was
used to seeing those gears turn inside Wesley's head. He could see them
turning now, and he knew it wasn't a good thing.

They'd given in to Giles' suggestion that before they touched the statue
again, they take some time to prepare. Gunn had thought it was gonna be
some magical mystical stuff, but as it turned out -- Giles wanted to go
shopping. Apparently stuffy British men had a thing about wearing Winnie the
Pooh and Mojo Jojo.

All stuffy British men, because Wesley cheered his suggestion on like a
tall, skinny, male Laker Girl. Rah, rah, go Giles. Except Gunn happened to
know for a fact that Wesley owned three pair of Pooh-related boxer shorts:
classic Pooh, Disney Pooh, and Rabbit eating carrots. True, he didn't wear
'em in public, but it was enough to tip the 'Wesley doth protest too much'
scales in Gunn's head.

"Are you absolutely sure you want me to do this?" Wesley was turning
around and whispering to him now.

"What, wear size 3T hip-hugger flares with rhinestones on the back
pocket?" Gunn took the offending item out of Wesley's hand and stared
critically at it. "No, you don't have the funk for it. Even as a four year
old." Wesley gave him a look that would curdle demon's blood. Gunn just
hung the pants on the rack. "Here, this'll look good." He really had no
idea, and didn't care -- they were khaki coloured, looked a bit loose in the
hip. But he didn't want to give Wes any more of a chance to say--

"I meant go through with the spell! What if something were to happen? If
we come up against some Crogorian demons, and someone has to be able to
translate?"

"You think you won't be able to read Crogorian demon notes because your
head'll be smaller?"

Wesley glared again, and Gunn knew it was just nerves, and not actual
anger. Which meant there was no way on this earth Gunn was letting Wes back
out of this. And not only because he *had* to see the look on Cordelia's
face when they got home.

"What size did you wear, anyway?" Gunn glanced over at where Giles was
shopping rather easily -- who knew they made stuffy clothes for four year
olds? Willow seemed to be having no trouble; Gunn could hear her jabbering
about baby clothes her mother had kept. Tara wasn't saying much, but Gunn
could see her smile every so often.

"I was very small as a child," Wesley replied, quietly.

"Yeah? You hit that growth spurt at sixteen, like Dawn?" Gunn nodded over
to the teenager, who was helping Willow and Tara pick out clothes. He
*didn't* think about a tiny four-year-old Wes, living in that house, with
that father. Didn't think about it, really hard.

Wesley shook his head, picking up a really small pair of brown cords.
"Twelve. In the space of six months, I went through three trouser sizes, and
four shoe sizes. Mum had a fit. Not that we couldn't afford it, she just
didn't like to shop."

Gunn *did* think about a twelve year old Wes suddenly springing up like a
stringbean, and being dragged out to the stores by his... "You had a nanny?"
He grinned. "Mom send you out to English Kids Gap with Mary Poppins?"

Wesley glared at him, but that faraway 'I'm little and four and scared'
look was gone from behind his eyes, so Gunn chalked one up in the 'Go Gunn,
Go Gunn' column. "No, I did *not* have a nanny." He looked around like he
was afraid somebody would hear him. "Mother had a private fitter come in.
Other kids were wearing Calvins off the rack, I was wearing Harrods'
made-to-measure."

"So maybe we *do* need to get you the rhinestones." Gunn looked back at
the pair of hideously goofy pants he'd hung up. "And those shirts up front,
with Pokemon and Barney on 'em--"

"I shan't even dignify that with a remark."

"You just did." He grinned when Wesley just shook his head and went back
to searching for something 'decent' to wear. But Gunn knew - if ever there
was a guy who needed to wear silly cartoon shirts.... He'd have to go ask
Willow to grab a couple and pretend they were for her. "Come on - just think
how much your old man would *hate* it." He saw it -- he knew Wesley didn't
want him to, but as Wesley stared down at the selection of jeans and slacks,
there was the slightest twitch in the corner of his mouth. "We'll even send
'em a picture," Gunn offered, and saw that -- oops -- one step too far. Wes
shook his head and opted for the boring blue Dockers.

"That won't be necessary," Wesley said, his distracted tone telling Gunn
that the 'Go Gunn' column was scored against. Damn.

Still, he was shopping, and even picking out the boring stuff meant that
he hadn't managed to squirm his brain into a position where he could back
out of his agreement to go through with the kiddifying.

Or maybe not, since Wesley turned to him, holding up a small polo shirt,
and saying, "I don't know..."

"Wes, what's to know? You'll be a kid for a few weeks, get to ride all the
rides you're too big to go on now, and you'll be back to normal before
Antiques Roadshow finishes up its re-run season."

"I meant that I don't know if I should go for the blue or the aqua," he
said mildly. Then the eyebrow went up. "Rides?"

"Sure, I figured you, me and the dead guy could swing by Disneyland on our
way home. Or maybe on our way back here? Would you rather go as a real kid,
once your brain goes all rugrat on ya?"

The brow furrowed, now. "Disneyland isn't *on* the way to Los Angeles.
Nor, strangely enough, on the way back here *from* Los Angeles."

"So? You got someplace else to be?"

"I--" Wesley stopped, and glanced over towards the other soon-to-be
children. "There isn't any reason why we should do anything...out of the
ordinary."

Gunn nodded. "Uh-huh. What you *mean* is, it wouldn't be fair to go have
fun without inviting the other rugrats. That's cool, we can all go." Wes
gave him a sharp look -- which meant he knew it would be impossible to beg
out of, once the other children were invited. 'Go Gunn' was once again
winning. Before Wes could re-word his 'no, no, we needn't', Gunn raised his
voice. "Hey, guys, you wanna go to Disneyland with us?"

Wes tried the 'die evil demon' glare on him, again. Still didn't work.

"Hell, yeah!" from Spike, who, to Gunn's surprise, had offered to pay for
Willow and Tara's clothes, since they'd paid for his and Xander's. It was
only when Wes had pointed out that Spike didn't have a job, so he was
actually volunteering *Xander's* money, that it made any sense. Weird sense
though, since Gunn still didn't understand why Spike would want to go
shopping for kids' clothes.

"Why do you wanna go to Disneyland? You're not tall enough to go on any of
the rides anyway," Xander said from behind him, standing on the bottom rail
of a clothesrack to loom over his lover's shoulder. Trouble was coming, and
it didn't take a vampire-hunter's instincts to sense it. Sure enough, the
whole rack started to wobble, and Xander jumped off just in time, before it
fell over on them both.

"You two are gonna let those guys raise you?" Gunn asked Willow and Tara,
who were backing away from the SpikeandXander sprawl that had resulted from
Xander's death-defying leap to safety.

"Oh, I'm not worried," Willow said blithely. Gunn wondered if she had a
spell up her sleeve. "Anya will be home soon, and she'll keep...." Her
brow furrowed. Gunn could see her thinking it: Anya had already had how many
months to get these boys in line?

"Uh-huh. You wanna come down to L.A. with us? Cordelia can go nuts
playing babysitter."

Willow smiled. "That's OK. They don't look like much," she sent a
dubious glance towards the two guys who didn't seem to be trying hard enough
to actually disentangle themselves and stand up, despite the saleswoman who
was standing over them, scolding and shouting and asking if they were all
right in that 'please don't sue us' tone of voice. "But they clean up nice."

"If you say so." Gunn took a step back from the mess, as Giles, Tara, and
everyone else in the whole store, had already done.

"Maybe you two should wait for us at the food court?" Willow was saying,
grabbing Spike by the ear and hauling him up.

"Ow! Bloody hell, woman, only Anya's allowed to do that. You're not our
mum anymore."

She blinked at him. "You mean I was, before?" Spike muttered something too
low for Gunn to hear, and Willow burst into laughter.

"Do I wanna know?" he asked, before his brain had the chance to pop out of
his skull and smack him upside the head.

"He said they were playing lost babes in the wood, and we were the nice
ladies who took them in and did spells in front of them." She snickered
again. "Did I ever tell you what a good imagination Spike has?"

"Did I ever wanna know?" Gunn asked, wondering for the first time this
hour, why he'd let himself fall into this kind of life. He coulda been a
drug dealer, or a pointman, or something normal. No demons, no vampires, no
Spikes trying to convince Wesley that pink was his colour. He had to put a
stop to that, if only to prevent Wes from copping out just to avoid looking
that silly. "I kinda like him in pink," he said. When Wesley turned an
astonished look on him, Gunn leered, nice and slow, up and down Wes' body.
"Nothing but pink...."

Wesley blushed.

"Are we done yet? I wanna go into Neiman's and look at real people
clothes." Buffy walked up, holding a small purple shirt in her hands, like
she couldn't not shop even if nothing fit.

"We can't afford real people clothes at Neiman's," Dawn reminded her.

"That doesn't mean I can't look at them. I have a good imagination too,
you know."

Spike, meanwhile, was looking Wesley up and down as well, and appeared to
be exercising his own imagination about 'nothing but pink'. Gunn was afraid
he'd have to step up and do some vampire or other some serious damage, but
Xander kindly stepped up and did it for him, smacking Spike on the butt.

"What, I can't look?"

"You're supposed to be imagining me, naked, not Wesley."

"I *am*, trust me. It's been two bloody weeks stuck in that body, though.
Right now I'm imagining Maury Povich naked." There were several, loud,
"eeew!"s, and Xander hit Spike again.

Gunn turned back to Wesley, feeling triumphantly sure that now nobody
would be weaseling his way out of a trip to Disneyland, and not afraid to
let his smug satisfaction show. He noticed that another shirt had found its
way into Wes' hands.

"Excuse me, are you...ready to purchase those?" A timid saleswoman
stepped up beside him. Apparently the large black man was the least scary
looking customer in the suburban white-bread mall store.

"Yeah, we're ready," Gunn told her, since Wes had enough to get him
through a couple days, and he was pretty sure Cordelia would purchase the
rest as soon as she saw the Tot N' Tiny version. The look of relief on Wes'
face almost matched the one the saleswoman's face. When Wesley reached for
his wallet, Gunn put a hand on his arm. "No, it's on me."

"That's not necessary-- I can pay for my own clothes, you know."

"Yeah, but I know you had to be talked into this. I'm not gonna make you
spend your own money on it too. Chill out." The saleswoman was giving them a
confused look-- the 'my own clothes' comment, Gunn supposed. "We like to
role-play," he said with a straight face.

"Oh, thank you, Charles," Wes groaned, as his face once again showed off
the fact that yes, he did look good in pink.

"What? I'm supposed to tell her you're getting ready to undergo an
obscure, ancient ritual where you get turned into a four year old?"

Wesley glared at him. "You could have said they were for my nephew, or
that we're adopted a child, or that we're making a donation to a children's
shelter." He handed the clothing over as he talked, ignoring the way the
saleswoman's hands faltered as she accepted them.

Gunn smiled at her. "They're for our adopted son."

The woman half-smiled, and glanced at the tags. Clearly she was figuring
out if the commission was worth it, or if it was suddenly time for her
break. "Will that be cash, or charge?" she said, attempting to widen her
smile. Good try, but now it looked like her face was gonna break in half.

"Charge," Gunn replied, digging out his credit card as she began to swipe
his purchases across the scanner. Behind him, he could hear Willow and Tara
still fussing over sizes, and Spike generously offering to buy one of
everything Tara wanted in several sizes.

"Yeah, but, you've been off work for two weeks, Xander," Tara was saying.

"Don't worry about it. We've always got plenty of cushion, what with
Anya's investments paying off like they do," Xander answered.

"Oo! Enough cushion to buy the double fudge ice cream mocha sundaes?"
Willow asked. Gunn shivered. Why *anybody* let that girl consume caffeine
and sugar was beyond him.

*****

Gunn had assured him nearly a dozen times. Possibly more, but Wesley had
stopped counting around '9'. Even as he'd been about to step forward and
touch the statue, Gunn had been there. Saying it again.

Wesley blinked. Stared at his hands. Smaller than they'd been in years.
He felt a flutter of something in his stomach, and knew it was time to find
out if Gunn *really* meant it. He looked up, and said resolutely, "I want a
pony."

Gunn glared, as he'd promised. "I ain't gonna buy you every--- damn.
Damn, damn. Somebody take my wallet?"

"Not me!" Spike protested loudly.

"I meant, *would* somebody take my wallet," Gunn said. Wesley giggled.
Dear God, he had giggled.

"Oh, in that case, sure." Spike made as if to dip into Gunn's back pocket
to get it, and Wesley slapped his hand. "Mine, thank you."

He didn't mean the wallet, and Spike knew damned well he didn't mean the
wallet. The vampire just rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, like I'm that
desperate."

"You *are* that desperate," Xander told him. "If what you tried to do in
the car is any example."

"Excuse me, there are children present," Rupert spoke up. "Far too young
to hear about that sort of thing."

"I didn't do anything!" Spike protested, but he walked away from them,
towards Xander -- and began demonstrating what he hadn't done. Wesley
averted his gaze, quickly -- and heard Willow chant something.

"Hey! You little pint-sized witch, leave my boyfriend's bits where they
belong!" Xander yelled, then Willow giggled and Spike shouted something and
Tara said something quietly.

Wesley just looked at Gunn. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah -- just don't be doing the eyes thing at me until we get back to LA,
you hear me?" Wesley gazed up at him, looking as innocent as he possibly
could. "Yeah, that thing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Well, he had some idea, since
it worked for him as an adult, to an extent. He just hadn't tried it in the
mirror yet, to see its apparently devastating effects when it came from his
smaller version.

Gunn shouldered Wesley's bag of clothes, and turned to the Sunnydale
natives. "Two weeks, right?"

There was some nodding, then a small voice said, "Um... oops?"

"Oops?" Gunn repeated. "Is that like 'oops, I can't get Spike's bits to
come back down,' which really don't bother me much, or 'oops, there's
something I forgot to tell you about how long y'all are gonna be kids?"

Willow looked up innocently at him, and Wesley began to get an idea about
the power of the 'Eyes Thing'. "Well, it's not two weeks, it's 'under the
waning moon.' "

"Yes, and that's two weeks. We have until the new moon," Wesley said, not
sure what Willow was trying to tell them.

She carried the large book she was holding over to him, and handed it to
him. Pointing at the lower right corner of the page, she said, "I
think...um...maybe not?"

He read it over carefully, and shook his head. "Under the waning moon, is
what it says. What am I missing?"

"When first the round moon begins to shrink, then the child becomes the
man," she read aloud.

"Yes, so it's poetic. They were ancient Mesopotamians; they couldn't
resist it. If you think this is bad, you should read the Epic of Gilgamesh."

"I have. But I don't think it's being poetic, here. I think it means..."
Willow gave *him* the Eyes. "The *first* day of the waning moon."

"Oh, dear."

The entire room went silent. Xander turned to Spike and said, "You know,
those two sound exactly the same."

Wesley gave him a dirty glare. "I sound nothing like Rupert. And why
didn't anyone *mention* that if we changed now we'd have to wait an entire
month to change back? Who found this spell in the first place?" He had to
pause and take a breath, trying to control himself. He'd been barely
willing to do this for two weeks. He was *not* going to remain a child for
an entire month.

"Um, that would be me," Rupert admitted, raising his hand. "Sorry."

"You don't sound sorry. You sound delighted to have the chance to play
'lego-maniac'. Isn't there another spell for this?" He began flipping the
pages of the spellbook.

"Hey, easy, Wes." Gunn put his hand on the page, preventing him from
turning it.

"I didn't figure it out until just now..." Willow said a bit sulkily.

"So you're not even sure? Damn it, I *knew* this was a mistake..." Wesley
tried again to turn the page again, but Gunn's hand was planted firmly.

"Don't, you'll rip it. Look, it's no big deal. So we have to wait
until...what, the day after the full moon?" he asked.

"Or, um.. we could turn him back today," Willow offered.

That sounded like a fine idea to Wesley, and he was about to say so, when
he felt an arm on his shoulder. Surprisingly, it wasn't Gunn's-- it was
Angel's. "I'll see what I can do about that pony..." he said teasingly.

Wesley shrugged his shoulder, trying to dislodge Angel's hand. He turned
to Willow. "I would prefer to be...um." He looked around the room. "Who is
going to perform the spell?"

Willow blinked at him. She turned towards Tara, then Giles, then back to
Wesley. The four magic-users among them. All of whom were now under the
geas of a spell.

"Oh, just splendid. I going to be fucking four years old forever!"
Wesley slammed the book shut, Gunn pulling his fingers away just in time.

"Hey, it's a simple spell. I could do it," Angel protested.

"Or Anya could when she gets home," Xander offered.

"I can," Buffy piped up. "I've done a spell before." She smacked Xander
on the arm when he leered at her. "Not that kind of spell, Xander."

"I suppose you'll all yell at me if I say I could do it," Dawn said.

"Yes!" everyone yelled at her.

"Geez, turn one pair of Gucci shoes into an aardvark, and you're banned
for life from ever trying another spell..." she grumbled.

"It was a man-eating aardvark!" Spike protested.

"Oh, just because it bit you on the butt...."

"That's not where..." Xander began, and Spike clapped a hand over his
mouth.

"We have plenty of candidates, so just calm down, Wesley." Rupert said
smugly.

"Fine. Then one of them can perform the spell *now*. I--" And he
suddenly found himself rising up in the air, and in Gunn's arms. "What are
you--"

"Calm down, relax, chill, man."

Wesley glared at him. "I will calm down, once I'm six foot one, again."

Gunn just glared back at him, with that know-it-all look of his. Normally
it made Wesley want to kiss it off him, but right now he felt more
like...ignoring him. Violently. He turned and tried to get down out of
Gunn's arms, but the frustratingly annoying man wouldn't let him go.

"I ain't puttin you down."

"Charles, I don't want to be a child for a month," Wesley said, in what he
hoped was a reasonable tone. "And you're not going to make me. I know you
wouldn't take advantage of the fact that you're bigger and stronger than I
am, right now, to force me to do something against my will."

Gunn didn't relax his hold, though he said quietly, "That was low, Wes."

"Did it work?"

"You really want to be changed back now, I ain't gonna stop you, and you
know it. I'm just not putting you down until you can tell me *why*, without
it sounding like bullshit."

He wriggled uncomfortably, knowing that he *could* bullshit his way, if
not out of it, at least long enough for Gunn to decide it wasn't worth
fighting over. That usually worked. Well, sometimes. Once. It had
worked...no, actually that time had been Cordelia's fault, for interrupting
their discussion with a vision. He sighed, and lowered his voice, despite
the nosy vampires in the room that would overhear him anyway. "I'm going to
look stupid."

There was a pause. "So?" Gunn sounded surprised. "In a few days you'll
be almost like really four -- you won't care."

"I *will* care. I do, and I-- how ridiculous do I look now?" Being held
as if he were a child, talked to and placated as if he were having a
tantrum?

Gunn turned him around and looked him in the eyes-- and smiled. "You look
like a four-year-old Harry Potter," he said.

"See? I--"

"You're adorable, stupid."

There was a soft kiss on his forehead, then he was being set down. "I'm
not sure I want to look stupid and adorable," Wesley said, over the sound of
Buffy and Dawn going 'Awwwwww....' "Be quiet," he added. He didn't even need
to look over at Xander and Spike to know they were elbowing each other, and
preparing to say something not remotely funny. "You too," he ordered.

"Ain't he just the cutest little..."

"You're not too big for me to bite you on the arse," Wesley warned Spike.

Spike's hands flew to the fly of his jeans, and Xander whapped him on the
head. "Not in front of...um...." He looked around the room.

"You *don't* look stupid, Wes," Gunn said. Wesley looked up, not sure he
believed it, and not sure either that he wanted to be talked out of changing
back. He didn't want to be teased for an entire month -- or beyond, if they
took pictures they way they'd done for the first four. "Man, you look like a
poster boy for kicked waifs," his lover added in an unrepentant tone.

"That's ever so much better." Wesley folded his arms, and considered
whether it would be out of character to kick Gunn in the shins, or if he
should just hand the spellbook over to Angel. Or Buffy. Or...perhaps he
could call Stuart, once they returned to LA.

There was a sigh. "All right." Startled, Wesley looked over at Angel,
only to find the vampire leaning down and picking up the spellbook. He
began flipping through the pages, looking for the spell.

"Wait!"

Angel looked over at him. "What?"

"Well..." Wesley looked up at Gunn. "If I stay a child..."

"Yeah?"

"Will you buy me a pony?"

"No."

"Will it annoy you if I ask repeatedly, all the way back to Los Angeles?"

Gunn glared at him. Wesley widened his eyes. Angel snickered. "I wouldn't
get so cocky, fang-boy," Gunn told him. "Don't think I won't make you
babysit. By yourself."

"Hey, after Pointy-Head and Puppy Breath over there, Wesley will be easy."

"That's Puppy Head and Pointy Face," Xander objected.

Gunn was just snickering back at Angel. "Easy, huh? That's it - you get
to babysit every Wednesday and Thursday. By yourself. Cordy and I'll go
slay demons or something."

"Excuse me? What if I don't want Angel minding me?"

"When does he mind you, now?" Gunn asked.

Wesley sighed, and shook his head. "I mean, watch over me. Not that I
need--"

Gunn gave him a surprised look. "You passing up the chance to drive
Angel nuts? Man, you feel all right?"

He stopped and considered that for a few seconds. Then a few seconds more.
He was fairly sure he managed to squelch the grin that was trying to spread
across his face, and keep the stern, thunderous look he'd been trying for
earlier. Mostly sure. From across the room, Spike mimed putting a telephone
to his ear, grinned evilly, and mouthed 'Call us...'

Angel was making a valiant effort not to blanch any paler than he already
was, Wesley noted. "We'll see," was all he said. Then his hand, all by
itself, with no orders from Wesley whatsoever, slipped into Gunn's. "Can we
go home now?"

"Yeah, we can go home, now."

Buffy spoke up, before they could head for the door. "Can I get a
picture, first?"

Part Two  

He managed to avoid any picture-taking, though he knew it was only
temporary. Wesley hoped they would, at least, wait until his emotional
state caught up to his physical one and he no longer cared. Assuming he
would no longer care -- he'd been rather reserved and self-aware even as a
child, and he doubted he would be any different during this artificial
childhood.

And artificial it might be, but the feeling he was getting simply from
trying to look out the window as they drove was disturbing. He was small.

"You sure he doesn't need a car seat," Angel joked. Wesley hoped he was
joking. He'd hate to have to slay the vampire before he had the chance to
drive him nuts.

"Three and under," Gunn replied, looking at the highway ahead of them.

"Yeah, but he's awfully..."

"Close to parts of you that you probably don't want kicked?" Wesley
finished. He was pressed up against the passenger side door so that he could
be in the seatbelt, and Angel, who wouldn't be all that injured if he went
flying through the windshield, sat next to Gunn.

Small, was what Angel was going to say. Smaller than the average four year
old, even. Wesley found himself having to resist sticking his tongue out at
the vampire for being so bloody tall, as if he just had to make the
comparison even more obvious.

"Don't make me pull over," Gunn warned.

"I was just saying--" Angel began. Then he said, "Ow!" because Wesley
kicked him.

"Wanker. I barely touched you," Wesley said immediately, but only because
he knew he couldn't possibly have hurt the grown vampire. He couldn't kick
that hard, now, if he tried.

"I'll pull over, I mean it. You'll both be walking."

"He started it."

Wesley stared up at Angel, astounded. "I certainly did not! You made an
unkind and uncalled-for remark about putting me in an infant's car seat--"

"I would have used a toddler's carseat," Angel interrupted.

"Yes, that's much better," Wesley snorted, kicking him again.

"You know, I could just tie you to the gun rack..." Gunn warned.

"Hey, whatever equipment you two have in your apartment, I don't want to
hear about it," Angel said quickly, rubbing his shin.

Wesley blinked, then felt himself blushing as he pictured what Angel
undoubtedly didn't really mean. Handcuffs were one thing-- actually buying
something besides the bed, to cuff Charles to... Was something he'd have to
think about when he was once again fully able to appreciate the idea.

"Gun rack of the truck?" Gunn was saying, not appreciably embarrassed by
Angel's misinterpretation. Or Wesley's.

"Is that like 'Tarzan of the Apes'? Because I never understood the deal
with-- Wesley? Do you mind?"

"I didn't kick you on purpose," Wesley told him, still wriggling in the
seat. "It isn't my fault your bloody hulk takes up too much room."

"What are you doing?"

Wesley wriggled, then frowned. "Nothing."

"Did you drop something?" Angel had leaned over a bit, and was looking at
where Wesley's hand was down between the seat and the door.

Wesley pulled his hand free. "No."

Angel raised one eyebrow, and reached one of those freakishly long arms
across Wesley, and down to the floor where he'd been fiddling. In a moment,
he pulled out the small figure that Wesley had been trying not to let anyone
see in his possession.

"Dracula?" He grinned. Wesley wondered if he'd fall for that 'photo of
himself on the mirror' trick again, or if --how sad-- he'd have to think up
something new. Something involving pink glitter nail varnish and Angel's
best leather jacket, perhaps.

"It's not mine," he said quickly, as Angel held up the toy and showed it
to Gunn. "Rupert had some insane idea that I might want it, and I couldn't
very well turn him down."

"Isn't this the one they were all fighting over?" Angel asked, still
eyeing the figure. Wesley made no attempt to take it back. It wasn't as if
he'd asked for the thing. He'd only been attempting to fish it out where
he'd dropped it, because Rupert would want it back, later.

"Perhaps he thought I would keep it safe from the others," he suggested.
He found Angel giving him a bizarre look, then Angel was holding the toy out
to him. Wesley took it, and leaned forward to stuff it into the glove
compartment where it wouldn't be lost.

He couldn't reach the compartment. Angel opened it without a word, and
dropped the figure in. Stared at the other contents for a moment. "I didn't
know the raspberry flavor came in twelve packs," was all he said before
clicking the cover shut.

Wesley breathed a sigh of relief that Angel hadn't rooted about in there
to see what else he could find. He wasn't sure, quite, what they'd left in
there, from their last road trip to Mexico.

"It was on sale, too," Gunn said easily.

"Pardon me," Wesley said, as he leaned over Angel's lap. It was a
stretch, without undoing his seatbelt -- but with Angel pressing himself
backwards out of his way, Wesley was able to reach Gunn.

"Ow! Damn, you're a mean little kid." Gunn rubbed his arm, where Wesley
had just pinched him.

Well, they'd *wanted* him to be a child, right? Wesley just sat back and
folded his arms in front of him, and let himself feel smug. Gunn was going
to get every second of everything he could think of...

"I just missed a golden opportunity, didn't I?" Angel asked. Wesley raised
an eyebrow, pictured the position he'd just been in, and glared at Angel.

"Try it, and you'll never have to worry about that Shanshu prophecy coming
true," he said through gritted teeth. "I don't care how bloody valuable you
are to the end-of-the-world fight."

"Right, no pony for the kid with the death threats," Angel noted. He
pulled a little notebook out of his top pocket and wrote something down.
Wesley craned his neck to see what it was, and Angel lifted it higher.

"You're deliberately trying to annoy me," Wesley pointed out.

"I learned from the best," Angel said, almost cheerfully. Then he flashed
the notebook to Gunn, who looked at it for a second, laughed, then returned
his gaze to the road.

Wesley sat back, arms still folded. They were being prats, just because
they knew it would wind him up. Well, he would show them. He wouldn't need
to ring Spike and Xander to do it, either.

Just because he was small, didn't mean there was anything wrong with his
mind -- and he *knew* he was more clever than either of these two. After
all, the month they'd spent sneaking in and adding or removing bags of blood
each morning from Angel's fridge had been his idea. It had only taken a
week and a half before Angel had asked if anyone thought he was losing his
mind again.

He started thinking about all the things he might do -- most of which
involved getting them to take him someplace public. The 'help, I'm being
kidnapped' was crude, but asking kindly looking, older gay men if they
wanted to be friends with his daddy...

*****

"Buffy, Tara's hogging the popcorn," Willow shouted from her spot on the
couch. Tara gave her a grin, and tossed a piece of popcorn at her. Willow
tossed it back.

"Anybody would think you guys had been kids for a week, instead of a few
hours," Xander said. He managed not to break his straight face when they
both looked at him, agog.

"Excuse me? Mr. Standing In The Corner Half An Hour After I Got
De-Adulted?" Willow shot back.

He scooted a bit further out of popcorn range. "I was just keeping Spike
company."

"In the opposite corner?"

"You wouldn't *let* us stand in the same corner," Spike reminded her.
Xander grinned, and leaned back against Spike's shoulder. A brief trip out
by themselves to pick up ice cream had taken the edge off some of that
'haven't shagged in two weeks' tension. Enough to last them through the
movie, at least.

And once seven o'clock came around, and Willow and Tara and Giles were
dead to the world...maybe they could sneak into the bathroom and take
another edge off. Since it was a sure bet that if they did anything in
Buffy or Dawn's bed -- no one had told them whose bed they got, tonight --
they would both be dust in the morning. Buffy had mentioned knowing a way
to grind up human body parts and dry them out -- informing them of this when
he had suggested that if Dawn wanted to sleep alone, he and Spike would be
happy to bunk with Buffy.

He and Spike would be keeping the miniature witches at their apartment for
the rest of the month, but no one wanted to split up the first night. There
was too much 'slumber party havoc' waiting to be had. Hence the movie and
popcorn night, although Giles was sitting next to the Lego castle. Every
once in a while Xander would catch him sneaking another Lego into place.

"You know, I don't know that 'Die Hard' is actually any more fun to watch
as a kid," Tara said thoughtfully.

"Maybe it's just a guy thing," Willow said, looking at Xander. He
shrugged.

"Big boom? Yippee ki yay, mother--" Spike began animatedly, and Xander
slapped a hand over his mouth at the appropriate spot. Spike stared at it
for a moment, and Xander had to stare at it as well. What, the parenting
stuff was built-in? Either that, or he'd been taken over by an evil undead
hand, like the one in the Wolfram and Hart horror story Angel had told them
a few nights ago.

Tara was staring at the screen. "In fact, as a four year old, I find a
shirtless Bruce Willis much less interesting."

"You found shirtless Bruce Willis interesting, before?" Willow asked, with
an intrigued, very adult tone in her voice.

Xander grinned as Tara ducked her head and stammered, "Well, no, but, um,
n-now I find him even l-l-less..."

Xander took pity on Tara, and whapped his best friend with a pillow. She
whipped her head around, and narrowed her eyes. Suddenly two pillows flew
up and hit *him*. "Hey!" He jumped up off the couch, and leant down.
Willow laughed, then squealed as Xander picked her up.

He started to carry her out of the room, and Tara called out, "Where are
you taking her?"

He stopped. Reconsidered. Tara was a witch, too.... "Just taking her into
the kitchen so she can help carry the ice cream."

He smiled guilelessly, and headed for the kitchen, ignoring the happy
cries of "Ice cream!" from everyone in the room. Including Spike, which he
*still* was not used to. Vampires were supposed to eat blood, and *only*
blood. Not get excited at the thought of frozen sugar.

"You can put me down now," Willow told him when he'd gotten to the kitchen
and was standing in the middle of the room trying to figure out how to scoop
out seven bowls of ice cream while carrying a witch under one arm. Not to
mention the fact that Spike would want Magic Shell. Spike *always* wanted
Magic Shell. He said that breaking through the chocolate to get to the ice
cream reminded him of breaking through somebody's skull to get to the
brains. Which Xander knew was a big fat lie, because Spike didn't even like
brains. Livers, yeah, but not brains.

"Xan?"

"Oh, yeah. Put you down. Right." He made absolutely no move to do so, and
started about the process of pulling bowls from the cupboard with one hand.

"Don't make me turn you into a frog, mister!" Somehow the threat sounded
less threatening in a little girl voice. Xander didn't figure he should
tell her that, though. She'd probably take it as a reason to actually try
to turn him into a frog.

He started digging around the cupboards looking for chocolate syrup, Magic
Shell, or sprinkles. He knew he'd find one if not all three -- he'd trained
Dawn well. Er, the monks had.

"Xander Harris! I mean it, put me down!" There was a pause, then a tiny
wavering voice said "All the blood is rushing to my head."

"Silver balls? Coloured sprinkles? Or both...hmm...." He got everything
down and set it on the counter. He had to adjust his grip on a squirming
child before she made him drop her, then considered whether to get down the
marshmallows, too. Not quite marshmallow creme, but close.

Then again... he *did* want everyone else in the house besides himself and
Spike to fall asleep *eventually*.

"Xander, if you don't put me down I'm gonna yonk on your shoes," Willow
warned him.

"I'm not wearing shoes." He lined up seven bowls on the counter.

"I'll tell you where Buffy hid your G.I. Joe..."

"It's in the medicine chest, stuck in the Vaseline canister. Like a *girl*
could figure out a decent hiding place," he said scornfully as he tried to
open the freezer door. Okay, so maybe a little of his four-year-old-ness
hadn't worn off yet.

He heard Willow chant something, and a whooshing noise, before a cutting
board flew off its wall-hanger and smacked him on the butt.

"Don't make me drop you, Miss Rosenburg," he said in his best Ms. Murtle,
kindergarten teacher, voice. It was frightening that, even now, he could
still imitate her voice.

He did, however, suddenly discover he was going to have to put her
(Willow -- not Ms. Murtle) down. He had the ice cream out of the freezer,
and had the ice cream scoop - but there was no way he could scoop the ice
cream one handed. On the other hand, his butt was stinging. And not in a
good way. While he tried to decide if he wanted to call Spike in here to a)
take Willow or b) scoop ice cream, he reached around with his free hand, and
tickled Willow.

She screamed loud enough to wake the dead; however, no one came in from
the living room to see what was happening. "Poophead," she said after a few
seconds of trying to get her breath back.

"Dogbreath," he answered easily.

"Tara doesn't think I have dogbreath," she said as he thought deeply about
whether he could brace the ice cream carton against something and scoop
one-handed after all.

"Tara wasn't around when you ate a Milk Bone on a dare from Aura
Masterson." He couldn't see her face, but he would bet his next month's
paychecks that she was sticking her tongue out at him. God, this was fun.

"Sometime while I'm still young and beautiful, please?" echoed in from the
living room.

"Who said you were beautiful?" Xander called back to Spike. He tried
pushing the carton up against the side of the fridge and scooping. It
worked as far as that went -- but then he was holding the scoop the wrong
way to tip the ice cream into the bowl.

However, as predicted, Spike came storming into the kitchen. "Who says
I'm not beautiful?" he demanded.

Xander looked over his shoulder. "Can you hold the carton?"

"Eh? Oh, sure. Like a holding the tiger's tail, innit?" Spike sauntered
over and held the carton out away from the fridge-side, so that Xander could
scoop from the other side of it - and thus not have to turn his wrist
backwards to drop the ice cream into each bowl. "Um, this isn't enough ice
cream for *me*, much less the rest of you lot."

"There's three more gallons in the freezer. But one of them is pineapple
sherbet." The gagging noise made Xander grin. "Willow, does that mean
you'd like some? A huge bowl of pineapple sherbet with no toppings?"

"Keep in mind that I'm gonna be living with you for the next month," she
said. "I can make sure you guys have as few opportunities to 'go out for ice
cream' as possible."

"We already went out for ice cream, nyah nyah."

"Where'd you go, Alaska?"

No, to the parking lot behind the A&P, with the big dark carport. Which
was utterly beside the point. Little witches shouldn't know about such
things. Xander put two more scoops in his own, Spike's and Buffy's bowls,
and one more in Dawn's. Then, out of the generosity of his heart, he gave
Willow an extra scoop too. It had nothing to do with hoping they ran out of
ice cream and had to go out for more.

"You wanna give Wendy and the Mini-Ripper some of the pistachio?" Spike
asked, as he put the first carton of ice cream away.

"Yeah -- and put the caramel sauce on Dawn's." Xander grinned when Spike
gave him a 'duh, do I look like I haven't been stealing bites from Dawn's
bowls of ice cream for the last year or what?' look.

"Can I have silver balls?" Willow asked.

"Um, I hate to be the one to tell you this, Wills, but when you grow up
you're gonna have boobies, not balls." A moment later he added "Ow!"

He looked up at Spike in shock. Spike was looking at his own hand, as if
it, too, had been taken over by the evil spirit of Parenthood. Xander used
his free hand to rub his butt, and refrained from sticking his tongue out at
Spike. Not Spike's fault he'd managed to hit exactly the same spot Willow
had gotten. But then Spike smirked, and said smugly, "Shouldn't talk like
that in front of the kiddies," and Xander didn't bother refraining.

"Are you saying I don't have balls?" Willow said in a voice that had a
totally different kind of warning in it than the 'yak on your non-existent
shoes' warning.

Xander sprinkled silver balls over Willow's dish of ice cream. "You do
now."

"Good answer," Spike told him, a relieved tone in his voice. Xander
raised an eyebrow at him.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of a little witch?" He turned slightly, so
he could dangle said little witch in front of Spike.

"I am when she can do things to you that mean I won't have any more ice
cream for a month! Er, not counting when Anya gets home."

"Weenie." Xander sniffed in disdain. He should have handed Willow off to
Spike, and done the ice cream by himself.

"Not if you don't put me down, Mr. Harris."

He picked up her bowl of ice cream and handed it to her. "Here, hold
this." Should keep her hands occupied for a few minutes, anyway. Spike
grinned approvingly, then managed, somehow to balance four bowls in his own
arms. Xander grabbed Tara's, then realized that his own was still on the
counter. "Um... Willow?"

"Dream on," she said smugly, already digging a spoon into her own bowl--
and how she managed to balance it while being carried under someone's arm,
without having her eyes turn black from the major mojo, he'd never know.

"Fine, I'll leave it." He followed Spike back into the living room, handed
Tara her ice cream, and, finally, plopped Willow back on the couch. Then he
turned around and headed back for the kitchen.

"Going out for ice cream by yourself?" Willow asked snottily.

Spike jumped up and came after him. "Nope, I'm gonna go along and watch."

"You're going to watch?" Giles looked up at them from where he'd been
re-building one of the turrets, having given up all pretense at watching the
movie.

"Yeah, Xander shouldn't have to go for ice cream by himself, not when I'm
around." Spike slung his arm around Xander's shoulders, and grinned.

Giles simply stared at them for a moment, then he sighed and shook his
head. "I don't know why I make the attempt to understand a word you say."

"Because you love us," Xander replied. "Especially when we tell you we
left the pirate cove Legos at our apartment." Giles gave him a dirty look.
Xander laughed and went back to the kitchen to rescue his ice cream before
it melted.

Part Three  

"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 Four  

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.

Part Five  

"Wesley... where are you hiding... I have cookies..." Cordelia's voice
sing-songed through the lobby, and Wesley winced.

"Honestly, Cordelia. I'm not hiding, I'm sitting at my desk."

She walked over. "Oh. I just couldn't see you over that stack of books. I
have cookies-- you want some?"

"I'm not a child, Cordy," he began. Then he blinked. "What kind of
cookies?"

She set the plate down on top of his Concordance to the Gallegian
Chronicles. "Oatmeal-raisin. And I *know* you're not a kid. Yet. I just
thought you might like a cookie."

Wesley caught himself giving her a dirty look, and smoothed out his
displeasure into a polite nod. "Thank you, Cordelia." He took one, then
stopped. "Er, did you bake them yourself?" He saw Gunn walk up behind her,
and make waving motions. Wesley kept himself from staring at him, until
Gunn began gesturing towards his throat and sticking his tongue out. "Are
you trying to say you've been bitten by Angel?" Wesley asked him.

Gunn gave *him* a dirty look as Cordelia whirled around. "Gunn! You want
another cookie?"

"Er, ah, no thanks, trying to watch my figure." He patted his stomach.

"What figure?"

"I'll watch it for you, if you like," Wesley offered.

"Eeew, stop it, that's creepy." Cordelia wrinkled her nose. Wesley gave
her his most withering stare.

"Just because I *look* like a child..."

"No, it's always creepy," she said, snatching the plate of cookies away.
"Fine. You two don't appreciate my attempts to make this place friendly and
homey, it's your problem."

Gunn mouthed the word 'Homey?' over Cordelia's shoulder, and did a gangsta
rap gesture. Wesley chuckled, which somehow came out as a giggle.

"Laugh at me. See if I care. Angel will eat my cooking."

"I'll what?" Angel asked, stepping into the office. Cordelia grinned and
held out the plate. He smiled, a bit forcedly. "Cookies. How...I don't
eat, but otherwise I'd--"

"Have one," Cordelia told him.

"I'll have one," he repeated, taking a cookie. Wesley and Gunn watched
him, Wesley wondering if he'd actually bite into it, or try to distract them
all while he got rid of it. "Gee, these look yummy," Angel began.

Wesley noticed that no one was looking at him -- so he took his own cookie
and slid it underneath a book.

"I saw that, Wesley."

"Traitor."

Angel eyed him warily. "Since when were we on the same side? I still have
bruises, you know."

Wesley watched him palm his cookie, and magically disappear it into his
leather jacket. "Saving it for later?" he asked sweetly.

Cordelia turned to look at Angel, who spread his arms wide, and made
munching noises. "Mmm. Dewishus." He fake-chewed a bit more, then asked,
"Can I get the recipe?"

"It's the tollhouse recipe," she replied, sounding doubtful. "On the side
of the tube of cookie-dough."

"You mean the tube of 'cut 'em and bake 'em' cookie dough?" Gunn asked,
and Wesley could see him reaching for the plate. He considered warning
him -- but refrained. There were some things a man had to learn on his own.

She frowned at Gunn as he took another cookie, but waited until he'd
actually taken a bite before saying, "I always make my own dough, of course,
but I use the tube of dough to tell me what temperature to put the oven on."

Gunn stopped chewing. Then he made the ultimate mistake-- one that Wesley
had made himself, on at least one occasion. He tried to swallow what he
still had in his mouth, without chewing.

"Does someone want to help him?" Wesley asked after a few seconds. "I
would, but I'm not really equipped to do the Heimlich maneuver any more." He
wasn't *really* choking, just coughing and making funny faces, but it was
enough to make Cordelia glare at them all, and Angel rush over to Gunn, face
stricken with guilt.

"I'm so sorry I didn't warn you, Gunn," Angel began, and started to put
his arms around Gunn's waist.

Wesley watched, amused, as Gunn yanked himself away, still coughing. "The
last time you tried that, you broke three of my ribs. Back off!"

Cordelia had her hands on her hips, now, and was glaring at Angel and
Gunn. Both men started giving her sheepish, what'd we do we didn't mean it
aren't we cute don't kill us looks.

"Angel, don't forget to remove the cookie from your pocket before your
coat gets laundered." Wesley sat back in his chair -- scooting on the copy
of Truncale's Wisdom. Serving as a booster was the best use he'd found for
the book, yet. Angel turned his expression onto Wesley, and it became a
'don't forget I could kill you a thousand different ways' look. Wesley
flipped open a book at random and glanced down at it. "Last time it took
the cleaners forever to get the chocolate out."

"Last time?" Cordelia asked. "What last time? My chocolate chip fudge
cookies?!"

Angel shook his head, rapidly. "No, no, those were great. He's talking
about..." Wesley looked up to find Angel glaring at him again.

"Yes? What was I talking about?"

"Getting outside in the fresh air and sunshine?" Angel suggested. "I mean,
don't you want to go play in the park, or something?"

Wesley had to grin. "Are you offering to take me? In the fresh air and
sunshine?"

"Well, no, But I'm sure Gunn and Cordy would love to get out of the
office. You could go ride on those bouncy things with the pelican heads."
Angel sounded like he'd got quite familiar with bouncy playground equipment,
during his extended tour as nanny for mini-Xander-and-Spike.

Wesley raised an eyebrow. "Need I remind you that I am *not* in fact a
child?"

"Didn't stop Spike and Xander." Angel shrugged.

"Yes, and my mental state is so much like theirs, I can see why you
assumed I would enjoy behaving like a moron for entertainment." Wesley
tried turning his attention back to his books. It wasn't that he expected
them to leave, but he did hope they would get the hint. He was *still* an
adult, in all respects save the one.

"You don't have to act like a moron," Cordelia pointed out. "But you
*should* get outside, have some fun."

"I assure you, I am quite--"

"You're gonna spend all day behind those books," Gunn interrupted. "I
think you need to get out. Relax, enjoy yourself."

Wesley placed his finger in the book he had been studying, then closed it,
so everyone would have a clearer view of his disapproving scowl. He thought
he did a fairly decent job of hiding the wince, when he discovered that
either his finger was much smaller than he was used to, or the book was much
heavier.

"I'll have plenty of time to do all of those childish things you're all so
keen on seeing me do, and undoubtedly taking pictures of to use against me
for the rest of my life, after I've succumbed to the regression bit of the
spell. When I won't particularly *care* how idiotic I look, or how much
actual work there is to be done in the meanwhile." He opened the book again,
and very carefully did *not* put his finger in his mouth to suck on it.

"Would we do that?" Gunn asked, not even trying to sound sincere in his
objection.

"I've already bought extra film," Cordelia said.

"I have tapes for the camcorder," Angel added.

Wesley wondered if he shouldn't have made arrangements to stay the month
with Rupert. Even if Rupert were staying with Buffy and Dawn -- surely
those two wouldn't ...no. They would. Wesley sighed.

Picking up one of the smaller tomes, he slid off his chair. Now shorter
than the desk, he couldn't see the three watching him -- and wasn't
particularly keen on seeing their expressions. What he wanted was to find
some quiet spot where he could read.

"Wes..." Gunn began, and Wesley cut him off.

"Please, Charles? Just let me be, for now?"

Gunn walked over and pulled his chair back. "I was just gonna say, maybe
we should grab some books, and read in the bedroom? If you want to."

Wesley looked up at him. He appeared to be utterly serious, holding out a
hand for Wesley to take. Wesley grinned, after a moment, and placed a book
in it. Then another, on top of that.

Gunn didn't say a word until Wesley had five books stacked. Then he only
said, "How long you planning on being upstairs reading?"

Wesley looked up, and went for an innocent expression. It seemed to be
working much better for him now, as a child, than it ever had before. "All
day?"

Gunn muttered something which Wesley couldn't quite make out, then he
looked over at Angel. "You got cable in that room, right?"

Angel's brow furrowed for a moment, then his mouth twitched, as if he were
afraid that smiling more than once during the same week would confuse the
natives. "There's rope in the basement, I guess, and you know where we keep
the chains, but do you really think you shoul--"

That was all he managed to get out before Gunn was smacking him on the
back of the head. "I *know* you did not just say that. He's *four*!"

"I am *not*--" Wesley shook his head, and piled another book atop the
stack in Gunn's arms. "Forget it. Come on, I want to get *something*
accomplished today, while I still have a working brain."

Gunn, still glaring at Angel, headed for the stairs, and Wesley followed.

******

Gunn patiently flipped the page of the book Wes was reading. They were
settled in a chair, Wesley on his lap -- because Gunn *could* and he was
gonna take every opportunity to hold Wes, no matter what the squirt thought
about it.

He was patiently flipping pages -- not because he read faster than Wesley
and had finished the page five minutes ago. He was patiently flipping
because he'd tried reading it, and gotten bored by the third page. He
hadn't told Wesley, because watching Wes read was...all right, fine. He was
gob-smacked, and he finally understood what that phrase meant. He liked
watching his lover read.

They'd been doing a lot of it the last couple of days -- no matter how
hard they tried to get Wesley to go *out* and do stuff, be a kid, he still
preferred to stay indoors and read. Gunn thought he was hiding, rather than
just being really into his books. Once his emotions caught up with the age
of his body, that would change. He hoped.

It had already started, though. The book on Gunn's lap wasn't an obscure
academic treatise on dead or evil things. It was Nero Wolfe. Still adult
reading, but, in Gunn's opinion, a step forward.

Gunn was so engrossed in looking down at the top of Wesley's head,
watching it move slightly from side to side every so often as Wes glanced
back at the previous page like he was checking to see if he'd missed a clue,
that he didn't notice Wes tapping him on the arm until the small face was
turned up and looking at him. "I'm ready to turn the page," Wesley told him
with a small grin. "Unless you're still reading."

He coughed softly and shook his head. "No, I'm about done." He faked
finishing the last paragraph, then he turned the page.

"I was wondering-- do like you this one better than the last? I've been
told that the Robert Goldsborough books are written just as well as the Rex
Stout, but I've always thought they were missing something, somehow."

Gunn just looked at him. "Wes, the last one was a Sherlock Holmes novel.
I'm not *that* spaced."

"So you're saying you noticed the re-appearance of the woman from the
cafe?"

Gunn opened his mouth to say 'of course', then he realized that Wesley was
just as likely to be making it up. However, he couldn't call him on it,
because then Wes would either laugh at him, or pout.

"But you *are* 'spaced'. Else you wouldn't have denied being 'that
spaced'," Wesley continued. He sighed. "If you don't want to read--"

"Hey, man, I never said I didn't want to read with you."

Wide eyes narrowed at him, and Gunn had to control the laughter which
threatened to annoy Wesley even *more*. Four year olds just couldn't pull
off the 'die, street scum' look. "Then you also noted the arrival of Justin
Pierce? And the policeman's reaction?"

Gunn thought for a moment, then stuck his tongue out. "Anybody ever tell
you you're a mean little kid?"

"If I were a mean little kid," Wes replied, "I would have grabbed your
tongue and pinched it. Or something equally Spike-like. I'm just a poor
innocent waif whose caregiver doesn't want to take an interest in his
intellectual stimulation."

"I'm down with the intellectual stimulation, Wes. I like to watch you get
stimulated, trust me." Wesley raised an eyebrow, and Gunn decided he really
needed to pull out his own tongue and cut it off with the nearest sharp
object. "I mean, normally. When you're the right size."

Wesley's eyebrow went higher, and Gunn decided it was maybe time to go
yell at Angel some more about not putting in cable TV. Or getting a dish.
Heck, a *radio* would be nice. "Why don't you just read your book, and let
me get back to what I was doing?"

"And what *were* you doing, since you weren't reading?" Wesley asked, his
young voice deceptively challenging. Teasing him.

Gunn smiled. "Watching you read."

At that, Wesley flushed, and turned his face. He fingered the page for a
moment, staring at it as though he were just going back to reading. The red
crept up to his ear, until even the tips were bright pink. Gunn reached up
and flicked it, lightly.

"Stop that," Wesley ordered. Trying to sound like he was really annoyed,
but Gunn could tell the difference.

"What, this?" He flicked Wesley's ear again, and one thin shoulder rose
up, as Wes tried to turn his head and rub his ear against it. "Why, you
ticklish or something?"

"I thought you wanted to watch me read?"

"Oh, I do. Please. Go about your business." Gunn tried hard to keep a
straight face as Wes frowned suspiciously at him, then turned back to his
book.

Gunn sat quietly for a moment, keeping his hands in full view, perfectly
innocent places, not doing a thing here, officer. He moved one hand an
inch, and Wesley placed his on top of it.

Like he could hold Gunn's hand down. He grinned. Moved his hand another
inch. Wesley pushed down on his hand, but there was no strength there at
all. He could easily overpower-- Gunn froze.

He sat still for seconds, then, staring at his hand underneath Wesley's.
Then he leaned forward and gave that short brush of sandy-brown hair a kiss.
Wesley turned his head, giving him a look that said he knew Gunn had lost
his mind.

"What was that for?" It was for wondering if Wes had any idea how much
power he really had, but Gunn wasn't about to say that, so he just smiled.
"Stop that." He kept smiling. Wesley's eyes narrowed. "You're frightening
me. I'm going to go tell Cordelia you're trying to scare me. She'll probably
feed me ice cream, and shout things at you."

"Uh-huh. And that's different from last week, how exactly?"

Wesley's face screwed up in concentration for a moment, before he said
thoughtfully, "I doubt I shall be able to eat more than two bowls."

"With caramel sauce and those little sprinkle things?"

"And whipped cream."

Gunn and Wesley stared at each other, neither one moving nor speaking,
then in one smooth move Wesley closed the book, Gunn set him on the floor
and stood, then they took each other's hand and headed for the door.

When they got to the lobby, they found Cordelia sitting at the computer,
muttering words at it that Gunn used to think a high-maintenance chick like
Cordy wouldn't know. Or at least have been brought up to say in public.

"Hey, watch the language, lady. You wanna scar Wes for life?" Gunn walked
around the counter and looked over her shoulder. "What's the prob?"

"I think Cordelia's said most of those things in my presence before," Wes
told him, as he tried to peer over the desk, and failing that, shrugged, and
walked around behind Gunn. "Never *about* me, of course."

Cordelia must have been really frustrated, because she didn't even respond
to that, just clacked a few more keys, clicked the mouse twice, and let out
a word that had Gunn blinking, even though he'd learned a lot more about
Cordy's vocabulary over the past couple of years than he might have wanted
to.

"I'm trying to do an online funds transfer-- pay the electric bill on this
place, since you-know-who can't seem to remember to-- but it doesn't want to
recognize our bank account number."

"Are you sure you have the correct password?" Wesley asked, peering up
towards the computer screen.

Cordelia glared at him. "Of *course* I have the correct password. And I
typed the number correctly!"

"Let me see," Wesley leaned forward, reaching for the mouse. He paused,
and glanced at Cordelia. "Do you mind?"

"No, by all means, fix the stupid thing." Cordelia said generously. Then
Gunn was fighting laughter again as she picked Wes up and plopped him down
on her lap.

"Cordelia!" Wesley sounded scandalized.

"What? There was a time when you would've tripped over your own tongue to
sit on my lap," she said, scooting forward so that a still-glaring Wes could
reach the keyboard. "If it makes you feel any better, I promise not to enjoy
it too much."

"There was a time when I thought that the Pet Shop Boys were the epitome
of modern music, too, but that doesn't mean I haven't come to my senses
since then." Wes tapped on the keyboard for a while, frowning at the screen
in such studious concentration that Gunn had to fight the urge to reach
under the counter and grab Cordy's camera.

The only thing that stopped him was the sight of Angel walking towards
them from the back hallway, one finger in front of his lips, holding the
camcorder in his other hand.

"Pet Shop Boys?" Gunn asked, grinning, trying to keep Wesley distracted.
"Like, How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?"

"I was quite young at the time," Wesley said severely, glancing up at
Gunn.

He grinned. "Yeah, and now that you're *all* grown up..." he replied in
his best 'aren't you a cute widdle boy' voice. Wes' severe look grew more
severe.

Wesley turned back to the computer screen. "There, I've accessed the
account. I don't know what you did," he began, as if he were thinking 'but
it was probably just typing in the number wrong'. He was smart enough not
to say so aloud, especially when there was no way he could get out of range
in time.

"Thanks." Cordelia reached around and began typing again, one-handed.
Wesley tried to slip off her lap, and found her arm in his way.

"Excuse me, but if you don't have any more need of my services..." he
tried. Cordelia didn't even look down at him.

"Oh, no. You're not going anywhere until this thing goes through. I want a
*witness*, the next time it gives me that 'you're a total airhead, please
bank somewhere else' message."

"It really said that?" Gunn asked.

"No, but I can read between the lines," she muttered.

Wes wasn't amused. "I can certainly witness just as well standing on the
floor."

"Yeah, but then I wouldn't get the free lap-dance," Cordelia said. Wes
squirmed, not lowering himself to answer that one, and she finally let him
slide down. "Geez, Wesley. Relax. Take a joke."

"Perhaps when I'm sufficiently brain-dead to find it amusing," he replied,
but Gunn could tell he wasn't as upset as he was trying to sound. At least,
he *thought* so, but then Wes turned to face Angel, and placed his hands on
his hips. "I assume you have enough video?"

"Er, uh." Angel lowered the camcorder -- Gunn wondered if he turned it
off, or if he was trying to be sneaky. "Yeah, for now," he managed in a
forced-casual tone.

"Fine. Now, if you will excuse me?" Wesley walked away from Cordelia's
desk -- back straight and one foot in front of the other, very clearly *not*
stomping, no tantrums here, but he was definitely off-balance. Except -- he
was heading for the kitchen. Gunn was about to follow, when Wesley looked
back over his shoulder. "Are you coming? Or shall I break my neck climbing
onto the counters?"

"Yeah, I'm coming. Chill." Gunn followed him into the kitchen, and opened
the freezer door. "What's your pleasure? Chocolate chocolate chunk,
chocolate fudge ripple, or chocolate brownie supreme?"

"Don't we have vanilla? I remember putting some in the cart." Wesley was
leaning against a chair, his arms crossed.

"Yeah, I just thought you might be in a chocolate kinda mood," Gunn
answered, pulling out the carton of plain vanilla anyway.

Wesley frowned. "I'm not upset. And I'm certainly not Cordelia."

"I was just sayin'--"

"That I needed to be placated? Fed chocolate until my brain shuts down?"

"When you put it that way -- yeah." He opened the carton of ice cream and
grabbed two bowls still sitting by the sink, where they'd been left to dry
from the last ice cream raid.

Wesley's lips tightened, but he said nothing. Gunn began scooping out ice
cream, and considered how much chocolate syrup, caramel sauce, and whipped
cream he'd need to get Wesley to admit he *was* upset. "They don't mean
anything by it," he said quietly.

'I know that," Wesley said. "If I thought they were really trying to annoy
me, I wouldn't put up with it at all."

Gunn paused in reaching for the chocolate sprinkles, and grinned at Wes.
"Well, I didn't say they weren't trying to *annoy* you. But how's that
different from any other day?"

"I--" Wesley shook his head. "It's not. I understand that."

"But it still bothers you." Gunn had finished with Wesley's bowl and was
handing it to him, before he got a response to his statement.

"I didn't say that it bothered me."

"Didn't have to. It's written all over your 'polite, not showing a damn
thing' face." He grabbed the bottle of chocolate syrup and began drowning
his ice cream.

"Very funny," Wesley retorted, mildly.

Gunn waited until his bowl was almost full of syrup, before answering.
Some things required concentration. "Yeah, I just got too good at
translating that lack of expression." He glanced sideways at Wesley, and
was pleased to find him look briefly guilty. Not because Wes ought to have
been feeling guilty -- even though he *should* have been -- but because
Wesley was that much closer to letting that mask drop, when it was just
them. "They're being a little freer with the 'let's embarrass the English
British guy,' though, aren't they?" he added, knowing that what Cordelia
had done was at least three levels up from what she would normally ever do.

Of course, it was *easier* to put Wes on your lap, now that he was small
enough for it. Gunn figured they were all indulging in repressed
Wesley-affection. Wesley just hadn't gotten used to it, yet. Either that,
or it was just that now he was so darned *cute*, none of them could help
themselves.

"Something in that question was redundant," Wes answered, staring at his
ice cream, but not actually doing anything with it. "Possibly the entire
question. Yes, all right, it bothers me. You *know* it bothers me, so why
are you bothering to ask?"

"Because it bothers you?" Gunn grinned. Wesley dug his spoon into his ice
cream and looked for a second like he was seriously considering flinging
some at Gunn, but he didn't.

"Yes, well I can't *help* it, you know. If I could just turn my reactions
on and off like Cordelia's computer, it would probably be more helpful for
all concerned, but it doesn't work that way."

Gunn set down his bowl on the counter and walked over to Wesley. "Nobody's
askin' you not to react, or think or feel or do whatever you wanna do, Wes.
That's you and your damn English British whatever. But I bet there's some
kinda middle place between kicking anybody who picks you up, and pretending
it doesn't bug you."

"I didn't kick Cordelia." Wesley looked down at his bowl. "At least not
intentionally. And I haven't kicked you all morning. Despite your
deserving it."

Gunn gave him a quick smile. "Yeah, well, how about this - 'please don't
pick me up'?" Wesley didn't answer, swirling his spoon around in the melting
ice cream. Gunn waited, then, "Wes?"

"That never used to work," he said so quietly Gunn was surprised he heard
it at all.

For two seconds Gunn resisted the urge to give him a hard hug. Then he
set his and Wes' bowls aside, ignored Wes' look of astonishment, and knelt
down to gather him up. Hugged him as hard as he could, and not because
*Wesley* needed it.

Part Six  

It was a simple assignment. Anya had *stressed* that it was a simple
assignment. Which meant, of course, that they were sure to mess it up. "Your
mission, Spike and Xander, whether or not you choose to accept it: drive to
the Safeway, take the little witches with you, and buy food that all of us
can actually eat. Since you've devoured everything else in the apartment
during my absence. I'll be home from the Magic Box at nine, to accept your
field report."

Or something like that. Spike had actually been paying more attention to
the new blouse Anya was almost wearing. After two weeks of not being able to
properly appreciate the female form, it was nice to have one around again
that he wouldn't be slapped for staring at. He hadn't been worried-- what,
after all, could go wrong in a simple trip to the market, with Xander and
two pint-sized friends who still had all of their adult faculties?

He supposed that maybe his brain cells hadn't recovered from being a
fourth their normal size. Or something.

"Maybe we should go to Albertson's," Willow was saying. Spike thought she
might be right -- they'd only been in this grocery store for ten minutes,
and already the manager was saying something about kicking them out or he'd
have security escort them.

"I think he's over-reacting," Tara said quietly, and Spike agreed with
her. He looked over at the tipped-over display of fruit juice and crackers.
It wasn't anything that couldn't be fixed with a mop -- grocery stores had
lots of those things, right?

"I'd agree with you, normally," Willow replied, and the store manager was
giving her a surprised and confused look. "But I think once the beef jerky
display started the domino effect, we lost all claims at it being a simple
accident."

"But it *was* an accident!" Spike added -- again. He doubted anyone would
believe him this time, either.

Willow looked up at him. "True. But I don't think it qualifies as
'simple' any longer."

Xander, meanwhile, was giving him that 'I'm gonna thump you good, when we
get home' glare. And not the good sort of thumping. "You realize this
narrows down the places in Sunnydale where we can shop without being asked
to leave before we even get in the door, to *three* ?" he growled.

Spike sniffed. "The incident at the Farmers' Market was *not* my fault."

"You jumped up and down on a pallet of fresh watermelons until the whole
center aisle was covered in melon guts," Xander accused. "How was this 'not
your fault' again?"

"I thought they were Horkwroth eggs! They were *moving*, like they were
about to hatch. I was just saving your skinny human arse."

"There was an *earthquake*, Spike. Everything was moving."

"Right, so why pick on me? They wrote it off as natural disaster damages,
anyway."

"You *are* a natural disaster. Or an unnatural one." Xander was moving
closer to Spike in a way that usually meant he was about to get thumped.
Good sort or not-good sort, he wasn't sure; these sort of arguments could
end either way.

"Look, if sprite number 2 there hadn't squealed when she saw the wicker
chair display--"

"I wasn't squealing about the wicker chairs," Tara objected.

"You'd blame all this on a *four* year old child?" Xander interrupted them
both, loudly as he gestured at the mess.

Spike looked around. "Um, yeah. Haven't you ever been around four year
olds before?"

The manager was starting to move towards them menacingly -- Spike debated
if a good scare would be sufficiently amusing to counter how *unamused*
Xander was likely to be.

"If. You. Vamp. I. Will. Stake. You. Slowly." Xander hissed, low enough
for only Spike to hear.

"That a promise?"

Xander gave him a look that could congeal blood. The manager was just
getting close enough for Spike to hear his high-blood-pressure rising a
notch, and Xander's was sounding like it wanted to join the competition,
when Willow and Tara surprised everyone, Spike most of all. They burst into
loud sobs.

He looked down to see both little girls screwing up their faces, and what
sure as hell looked like real tears falling down their cheeks. Without even
thinking about it, Spike found himself bending down to pick up Tara, while
Xander grabbed Willow and lifted her up. "What're you up to?" Spike tried to
say, but all that came out as he stared at the tow-headed girl in his arms,
who was sobbing as if her heart would break, was "There, there..."

The store manager looked like he was about to faint, or have a
heart-attack, or run and hide. Spike ignored him for the moment, as he
looked over to see if Xander could tell him what was going on. Maybe they'd
regressed really fast, or something, and Spike would have to offer to eat
the scary man who'd scared them. Hopefully the scary man was Xander. He
liked eating Xander, and it wouldn't set his chip off.

He patted Tara on the back, and found himself watching a confused Xander
hugging Willow and telling her everything was all right. He was obviously
as clueless as Spike.

Finally Willow began hiccuping and sobbing words, and they both leaned in
to hear: "Is he gonna arrest us? We didn't do it! I didn't touch anything!"

Spike hid a smile as the store manager went from flushed, to pale in the
space of a second. He looked positively vampiric when Willow turned her
eyes on him, with the tears still spilling over the edges, so they seemed
magnified to about twice their actual size.

"You're not gonna take us to jail, are you? Um...um..." She was still
making little choking noises, and after her question, she buried her face in
Xander's shirt, as if that had been the extent of her four-year-old bravery.

"I don't wanna go to jail. I want Mommy!" Tara cried, taking over center
stage. By now, Spike was having to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from
grinning, and he would have traded round three of the 'Welcome Home, Anya'
party, to have a camcorder in his hands, right now. Well, no, he wouldn't.
But it was close.

The manager was shaking his head. "Oh. Ah. No, little girl. Nobody's going
to jail. I'm sure this was all an accident, and we can..."

Willow commenced wailing even harder. "I want my mommy, too!"

"What am I, chopped liver?" Xander muttered. Probably only Spike heard
him, since Tara turned her own sobs up a notch, so that the two of them
seemed to be playing 'Dueling Hissyfit' in D Minor.

"Just...er... please, go on with your shopping. We'll have this cleaned up
in no time," the manager was saying. The girls paid no attention. He was
turning blue, now-- Spike was impressed. Where had all his blood drained
away to? If he wasn't using it, there were plenty of deserving vampires in
the immediate vicinity, after all.

"Come on, let's go buy groceries so we can go home and see Mommy," Xander
was saying to Willow.

Spike opened his mouth to add a bribe to buy cookies and cake mix, then
stopped. Then mentally smacked himself for second-guessing buying junk food
for not-really-four-year-olds. He turned to Tara and said, very
deliberately, "Would you like some pudding? We can make Daddy buy pudding,
and some cool whip."

Tara stopped wailing and looked at him -- her eyes wide and clear, despite
the amount of tears that had been pouring out of them. She nodded, slowly,
as if the very idea was a strange and precious one. Like they hadn't all
spent most of the last two weeks eating ice cream.

"Sure, if *Uncle* Spike remembers that it's his turn to do the dishes,"
Xander said as he plopped Willow into the seat in the front of their
mostly-empty cart.

Tara got an evil gleam in her eye, and Spike had to blink at her for a
second, to make sure he hadn't suddenly started reflecting, or something,
because she looked just like him, for a moment. "I wanted to sit in the
seat," she wailed, and the store manager backed away. Desperately trying to
look as much like the man-height wall of extra-fluffy Charmin he was
standing in front of, as possible.

"Here, mate, could you grab us an empty cart? Somebody hasn't had her nap
today, and..."

The balding man had disappeared, and reappeared with another cart, before
Spike even managed to get the entire sentence out. He also had something
else in his hand-- grape lollipops, which he handed to a still-pouty Willow
and Tara. The two girls looked suspiciously at him, before gleefully ripping
the plastic covers off, and popping the candy in their mouths.

Xander waited until they'd both pushed their carts round the corner,
before grinning at Willow and holding out a hand for her to high-five him.
Spike rolled his eyes, and jealously watched the two mini-sprites suck on
their treats. "I wanna know why *they* get lollies, and I don't," he said.

"Because you're a grown-up," Xander explained in a patient voice.

"So? I could have been four again. Let what's his name off the hook."

Willow looked smug. "It's because we throw better tantrums. No one can
resisting a hysterical little girl."

Spike growled, and loomed over her. "Oh, yeah? I ever tell you how many
hysterical little girls I've eaten?" Then he blinked and grabbed his head.
His hand found the sticky grape lollipop that Tara had thrown at him.
Pulling it -- and several hairs -- free was less painful than the chip-shot
he got when he growled at her, for real. At which point Tara began wailing,
again, that she'd lost her lolly.

Spike stared at her, waiting her out. *He* knew she wasn't regressed yet,
so she was just messing about with him. He *knew* it. And he could wait...

At least another five seconds, until the high-pitched noise started to
hurt his over-sensitive ears, and the smug look on Willow's face started to
hurt his over-sensitive pride, and Spike himself started having these
strange feelings, something like indigestion, whenever he looked at Tara's
disappointed little face...

Growling again, he pulled a packet of lollies off the shelf above his
head, ripped it open, and handed one to Tara. Then, since it was open
anyway, pulled one out for himself, unwrapped it, and popped it in his
mouth.

Xander just stared at him. "You're not supposed to open things before you
pay for them..." he said sternly.

"Good thing I'm not paying for them, then, innit," Spike mumbled around
his lollipop.

Xander gave him a glare that said he was in trouble, but the kind that
might get him spanked, later. Then Xander reached over and took the opened
bag of lollipops out of Spike's hand, removed a green lollipop, and set the
bag down in the cart. Then he began pushing the cart away, towards the
fruits and vegetables.

"Xan?" Spike called after him, once he was far enough away to justify
Spike raising his voice. "Where are you going? We don't need any more
cucumbers. Or zucchini. Or bananas."

A woman pushing her own cart past stopped, gave them both a dubious
glance. Then she snickered when Willow asked, "Why do you and Uncle Spike
buy so many zucchini?"

Xander blushed a delicate shade of rose, while Spike waggled an eyebrow at
Willow, ignoring the woman, or rather, pretending to. "Because veggies are
*good* for growing boys."

"Then why don't you eat them?" she shot back.

"Cos they taste like crap," he said honestly. "But your Dad likes 'em."
Xander was moving towards tomato coloured, now. "Don't you, Dad?"

Xander took a deep breath, then turned a truly *nasty* glare on Spike.
"Yes. I like melons, too, though. In fact, at the moment, I like melons so
much better than zucchini, that I may never buy zucchini again."

Spike blinked at him, then pouted. "But melons like zucchini. Melons
like watching zucchini."

Tara raised her hand, timidly. When all three were looking at her, she
said, "I want popcorn." Spike blinked at her, and glanced over to find that
he wasn't the only one who had no idea how she'd gone from
sex-talk-in-public, to popcorn. She blinked at them, incredulous. "Or
carmel corn. I don't mind which."

Spike and Xander exchanged glances, then Spike looked at a perplexed
Willow. "Up to you, Red. She's your girlfriend."

Willow nodded, seriously. Then she asked, "Tara? Honey? Why do you want
popcorn?"

Tara explained by reaching over towards one of the endcaps, and grabbing a
package of salami. Spike was astounded that the shy little witch was
joining in the fun -- when she threw it at him. Then she said, "Because it
flies better?"

The woman with the cart had moved away by now, after shaking her head and
blinking repeatedly.

Xander rolled his cart back to Spike's, and glared at him again.
"Someone's going to take them away, if they hear us talking like that, and
get the wrong idea."

Spike stared at him, perplexed. "What wrong idea?"

"The idea that we weren't talking about fruits and vegetables."

"But we *were* talking about fruits and vegetables. Well, *I* was. Dunno
what *you* were talking about."

Willow giggled, and Xander turned his glare on her. "You weren't helping,
either, young lady."

"Oh, relax, *Daddy*. Nobody thinks a four-year-old is making sexual
insinuations-- except you, because you're a big perv." She said it quietly,
while fishing for another lollipop from the bag in the cart below her.

"I am *not* a perv!" Xander objected, then snapped his jaw shut as if
realizing that yelling such a claim in the middle of the grocery store was
probably not the best way to convince anyone that he wasn't talking about
kinky sex in front of two little kids. He scowled, and snapped, "Let's get
the groceries so we can go home."

Spike nodded. Then, as Xander began pushing his cart towards the spinach,
said casually, "Yeah, otherwise Mommy will spank us *all*." Xander stopped,
and bowed his head. Spike gave him a thoughtful look, even though he was
staring at his shoes. Or his eyelids. "Wait, or would she *not* spank us?"

"Spike?"

"Yes, love of my unlife?" Spike gave the two giggling girls a wink.

"Go get the milk. And the cereal, bread, cheese, and lunch meat. I will
meet you at the checkout line."

"Okay." Spike nodded agreeably, and Xander pushed his cart off into the
wilds of the supermarket.

Tara goggled at Spike. "Just like that?"

"Just like... oh, you mean, why didn't I give him a big argument?" Spike
asked, scanning the shelves above Tara's head.

"Yeah. It seems kind of...well... un-Spike-like."

He bent down to grin in her face. "That's because you're missing the
point. Xander trusted me -- on my own -- to do the shopping. Well, half the
shopping."

She blinked, then smiled. "Awwww. That's so sweet. And you're all
proud..."

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Well, yeah. Of course." Then he pushed the cart
over to the opposite side of the aisle. "Now-- you grab as many bags of
candy as you can reach, and I'll concentrate on the ones you can't get to.
Let's see-- Goobers, Raisinettes..."

"Oreos?"

"Of course -- oh, we'll hit the cookie aisle next. Oi, don't forget the
mints. Anya's favorite." It wouldn't be enough, of course, but Spike had
nearly perfected the art of hiding behind Xander and saying 'but I'm evil!
what d'you expect?' whenever Anya yelled at them for doing the grocery
shopping.

Why she continued *sending* them to the store, Spike didn't know. He
wasn't sure she did, either.


This time they managed to get home with two sacks of candy, some zucchini,
two melons, and three pints of ice cream. As they unpacked, Willow and Tara
ran into the living room and pretended they were only four, and hadn't had
anything to do with the shopping.

Anya squinted at the black licorice laces, and placed them neatly aside on
top of the stereo. That made Spike's eyes light up, since that was the place
for 'Hmm.... I bet we can use this somehow' things. They got the
appropriate oohs and ahhs for the chocolate, and the ice cream, as expected.
It was only when she got to the bottom of the bags, and found that there
wasn't anything *under* the sweets, that the Wrath of Anya (tm) was invoked.

"What am I supposed to cook with three medium-sized zucchini, two melons,
and four pounds of chocolate?" she asked them, hands on hips.

Xander looked at the items she'd laid out on the counter, and frowned,
slightly. "You don't consider those *large* zucchini?" He looked at Spike.
"I thought they were large. Don't you think they're large?"

"Yeah, definitely."

Anya looked at them as if they were both crazy, which, well... But she
dutifully studied the vegetables. "I've seen larger. Not that it really
matters, if you're going to slice them up and put them in a casserole." She
looked back at the two men. "Not that I can slice them up and put them in a
casserole, since you didn't buy any of the other things that would have to
go in the casserole to make it a casserole, instead of just a big pile of
hot, mushy zucchini."

"Which won't matter, since Xander broke the casserole dish," Spike added,
helpfully.

"Xander broke the casserole dish?" Anya folded her arms, and gave Xander a
hurt, almost-angry look. Xander pointed at Spike. Again.

"Because I threw it at him! I mean, to him! I-- Oh, hell. Yes, Anya, I
broke the casserole dish. I haven't bought a new one, since I spent two
weeks being four and couldn't get to the store."

"But you broke it three weeks ago," Spike reminded him. Again, helpfully.

"Spike? Do you *ever* want to watch me spanking Anya, ever again?"

Two loud cries of "eeew!" came from the living room.

"Oh, like you two never do it," Spike shouted, on a hunch. There was
sudden, suspicious silence from the other room.

Anya had picked up two of the zucchini, meanwhile. "I suppose I could boil
them..."

Spike really had to admire the range of color that could play over
Xander's face. He wasn't sure whether this was ecru, or eggshell- he'd have
to go get the paint samples from the closet, to be sure.

"Honey, how about we order pizza. Then Spike and I will go out and get
some real groceries, later tonight? Even a new casserole dish."

Anya looked dubious about the proposition. "I don't think so, somehow. How
about we order pizza, and *I* go out later tonight and buy groceries. And
*you* can put the girls to bed."

Xander looked relieved -- for nearly a split second. Then he looked
towards the living room like it was full of Neru demons. They heard the two
girls laugh.

Spike turned to Anya. "I was good -- can't I come to the store with you?"

"Ha!" Xander pointed an accusatory finger at him. "Who started this whole
mess in the first place?"

Spike opened his mouth to deny having had anything to do with it, then he
stopped. He *hadn't* started it, but, really - who had? "Er, whoever sent
Rupes the statue in the first place?"

Anya narrowed her eyes, then shrugged and picked up the phone to order the
pizza. While her back was turned, Spike and Xander quietly snuck into the
living room. A few minutes later, she followed them. "Pizza's on its way.
Now, about whose fault this is..."

Spike and Xander immediately pointed to each other, and the witches both
pointed to Spike, the ungrateful little brats. Anya rolled her eyes.

"I mean, about who sent the statue in the first place. Giles hasn't found
anything out from *his* sources. It wasn't on the original shipping
manifest-- we found *that* buried under a pile of packing peanuts that
somebody had apparently been using as an indoor playground."

Four innocent faces looked back at her. Well, mostly innocent. Willow and
Tara were innocent, anyway. Of this particular offense.

"I tried to trace the shipment on the net, but there didn't seem to be
anything out of the ordinary. No weird stops in Zimbabwe or Katmandu,"
Willow piped up.

"Actually, that would have been normal," Spike put in, then realized his
mistake in drawing their attentions to him just as his hand had been about
to get ahold of Xander's zipper. Xander slapped his hand away as Willow
glared.

"Don't make me make it disappear, Spike. I may not be four, but I *am*
too young to be seeing things like you mauling Xander."

"Actually, it can be quite fun," Anya corrected her. "Especially when
they pretend to be--"

"Okay! Back to the statue, shall we?" Xander interrupted. Spike saw the
looks on the witches' faces, and resolved to tell them, someday when Xander
wasn't around to dangle him out the window at noon, for doing so.

"There's not a lot *about* the statue," Willow said, still glancing at
Spike's hands as if they might get up to something naughty, quite on their
own. Which they might, if Willow would stop glancing at them. "It's old,
it's tall, it's funky. It was last seen in Brussels in the seventeenth
century, back when most of the books that describe what it does hadn't been
translated yet."

"Oh, hey, that's what we forgot!" Spike exclaimed.

"What-- you figured something out about the Urdeku, that we missed?"
Willow asked excitedly.

"No, we forgot to buy brussel sprouts. To go with the zucchini and the
melons."

"We forgot to buy popcorn to throw at Spike, too," Tara said.

Xander shook his head. "No, we got carmel corn-- it's under the Oreos."

"Oh. Could we have some?"

"With *pizza*?"

"Sorry. Oreos with pizza." Willow ducked her head as if she'd been
scolded.

Anya raised her hand, then waited until everyone was looking at her. When
she still didn't speak, Xander asked cheerfully, "Yes, you in the front?
Mrs. Harris?"

"You're paying for the pizza, right? Since I distinctly said you should
buy real food, and now I have to go shopping with my own money since all
you've bought is junk food? Good junk food, granted."

Xander turned and pointed at Willow. Willow protested, "I'm only four!
How am I supposed to pay for pizza?"

"What, your money shrunk, when you did?" Spike asked, before he remembered
he was trying not to annoy the powers-didn't-shrink witch.

"No, but..." Tara gave her a look, and Spike narrowed his eyes. The
witch-telepathy thing *still* worked, even when they were four. Great.
Willow smiled craftily. "There's the matter of two weeks worth of ice cream
and french fries and pizzas and trips to the zoo, and the stuff you guys
broke at the Magic Box that we *didn't* tell Giles about..."

"He was *there* for most of it," Spike protested. Xander sketched the
shape of a Wachallaian funeral urn in the air, and Spike winced. Then
wondered why he was wincing-- after all, *he* wouldn't have to pay for it.
Unless Giles decided to take the payment out of his hide, of course.

Xander was pulling his wallet out of his pocket, though. "Fine. You win.
But if the pizza boy asks for a tip, I'm telling him to swear off women for
life."

"You swear off 'em. Leaves more for me." As Anya turned to look at him,
Spike added quickly before it could turn into a glare that could kill, "More
of *you* for me. Not 'more' as in more women. More *woman*. More chances
to lick you off in the shower. More cuddles without birdbrain getting in
between."

Anya was starting to grin, and Xander -- yup, whapped him in the head with
the wallet. Spike turned back to Anya, because Anya grinning was more fun
than being beaten by Xander -- at least as long as there were spectators
who'd ruin the fun by yelling "eew" and "gross". He gave her a gallant
smile. "So, I promise to be good, if you let me go to the store with you."

"Oh, please," Xander replied. "You're not gonna fall for that? Let him
get out of helping me get the two monst-- adorable little girls to bed who
aren't really four so *why* do I have to put them anywhere?"

"You just don't want us making out in the supermarket parking lot," Spike
accused.

Xander didn't deny it. "Um, duh? The whole point of the 'only three places
left we can shop, now' speech?"

Anya was glaring at both of them, now, instead of grinning. "What did you
two do now?"

"Nothing!" they chorused.

Meanwhile Spike was wondering why it was bad for *them* to do things that
got them barred from retail establishments, but if *Anya* was involved... He
was, however, wise enough not to voice that thought. Besides, really, who
banned you from grocery stores for snogging a girl? Almost nobody. It was
only when he tried unzipping Xander's jeans that they got yelled at.

"The second display really wasn't their fault," Tara piped up.

"Yeah, and the thing with the deli counter would have probably happened
anyway." Willow gave her girlfriend a thoughtful look.

"We never *touched* the deli counter," Xander said quickly.

"But you had good aim," Tara replied.

Spike saw which direction this was going -- and walked over to the front
door. He glared at the pizza delivery boy on the doorstep. "One veggie,
one kill-me-now meat special?"

The kid nodded, a bored look on his face, and held out his left hand for
the cash. Spike shook it firmly, and grabbed the pizza boxes from him while
he was still gawping. Spike sniffed. Some people had no concept of proper
manners. He tightened his grip on the pizza boxes, and made a running jump
over the back of the sofa, using his free hand to complete the vault.

Luckily for all concerned, Willow and Tara managed to catch the pizza
boxes before they joined him on the floor, where he was rubbing his head and
calling the coffee table all sorts of names.

Xander shook his head, walked over, and paid the delivery guy, who was
looking at Spike with some concern. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Define 'okay,' " Xander said dryly. "Hey, you want a tip?"

The kid nodded.

"Swear off men for life."

"Yeah, thanks," the kid stammered, then Spike heard his tone change.
"I'll keep that in mind."

Spike was on his feet and back at the doorway, growling in full vampiric
regalia. "Mine. Er, ours. Git!" The kid ran, and Spike found Xander
laughing at him. "What?" he demanded.

"You look sooooo scary," Xander began, and Spike would have preened if he
hadn't had a suspicion something was up. It was confirmed when Xander
rubbed Spike's head, and added, "Especially with your hair sticking up!"

Spike gave him a 'grr', decided to ignore the insinuation that he cared
about that sort of thing, and stomped back to grab a piece of pizza. Only to
find two empty boxes, and three pairs of innocent-looking eyes blinking up
at him.

There was no *way*... Well, yes, there *was* a way. Anya had been known to
consume an entire cheesecake merely by *looking* at it. But still... No way
the little witchlings could have eaten it all that fast.

Spike sniffed the air, then lowered his head. Following the trail...

"Oh cool! He's tracking the wily pizza!"

"You know how to catch a tame vampire? Stand very, very still, and make a
noise like a pepperoni," Tara said.

Spike was following the scent into the kitchen, but he heard Willow ask
doubtfully, "What kind of noise does a pepperoni make?"

He called back over his shoulder, "Depends what you're using it for." He
stopped in his tracks for a second, and added, "And I'm *not* tame!"

"That's not true," Anya said. "I find that I rarely have to discipline
him, any more." She sounded like she was talking to the two girls --
verified when they giggled and 'eewed'.

"I think the word you're looking for is 'domesticated'," Xander put in.
"Where's the pizza-- ah. Cool!"

Spike stopped. How the hell had Xander found the pizza? He was still in
the living room with the empty pizza boxes, and the witch-- The witches. He
headed back to the living room and frowned as Xander took the last of three
bites of a slice of pizza. The *only* visible slice of pizza.

Spike folded his arms. "Right, so, it's tease the vampire night, is it?"
*Four* sets of innocent eyes blinked back at him. "Guess it's a good thing I
don't need pizza, innit?" And he vamped out again, and dove for one of his
two favorite snacks. Xander-neck.

"One of these days, I'm gonna get the pizza with the garlic crust," Xander
mumbled. "Just to teach you a...mmm... lesson."

"I can think of better ways to teach me a lesson," Spike purred into his
neck. The giggles were louder than the 'eewwws', this time.

Part Seven  

The giggles were nowhere to be found, a few hours later, as the final 
shots of 'Nightmare on Elm Street 3' faded into the credits. Spike, of 
course, was applauding loudly, but the teenywiccas seemed a bit subdued. 

"Maybe it's just me, but Freddy's face seems a lot bigger, now that 
we're little," Willow said, as she dug around in the bowl of carmelcorn. 

Spike glanced at the television. "Well, we do have a bigger telly than 
you two..." 

"I'm kinda surprised we never got a Freddy Krueger here in Sunnydale," 
Xander said cheerfully, as he grabbed a handful of carmelcorn from the bowl 
he'd hidden from Willow. Spike, Willow, and Tara all glared at him. He 
paused in mid-carmelmunch. "What?" 

"How long have you lived on the Hellmouth, buster?" Willow gave him a 
stern glare which was not appreciably diminished by coming from a 
four-year-old face. 

"Um, this is a trick question, right?" Xander shot Spike a confused 
look, but Spike didn't feel like helping him out. Not since Xander hadn't 
told him where the pizza had been hidden. Not that Spike *minded* having to 
slurp a half-pint of blood from the happily wriggling man, but there was a 
principle of sorts. 

"You've jinxed us," Tara said softly. "Now he'll show up." 

"See? She's only been here a couple years, and already *she* knows you 
don't say things like that!" She leaned over and wrapped her arm 
protectively around Tara's neck. 

"Oh, don't be silly," Xander said, though his expression fell somewhere 
between 'you're kidding, right?' and 'you do know a sleep-protection spell, 
right?' He leaned forward and pressed the rewind button on the VCR. Which 
had nothing to do with any vampires having broken any remote controls while 
trying to see if they could bounce the laserbeam off a mirror while 
standing on one hand. "We've had our full quota of dream things already, 
what with that kid with the nightmares, and the First Slayer. Oh, and der 
Kindestod, who wasn't really a dream thing, but everybody thought he was 
just in those kids' imaginations, so he kinda counts." Xander turned around 
to look at them, when Willow levitated a pillow at his backside. "What?" 

Spike almost clapped when he saw the expressions they were giving 
Xander. Not as good at the puppy-eyes thing as Xander was, even as an 
adult -- but Spike suspected that had more to do with the fact he'd do 
anything Xander asked him to, anyway. Eventually. After a 
fashion. "Where are we gonna sleep?" Tara asked. 

"On the couch, remember?" Xander answered in a patient tone. Sounded 
almost fatherly, in fact. 

The eyes went wider, and Spike had to revise his opinion. "We have to 
sleep out here alone?" Willow asked. 

Xander sighed. "Freddy Krueger is *not* coming to Sunnydale--" 

The two girls burst into wails. "Now you've *really* done it! Xander 
Harris, you big meanie! I can't believe you'd say that!" 

Xander looked helplessly at Spike, who was coming ever closer to 
applauding. Except... were those real tears, trickling down Tara's face? He 
leaned over and took a good look. 

WHAP! 

Spike blinked, and looked around for the hand that had whapped him on 
the back of the head, but there wasn't any. Instead, he found himself 
cuddling a four-year-old girl who was looking up at him with watery blue 
eyes, through a tangle of corn-colored hair. "Hey, now," he heard himself 
say in a soft voice, the sort he used to use with Dawn before she got old 
enough that it made her giggle more often than not. "Anybody comes sniffing 
round here, I'll tear 'em up good." 

Tara looked doubtful. 

"What, you don't think I could take that Krueger bloke?" Spike vamped 
out and gave her his best grrrr... 

She giggled, but softly. Her eyes were still wide, and she glanced over 
at Willow. Then she looked at the window, as if checking for possible 
monsters. Willow, who was in Xander's arms, looked as wide-eyed and 
subdued as Tara. From the stunned look on Xander's face, Spike figured he 
wasn't the only one got whapped in the head by invisible paternal instincts. 

"Look, Willow, you can do a spell to keep him out of the apartment, 
can't you?" Xander asked, patiently. 

Willow nodded slowly, then said, "But that won't stop him from coming 
*near* the apartment. And what if he shows up *inside* the 
apartment? Since you're the one who jinxed us?" 

"Will, Freddy Kruger is *not*--" He stopped because a hand was covering 
his mouth. Spike's. 

"Look, why don't you just *stop* saying it, and let's get them settled 
someplace they'll feel safe?" 

"Like where? Buffy's?" 

Spike paused for a moment, then jerked his head in the direction of the 
only logical choice. Their bedroom. Their bedroom with the 
super-double-ultra-emperor-sized bed, specially designed for today's most 
hedonistic menages a trois. Or so the mail-order advert had claimed. 

Xander shook his head wildly. "No. Nononononono... Bed. You. Me. Anya. 
First night back..." 

Willow gave him a pointy stare. "Like you'd do anything in there, with 
us out here, anyway?" 

Xander looked torn. "Uh... um... well... Maybe. I mean, if you'd asked 
me two weeks ago, no. But that long without a woman, a man can make a lot 
of changes in his life." 

"If you'd rather have sex with Anya, and leave us out here," Tara began, 
and the torn sound of her voice *seemed* authentic. 

Spike couldn't be sure. But there was Anya-and-Xander sex to be had, 
and these two *were* witches. Competent, powerful, even if only three feet 
tall. He opened his mouth, and heard himself saying, "Right, we'll all 
share the bed, and no boogymen will be able to get us. Sex can wait 'til 
morning." He blinked. Looked over at Xander, whose mouth was hanging open. 
"Xan? Have I been possessed?" 

Xander shook his head slowly. "Um, I don't think you *can* be. It didn't 
work on Angel, anyway." 

"Ah. Hmm. Are *you* possessed, then?" Because Xander was standing up, 
teenywillow happily wrapped in his arms, and walking in the direction of 
the bedroom. 

Xander stopped, as if he'd only now realized what he was doing. He 
cocked his head. "I don't *think* so. I mean, I've been possessed a few 
times, and this doesn't *feel* like that. But if I start laughing 
hysterically and running around on all fours, you should probably chain me 
up until Giles can get over here." 

Spike blinked away an image of Xander, on all fours, in chains. It was 
*not* a good thing to be thinking about with a not-really-four-year-old in 
your arms. Willow giggled, and pointed at Spike. He looked down 
reflexively, but no, he'd managed to blink it away in time. 

When he looked back up at Willow, she was still giggling. "Spike's 
thinking he'd wait at least a day to call Giles." 

"Was not," Spike muttered. 

"Was," Tara retorted. Spike glared at her -- for a second. Hadn't she 
been the timid one, once? 

"Spike? Why don't we put the wee ones to bed?" Xander interrupted his 
glaring. 

"Right." Spike nodded, and led the way to the bedroom. He plopped Tara 
down, and stepped aside as Xander plopped his own giggling burden beside 
her. They bounced for a moment, then looked up again. Puppy eyes. Spike 
tried to growl back. 

"Is that it? We get spooked by Freddy Krueger coming to get us, and you 
don't even tuck us in?" Willow demanded. 

"I *knew* they were faking. Come on." Spike grabbed Xander's arm, 
tugging him towards the living room. 

"Um-- if they're faking, why are we leaving them in our bed?" 

"So's we can shag on the couch!" 

Xander gave a questioning look at the girls, but Spike could feel his 
resistance dwindling. He gave in inward cheer. Not an outward one-- that 
would be bragging. Wait-- Spike *loved* to brag! He gave an outward cheer. 

Which was Willow's cue to put her arms around Tara, then look up at both 
of them. "Okay," she said bravely. "We'll be fine, I guess. Right, baby?" 
Tara murmured something even Spike couldn't hear, and Willow planted a kiss 
on her forehead. "Nope. Won't let anything getcha." 

Spike sighed, and closed the bedroom door. With all four of them on the 
inside. 

He wasn't sure how much later it was when he opened one eye and saw Anya 
standing by the bed. She was looking down, a sort of odd happy smile on 
her face. Spike raised his head -- feeling the pillowcase unstick itself 
from his cheek -- and looked at what she was looking at. 

Willow and Tara were curled up around each other, bookended by him and 
Xander. Apparently they'd all fallen asleep in the same position they'd 
been telling stories in. Stories designed to amuse and distract the 
are-they-aren't-they-scared girls. Spike blinked and looked up at Anya 
again. Blinked again when she mouthed 'I'll be right back' and left the room. 

He considered crawling off the bed and following her, but Tara's head 
was on his arm, and if he moved he might wake her. Not that he cared about 
that sort of thing, he reasoned. But...well, he didn't *have* to get 
up. He could hear Anya heading for the bathroom, then he heard her 
undressing. Spike looked down at the sweet face resting on his arm. 

Urg. 

He sighed, and waited, listening to the little sounds of running water. 
A clock ticking out in the living room. The sparse three a.m. traffic 
outside. Finally Anya re-appeared, dressed in plaid flannel pajamas. 
*Xander's* plaid flannel pajamas. The top part, anyway, which came down to 
her knees. 

"If you're trying to look not-sexy, it's not working," he whispered very 
quietly as she slid into his side of the bed. 

She smiled, then frowned, then blinked and whispered, "Oops-- forgot 
something!" 

As she slid back out of bed and left the room again, Spike spent a 
moment enjoying the receding view before wondering what she could have 
forgot. Surely nothing that they'd *usually* bring to bed, not with the 
witches there. 

He was waiting, eyes open in the dark, when she reappeared in the 
doorway. She was making some sort of hand motions, pointing at his head, 
then at the pillow. She wanted him to do *what* with the pillow? Finally 
she put one hand on her hip, and mouthed, very slowly, "Put your head down 
and close your eyes, stupid." 

Just to be sure, he glanced over at Xander, who was fast asleep. Well, 
she didn't see all that well in the dark, Spike decided. She must have 
mistaken him for Stupid. He complied anyway, rolling his eyes, then closing 
them, and resting his head back on the pillow. The room flashed red outside 
his eyelids as he heard the click-whirr of the camera. *Then* Anya slipped 
back into bed. 

He thought about growling at her -- quietly -- but decided it wasn't 
worth the effort. Not since he'd have plenty of chances to growl at folks 
snapping pictures of him with one or more of the kiddies. And the only way 
he'd be able to swap for photos of his Sire being beset by Wesley, was to 
have a few of his own. 

That thought amused him for the two seconds it took to fall back asleep, 
the comfortable weight of a small head on his arm, and the slow, gentle 
breathing of his human lovers filling his ears. 


***** 

"I don't *want* to go." Rupert glared up at her, but he could see he 
wasn't getting through. Not yet -- he knew he could wear her down, 
though. The benefit of being four was boundless energy. Which, when 
devoted towards annoying his Slayer, was a precious benefit indeed. 

She frowned back at him. "You know you haven't regressed, yet. You 
can't throw a tantrum." 

Rupert suppressed a sigh. "I am *not* throwing a tantrum. I am merely 
expressing a desire for the fifth time today which you obviously aren't 
listening to, hence my need to speak louder so you *will* hear me." 

"I can hear you!" Buffy protested. "I'm just saying--" 

"You're saying that if I don't go into the shop, terrible tragedies will 
occur. I promise you, Buffy, I shan't destroy your home during the three 
hours it takes you to go to class." 

"For one thing, it's Wednesday, so I have to go to Willow and Tara's 
classes too, and take notes. For another... I just don't *like* leaving you 
home alone. I thought they did this routine already, the last time, and we 
all agreed that none of us kids were safe on our own?" 

"Yes, but that was before we were used to being in four-year-old bodies. 
I'm perfectly capable of climbing up and down stairs, I know what I can and 
can't lift, or move, or reach. In short, I know what I'm doing, Buffy." 

He gave her his best 'I'm your Watcher, and I'm just being reasonable, 
not trying to lay down the law' look. The one that sometimes actually 
worked. She almost appeared to be wilting under pressure. Rupert stared 
suspiciously at the uncertain blue eyes. Buffy *never* wilted under pressure. 

'What's wrong with you?' he felt like shouting. 'I taught you better 
than this! You're strong, you're intelligent, you're the woman they 
invented strong-enough-for-a-man-but-made-for-a-woman for. Don't fall for a 
pair of big blue-green eyes and a fetching pout!' Rupert blinked, and 
thumped his metaphorical Watcher-self on the side of the head. Shut up, or 
she might hear you. 

Finally, Buffy seemed to have made up her mind. "Um... in short?" she 
repeated, then giggled unceasingly. 

Right, this called for some serious pouting. He looked down at the 
floor, so she wouldn't see it coming, wouldn't think he was probably doing 
it deliberately. He counted to five, slowly, waiting for her giggles to quiet. 

Then he glanced up, face still tilted down, and found her watching him, 
still grinning. "Sorry, Giles, but you *did* say it." 

"You're going to leave me at Spike and Xander's mercies, aren't you?" 

"Oh, come on," she said breezily, though there was a hint of something 
in her eyes. Worry? Sympathy? Didn't matter, he'd got her hooked. 
"They'll be...um...." She tilted her head. "Huh." 

"I just want to stay here, alone, while I still can. Soon I *shall* be 
regressed enough to warrent being minded. But not yet." His voice was 
calm, not quite any hint of pleading in it. 

"Giles, you know I--" Rupert pouted at her. "Stop it," she said 
sternly. He pouted harder. "I am *not* falling for that." 

"You don't love me," he said quietly. 

Buffy blinked at him. Repeatedly. He saw her face about to slide into 
that 'aww, no, don't be like that' expression, and could hear Spike and 
Xander shouting 'Score!' in the back of his head. God knew he'd heard it 
aloud enough times, when they'd managed to convince him to let them do 
something dangerous with something valuable, by dint of their... er... 

It occurred to Rupert that he'd actually heard Spike use the 'You don't 
love me' line, as well. To Rupert? It couldn't have been. It must have been 
Xander who had fallen for it. Or possibly Dawn. Never Rupert. Nor Buffy, he 
recalled a moment too late, as her face set into another expression entirely. 

"Nice try, Mister. But as a matter of fact, I *do* love you. Which is 
why I'm not leaving you alone in the house to explain to the firemen why 
your babysitter let a four-year-old stay by himself while she toddled off 
to class." 

He pouted a bit more, but when that didn't change the expression on her 
face, he finally asked, "Which firemen?" 

"The same cute ones who came last week to get Spike down from the roof. 
The ones with the bulging muscles. And I'd miss seeing them and it would be 
all your fault, so you're going to the shop." She picked up her bookbag, 
and the bag that contained his books, and the *new* pirate cove Lego set 
he'd found sitting next to his pillow this morning. "We're going," she said 
with a disheartening tone of finality. Then she yelled, "Dawn! Get your 
butt down here, we're leaving!" 

There was a second's pause, before they heard Dawn shouting back, "I'm 
coming! Geez, keep your shirt on!" 

Rupert crossed his arms, and glared up at Buffy. 

"I will pick you up and *carry* you to the Magic Box," she informed 
him. "Don't think I won't." 

It was on the tip of his tongue to say 'you wouldn't dare' except he 
knew that saying it would guarantee that she would. That didn't mean he was 
quite ready to give up. "Buffy, please, this is the only chance I'll have 
-- have had in two weeks - to be *alone*. I assure you I'll take every 
precaution. I swear I'll sit and read, all day." 

"Yeah, you'd do it, too," she said, sounding reasonable. But she shook 
her head. "You're coming with us." 

"I could stay home with him," Dawn offered. "I'll stay in my room and 
won't bother you a bit," she said to Rupert. 

"And that trigonometry test you were studying for all night?" Buffy 
asked. "That would what-- be cancelled for the whole class on account of 
Dawn Summers has to babysit?" 

Dawn shrugged. "It could be. You never know. Stranger things have 
happened..." 

"Yeah, like you having a math test without whining about it. I don't 
know why you bother trying to avoid them-- you come home with A's every 
time." Buffy rolled her eyes. "Out-- go. In the car. Now." 

"Ja, wohl, mein Kommandant! Sig heil..." Dawn saluted, grabbed her bag, 
and walked out the door. Buffy frowned at Rupert. 

"That was German, right? I haven't forgotten more French than I thought. 
Right? Giles?" He smiled kindly at her. "Are you teaching her to speak 
Sumarian?" Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. "Because I warned you about 
that when she was ten." 

"What if I promise to *stop* teaching her German, in exchange for you 
letting me stay here today?" 

Buffy seemed to consider it -- for half a second. "I'd say you aren't 
the one teaching her German. Now, let's go before we're late!" 

Rupert pouted at her, one more time. Then he was flying into the air 
and being held, quite firmly, under Buffy's arm. She switched off the 
lights as she headed for the door. 

"Buffy, put me down this instant!" 

"Nope. Don't make me enroll you in kindergarten." She plopped him down 
in the back seat of the Range Rover, the door having been helpfully opened 
by Dawn, who had apparently switched sides. "I'll do it, too. The 
neighbors have already asked about it. I told them you were too young -- 
but I can change my mind." 

"You're a very cruel mummy, you know that, right?" he asked, in a 
normal, adult tone, if not an adult pitch. Since he'd lost the war, he 
wasn't about to keep the battle going. Not until he could find something 
else to torment her with, at any rate. 

"That's me, the evil bitch-monster of death," she agreed as Dawn pulled 
the vehicle out of the drive and onto the street. 

"Nice to hear you finally admit it," said her sister. "It's the first 
step towards getting help, you know. The next step is where we commit you. 
Just for evaluation." 

"You know Giles, if I did enroll you in kindergarten, it wouldn't be so 
bad. You and Dawn could play together." 

"I don't think so, somehow. I believe there's some sort of social stigma 
attached to playing with the girls. Er... " Rupert scratched his head, 
trying to come up with the proper word. "Cooties?" 

"Cooties," Buffy confirmed. "The bane of childhood. Once you're marked--" 

"You grow up to be Buffy," Dawn finished. 

Buffy waited until Dawn paused at a stop sign to give her sister a 
pinch. Rupert wondered just who among them was the four year old, as Dawn 
squealed and hit her back. "Oh, yes, I can see why you wouldn't want 
immature little me to stay home alone while you two mature persons attend 
to your schooling." 

"Don't make me pull over," Buffy warned. 

Rupert blinked at her, while Dawn began laughing. He had to stifle a 
laugh, himself. "How can you, since I'm driving?" Dawn asked. 

"Well, it always worked for mom," Buffy replied. 

"Oh, yeah, and 'Your face will freeze like that...' " Dawn said, still 
laughing. 

Yeah..." Buffy smiled softly, then burst into a grin. "And 'you'd better 
eat that-- there's starving children in Africa...' " 

"We kept *telling* her the starving African kids could *have* our lima 
beans," Dawn told Rupert. 

"She even put hers in an envelope and addressed it to the United 
Nations, one time," Buffy said sincerely. 

"Hey, it worked-- I didn't have to eat the ones in the envelope, since 
they got all squished." 

Rupert sat quietly in the back seat as the two of them reminisced about 
the sort of things they'd gotten away with in their --snort-- long ago 
childhoods. He didn't let out a peep. It wouldn't do, after all, for them 
to realize he was taking notes. Not that he hadn't been told to eat his own 
sausages, as a child, because there were starving children in Poland. But 
he'd never actually tried to post his breakfast to them. 

Part Eight  

Finally -- or 'all too soon' -- they pulled up in front of the Magic 
Box. Buffy began giving Dawn her usual morning 'go directly to school, do 
not hit any trucks, be right back here *right* after school' 
speech. Rupert unbuckled his seltbelt and opened the door, and jumped out. 

Discovering that yes, he was as short as he felt. The ground was a bit 
farther away than he was used to -- but since no one saw him stumble, it 
didn't count. He headed for the front door to his shop, thinking that he 
might simply lock himself in his office. Alone. 

As he reached the front door, Buffy caught up with him and grabbed the 
doorknob. "So, short stuff, you looking forward to a day of fun?" she 
asked, maliciously. 

He looked her square in the eye. "You mean, am I looking forward to 
spending the day with Spike and Xander, asking them for ideas on how to use 
my youthful energy to its most effective...yes, I should say I am. Aren't 
you going to walk to class, now?" he added, as he stepped through the open 
front door, past her. 

"Xander--" she shouted as the door shut behind him, leaving her out on 
the street. "Don't give him any ideas..." 

"What'd she say?" Xander asked, looking up from the countertop, where he 
was -- dear God, really? -- reading something that wasn't a comic book. 

"I've no idea. Something about you buying me breakfast, because she 
didn't have time to feed me, I think," Rupert lied smoothly. 

Buffy was already stalking in the direction of campus, likely to have 
just enough time to get to her first class, so he didn't expect her to come 
running back to correct him. He did, however, get a knowing look from 
Spike. He wasn't worried-- the expression was also admiring, and possibly 
even proud. 

Xander was closing his book. "Right, I can go next door and get some 
muffins, and coffee. Er -- you want juice?" Xander asked him, and Rupert 
was forced to give him a stern look. 

"Tea shall suffice, thank you." 

Xander nodded, and looked around the room. "Anyone else want 
anything?" Rupert almost told him he didn't really need a second breakfast 
-- but the shop next door made really excellent apple strudel muffins. 

"Chocolate chip cookies!" Willow cried out, from the stairs. Rupert saw 
her sitting with Tara, both of them looking at a book set across their knees. 

"I'm not feeding you two any more sugar," Xander told her. When Willow 
pouted, Xander said, "Spike?" 

Who looked uncomfortable. "Er, Xan's right," he began, but he was 
obviously falling prey to The Willow Face. Rupert, however, was simply 
astounded. Any other day Spike and Xander would have already been out the 
door, counting the money Anya handed over, to buy a dozen cookies and 
muffins. Now he was watching Xander look almost...stern. 

Of course, any other day, Rupert himself would have been looking sternly 
at Anya -- in vain -- for taking the money out of the cash register. But 
that was neither here nor there. It was *Xander's* strange behavior that 
was worrying him. Not only did he look at the Willow pout, and, after a 
moment where it seemed he might cave, shake his head resolutely, but he 
actually shook a finger at Willow and Tara. And not his middle one, either. 

"You know if you keep making that face, it'll freeze that way." When 
everyone in the shop began laughing, Xander turned around. "What? What did 
I... Oh my God. I didn't." 

Spike nodded, grinning. "Yup. Complete with finger-shake." 

Xander buried his face in his hands. "Help me, Mr. Wizard. I don't want 
to be a grown-up anymore..." 

Anya walked up to him, and patted his shoulder. "Here's money. Go buy 
chocolate -- you'll feel better." Xander nodded, and took the money -- 
Rupert sent Anya a belated stern glare, but she didn't pay him any 
attention. Rupert *did*, however, see the thoughtful expression on Anya's 
face as she watched Xander leave the shop. 

Oh, dear. 

Not that having children -- real ones -- around wasn't nice, in 
theory. But Anya and Xander? *Anya* and *Xander*? These were the genes 
the world wanted to pass on? 

He turned his attention quickly to something else, and discovered Buffy 
had kept his bag. "Where the bloody hell is my..copy of Druher's 
Halcyon?" He managed to not say 'pirate cove', out loud. 

"Watch your--" Rupert looked up at Spike, in disbelief. Spike looked 
shocked, himself, and turned to Anya. "Somebody stake me?" 

"Right now? Xander's not here. I suppose I have something in my bag that 
we could use, if you wanna go in the back room and--" 

Spike shook his head. "Not what I meant. But keep it in mind for later, 
love." 

"Spike, are you quite all right?" Rupert blinked, disbelieving again at 
the sound of his own voice, asking. Almost as if he cared. 

"He's turning into a dad-- it's eerie," Willow said from the steps. 
"This morning, he made me finish my eggs and toast before he let me have a 
donut." 

"Did not!" Spike protested. When Anya turned to look at him, he shrugged 
awkwardly. "Well, it was her *second* donut." 

Rupert just watched, as Tara scooted out from under the book, walked up 
to Spike, and took his hand. Looked up at him with a hopeful 
expression. "Would you get the Demon's Necromicon down from the top shelf 
for me?" 

"Course, luv," Spike said, leaning down and scooping her into his 
arms. He was halfway to the bookcase, when he stopped and glared at Anya 
and Rupert. Rupert hid his smile quickly. Anya was looking thoughtful 
again. With a shudder, Rupert crossed quickly to his office. He had books 
in there he could read, and he'd just have to remember his Legos tomorrow. 

Once safely behind his door, he tried to put out of his mind all the 
disturbing images he'd been subjected to. Studying up on the Urdeku should 
distract him, for a hour or so. He began looking around for the books he'd 
left on the desk, and discovered one was missing. Frowning, he tried to 
recall where he'd seen it last. It was an English translation of a book, 
so it was reasonable to think one of the others had borrowed it. It wasn't 
the one Willow and Tara had been reading, however. 

No, he realized, it was the one *Xander* had been reading. He went back 
out and found it sitting upon the counter, and had to ask Anya to fetch it 
down for him. "Xander was actually reading this?" he asked. "Voluntarily?" 

She nodded. "Yes. He asked me to find him something that he could read 
that wouldn't put him to sleep, and since I left all the erotic literature 
at home today..." She smiled. "Actually, Xander wanted to do something to 
help trace down the Urdeku, so Willow and I looked around for an English 
translation to any of the books you and Wesley were using. I thought maybe 
he'd pick up something that you people missed-- just because he doesn't 
speak Sumerian, doesn't mean he isn't a good thinker." 

Rupert nodded, and took the book from her. He'd never thought Xander 
*wasn't* a 'good thinker' -- it simply surprised him to find Xander using 
his thinking skills on what was, at best, a fairly dry reference work. With 
no colour illustrations. He caught himself smiling, and quickly stifled it, 
lest anyone actually see him and assume he was feeling...proud, or something. 

"Saw that," Spike whispered in his ear. 

"Nothing to see," he said smoothly. Lying to Spike was simple enough to 
be ridiculous. He slipped the book under his arm...and promptly dropped 
it. Right -- large book, small body. Rupert sighed and started to crouch 
down to pick it up. Then stood up. Crouched down again, stood up again, 
then lifted his left leg and bent it a few times. 

"Er, problem?" Spike asked. 

"No, no problem at all. I never even *noticed* the first time. My god...." 

He looked up to find Spike smirking at him. "Knee works again, does it?" 

Rupert glared. "It *always* worked." Then he allowed, "But perhaps a 
bit...better, now." 

Anything either might have said was cut off by a squeal from the back of 
the shop. Rupert looked over, but Spike was running. Rupert smirked. He 
followed Spike, albeit at the much slower pace that his short but 
fully-functional legs allowed him. When he got there, he found Spike 
scooping a sprawled-out Willow off the floor, and babbling inanely. 

"You all right... course you're all right, no blood. Er, no blood, but 
you could have a concussion. Damn, Rupes, you're always getting bonked on 
the head, what's a concussion feel like? Hell, if she's got a concussion, 
should I have picked her up?" Spike was running one hand through Willow's 
mop of copper hair -- so at one point that colour had been natural, Rupert 
thought absently -- and paying absolutely no attention to the perturbed 
looks that Willow and Tara were giving him. 

Finally Willow said, "Spike, what are you doing?" 

"Checking for bumps." 

"I'm not a vampire, and even if I were, they'd be on my forehead, not 
the top of my skull." 

"What?" Spike paused in his search of her skull. "What are you 
babbling about?" 

"What am *I* babbling about?" Willow demanded. "Spike, let go of me - I 
didn't get my bracelet!" 

"Your what?" 

Rupert sighed -- again, thinking maybe he would look forward to 
regressing this time, so he wouldn't feel quite so...old. Which was 
amusing, because it was *Spike* that was making him feel old, right 
now. Then he got down on the floor and looked under the bookcase. Yes, 
there it was, lying in the dust. He reached under and grabbed it, and 
pulled it out. Willow squealed again -- exact same squeal, and surely 
Spike could tell the difference, now? 

Rupert handed the bracelet over, and Willow took it. She began to put 
it on, then grinned. "Oops, gonna be too big. Do you have pockets?" she 
asked Tara, as her own shorts did not. Tara looked down, and shook her head. 

"Does any the stuff you bought have pockets?" Tara asked, sounding 
doubtful. It made Rupert take a second look. 

"Tara, aren't those the clothes Willow bought for herself?" 

Tara coloured, slightly. "Well, yeah. Um... The clothes we bought for me 
are kind of all too big." Even the shirt of Willow's that she was wearing 
was a bit loose, Rupert noticed. 

Willow giggled. "She kept saying 'No, we have to get the bigger ones-- I 
was a fat little kid...' We even ended up getting different sizes, because 
she wasn't sure which ones would be big enough. And they're all too big!" 
She started laughing again, and Tara stuck her tongue out. 

"Well, I remember my brother calling me a big pig all the time..." 

"He was a boy. Boys are dorks. Duh..." Willow pointed a finger at 
Spike's nose, then actually tapped it, since he was still holding her. 
"Case in point..." 

Spike made huffing noises, and put her down. "Well, how was I to know? 
You're all quiet back here, then I hear screaming-- you could've fallen off 
that stool and broken your head." 

Willow was giving him an amused look -- which Rupert was able to 
interpret all too well. He almost felt sorry for Spike, except that he 
remembered everything he and Xander had done over the last two weeks. Not 
to mention the century of evil. It would do him some good, Rupert thought, 
to be wrapped around the pinkies of a pair of four-year-old little girls. 

Spike was still protesting, in response to the look that Willow was 
continuing to give him. "You *might've*! You could have been dead and 
then Xander and Anya wouldn't let me anywhere near you." 

Rupert laughed. Then he went over and sat down at the table, to 
watch. This was proving to be more entertaining than staying at Buffy and 
Dawn's house to watch Passions. 

"What wouldn't I have done?" Anya said from the doorway between the 
front and back sections of the shop. 

"Let me near the--- and where were you, I might ask, when this one was 
making noises like her head had got smooshed?" 

Anya blinked at him. "She was obviously happy, not bleeding. Couldn't 
you tell that? And people say *I* have no understanding of children, just 
because I haven't been one for eleven hundred and twenty three years. You 
were a kid last *week* and you don't know the difference between a happy 
scream and a head-smooshed scream?" 

Spike looked suitably mortified at his own behaviour, which made Rupert 
chuckle. Only it came out a giggle. The vampire glanced around the room, 
obviously looking for a easy escape route, and at last responded with, "And 
the other one's got no clothes!" 

Anya frowned, and looked at Tara. "Spike, she obviously has 
clothes. She's wearing clothes right now." She sounded remarkably patient 
-- Rupert reminded himself that she had been living with Spike for.. how 
long, now? And none of them had driven the others insane, yet. Truly, 
amazingly remarkable. 

"Not those! Those're Red's. She hasn't any clothes of her own, that 
fit. And will *someone* please stake me before I say she'll catch her 
death of cold if she's not properly dressed?" 

Rupert reached over to pick up a pencil. "I shall. Hold still, 
please?" He held up the pencil as if to throw it. 

"Put that down before you put his eye out." Rupert looked up at Anya, 
shocked. She didn't even look fazed. But then, she was used to scolding 
Spike and Xander all the time. 

"Muffins for all!" Xander called out. 

Before anyone small and fast could get over to relieve him of his 
burden, Spike was at his side. "Let's go drive real fast and drink beer 
and tear the heads off parking meters." 

Xander looked at him for a moment, then nodded, slowly. 
"Ah...o-kaaayyyy.... I'm driving, of course, since you'll have turned into 
dust, considering that it's ten a.m., and who put the LSD in his breakfast 
cereal *this* morning?" 

"He's disturbed because he's been acting all parental, and he doesn't 
understand why," Willow snickered, coming up to take a bag of muffins from 
Xander's hand. 

"You realize you could've just stopped before the 'because' and I would 
have accepted the explanation," Xander said. "Although...truthfully, I 
*have* been noticing an alarming tendency to remind people to brush their 
teeth, this week. You suppose it's a side-effect of the spell? All the 
adults around the shrunk-kids suddenly start acting like grown-ups?" 

Spike looked relieved. 'Yeah, good thought. That makes sense. Whew." 

Rupert opened his mouth to point out that Buffy hadn't been saying those 
things -- when he realized that she had been. But admitting so would 
reassure Spike and Xander.... "Buffy hasn't been acting like that, at 
all." Spike and Xander looked over at him, expressions of horror warring 
with stubborn disbelief on their faces. "Not to mention there is 
absolutely no evidence of any lingering effects of the spell, in any of the 
literature. Some of which you yourself read," he reminded Xander. "And 
may I add, it's nice to see you showing an interest in real research." 

He had to struggle to keep from laughing -- though from the sound of it, 
Tara and Willow weren't doing more than pressing their hands over their 
mouths. He tried to think of one more thing to say, to push them completely 
over the edge. 

Then Anya said it for him. "I think it's good that they're learning to 
be parents." Then she smiled. Widely. 

Spike and Xander screamed. 

"I take it back, let's go rip the heads off parking meters. Um, and put 
stink-bombs in people's mailboxes. And... uh... leer at women on the 
street," Xander babbled. 

"Spike does that one now," Willow pointed out. 

"So does Xander; he's just more subtle about it," Anya said. "But that 
doesn't make them immature, it just makes them men." She paused. "There was 
something wrong with that statement, wasn't there?" 

"You know, Willy's is open," Spike said, glaring at everyone in the 
room, but talking to Xander. "If you run out and open the car doors, I'll 
throw m'coat over my head, and..." 

"Way ahead of you," Xander replied, heading for the door. 

"Hold it right there, busters," Anya said. Both men froze, then they 
exchanged a look. Rupert accepted a bottle of orange juice from Willow, 
who was crawling into the chair beside him. Tara was opposite him, already 
kneeling in the seat, eating a muffin -- all of them watching the Spike and 
Xander show with avid interest. Rupert took a cookie out of the bag, trying 
not to rustle the paper as he did so. Spike and Xander were giving Anya 
identical cute looks. 

"You're staying here to help me run the store, and do research, and keep 
an eye on them." She pointed towards the table, and the three not-kids 
looked at each other as if asking who Anya meant. None of them said 
anything aloud, though, in order not to miss the next line. 

"But--" 

"No." 

"But--" 

"No." 

"But--" 

Anya pointed again. Xander looked at Spike. Spike looked at Xander. 
Identical expressions of despair in their eyes. Finally Spike said, "Can't 
really stand Willy's these days, anyhow. The line dancing was bad enough, 
but when he put the country kareoke machine in..." He shuddered, somewhat 
convincingly, and moved to snatch the bag away from Rupert, to remove a 
cookie. Xander hesitated, then nodded. 

"I guess... It's a little early in the morning for the whole Tears in My 
Beer scene. Go over much better if we went out tonight." 

"Oh no, you don't," Anya said firmly. "Tonight we're going to the 
drive-in, remember?" Xander looked elsewhere. "Xander?" 

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'yes, dear' -- but 
Rupert couldn't be entirely sure, as Xander was shoving a muffin in his 
mouth as he said it. 

Willow waited at least ten seconds to make the whip-cracking noise. 
Rupert wouldn't have been so kind, except he had a cookie in his own mouth, 
so she beat him to it. 

Xander gave her a dirty glare, then he grinned. "Actually, when she 
uses the whip it's a lot more fun." Willow turned red. 

Spike was snickering as he stole a cookie from the bag...which he then 
carried over to Anya and presented it to her, as if he'd tracked the thing 
down and killed it, himself. 

Anya took it, but said, "If you think presents of chocolate are going to 
get you out of trouble...." Rupert couldn't see the expression on Spike's 
face, and suspected he didn't want to. Anya grinned. "Well, it wasn't 
*much* trouble. For you two. And the cookies are good." She took a bite, 
and nodded. "All right." 

"What about me? I bought them!" Xander put in. 

"Yes, and where did you get the money?" Rupert interrupted. 

"Um. From Anya," Xander said brightly, then immediately realized he'd 
just put the blame on the person he was trying to placate. He picked up a 
chocolate chocolate-chip muffin and held it out to Anya. 

"Hey, I didn't know those were in there!" Willow grabbed the bag, and 
began digging through it. 

"I thought we were trying *not* to give them any more sugar?" Anya said, 
though she didn't exactly rush over to the table to stop them from eating 
the goodies, Rupert noted. 

Xander shrugged sheepishly. "Well, I thought deeply about that. And I 
thought about the lengths Buffy and I went to, in our quest for chocolate, 
and..." he did the boyish grin thing again, and damned if Anya didn't seem 
to be falling for it. Shame on her. "You know, just to keep them all out of 
trouble, I thought I'd head off any escape attempts." 

Anya smiled, then her eyes narrowed. "Yes. That. You still haven't been 
punished for that little stunt, have you." 

Xander shook his head, eagerly. Rupert felt the sudden need to bang his 
head against the tabletop. 

"Hey, I was the lookout man-- I deserve to be punished too!" Spike 
protested. 

"You ratted us out to the authorities!" Xander told him. 

"Yeah, so? I'm evil! How does that make me any less deserving of 
punishment?" 

"It means you couldn't help getting into trouble, and being punished 
won't teach you anything!" Xander countered. "Me, I'm an impressionable 
human mortal, and should be taught the error of my ways." 

He looked hopefully at Anya. Rupert dropped the last bit of his 
cookie. "Suddenly, I've lost my appetite." 

"Actually, from a socio-psychological view-point, it's really quite 
fascinating," Tara said, still munching her first cookie. Rupert wondered 
if Xander had bought anything even remotely non-sugar laden, at all. "At 
first, they appear to be just as...well, chaotic and immature as they 
appear. But when you realize the group dynamics of their 
threesome...." She trailed off, looking from Willow to Rupert. "What?" 

"Give her another cookie," Rupert said, handing the bag to Willow. 
Willow took the bag, peered inside, and pulled out a huge peanut butter 
cookie. She handed it to Tara. 

"Oo, peanut butter!" Tara sounded like a four-year old. 

"Is there another?" Rupert asked. 

Willow looked deep into the bag. Frowned. Rattled the paper inside. 
Looked again. "Hmm. I don't *see* any..." 

Rupert gave her a look, which she blithely ignored. She was going to 
make him do it, wasn't she. Of all the... Fine. Rupert opened his mouth. 
"Anya, Willow won't share..." 

Willow giggled obnoxiously and tossed the bag at him. "I knew I could 
make him whine." 

"Am *I* being punished for something terrible that *I* did in a past 
life? Because I don't recall ever having done anything to *you*," Rupert 
remarked as he reached into the bag and pulled out his own peanut butter 
cookie. 

"Um, like the cookie raid in the middle of the night at Buffy's place? 
Like waking us up at three a.m. because you'd snuck downstairs to watch 
'Mr. Bean' on cable? Or what about..." 

"I was regressed then. Those things don't count." 

"Well, I'm regressed now," she said matter-of-factly. 

"You are not," he countered. 

"Am too." 

"Are not." 

"Am too." 

"You are not." She opened her mouth to say 'am, too' again, and Rupert 
rolled his eyes. "For God's sake, we are *not* regressed. Last time it 
took nearly four days before showing any real signs of regression. Which 
not only means that you are *not* emotionally a four-year-old, but you have 
no excuse for having just stolen my peanut butter cookie, Tara." 

Tara looked innocent. 

"Give it back," he demanded, trying to sound as adult as he could -- but 
the content of his demand rather precluded much maturity. 

"I don't have it." 

"Yes, you *do*," he responded, feeling rather idiotic. But on the other 
hand...letting her get away with it meant having to pout at Spike to get 
another one purchased for him. 

"I..." Tara quivered her chin. "How could you think I'd do something 
like that? When have I ever done anything remotely dishonest?" 

Rupert was about to bring up a certain 'no-see-um-demons' spell from a 
few years back, which really *was* the only thing he could think of, when 
Willow got into the act. "Really, Giles, how could you accuse Tara? That's 
just... mean. Plain old mean. Rotten. Spike, Giles is being mean to us." 

Spike broke away from the threesome's continued mumblings about who 
deserved to be punished more, and stepped over to the table. "What was 
that, love?" 

Tara looked up at him, chin still quivering, and Rupert groaned. "Giles 
says I stole his cookie!" Her face was the picture of aggrieved innocence. 

Spike scowled at Rupert, who didn't bother resisting the urge to stick 
his tongue out at Tara, since it was obvious he wasn't going to win this 
one. "It's not nice to pick on little girls, Rupert," Spike said, just as 
if he hadn't eaten more of them than he could count, in his day. 

"Oh, yes, because they're perfect little angels," Rupert said. "So ask 
Angel Number One why she has an uneaten peanut butter cookie in her hands." 

"Because Willow gave it to me!" she said. Angelically. 

"You ate that one," Rupert pointed out, though he was beginning to think 
he might as well go to his office and read. With Anya no longer twisting 
Spike and Xander around her little finger, there was little entertainment 
to be had. No more peanut butter cookies to be had, either. 

Tara quivered her chin some more, and looked up at Spike. Who said 
seriously, "Rupert, perhaps you should go stand in the corner." 

Rupert gaped at him for a second, then turned to Willow. "Have we got a 
video camera? Set up?" 

"There's the security cameras," she said, nodding. "They must have got 
a shot of that." 

"Excellent. Let's be sure to send copies to Angel. I did promise." She 
nodded eagerly. Spike, on the other hand, was giving them an outraged 
look. Which they ignored. Rupert held his hand out. "May I?" 

Tara grinned, and returned his cookie. With a bite missing. 

Part Nine

"Not yet." 

Gunn looked down at him with that same concerned expression he'd been 
wearing for the last few days. That 'how long is it going to take him to 
regress, so I can get him to do embarrassing things on film' expression. Of 
course, the 'not yet' wasn't directly in response to that expression, but 
to 'Do you wanna go out and hit the playground, today?' Still, it was the 
same answer, to essentially the same question, voiced or unvoiced. 

"Ya know, you don't actually have to be regressed, to hang out on the 
swingset or the jungle gym. The others had fun doing it, even when they 
were still grown-up in the head. Got pics, and everything." 

"Spike and Xander--" 

"Yeah, yeah, act like kids all the time. But Buffy and Giles don't, and 
they got into it." 

"I am neither Buffy, nor Rupert. I--" He stopped himself from saying 
that he didn't *want* to do this. Because, true as it might be, he 
knew...it really wasn't *entirely* true. He'd have been happy to avoid the 
experience all-together. But there had been a few nice things. 

Being held, for one. Suddenly being able to demand and receive as much 
physical affection as he'd always been taught was improper and unnecessary 
for boys. For men, for Englishmen who were meant to grow up to be 
Watchers. Now, just because he was small, he only had to raise one hand and 
someone -- well, Cordelia or Gunn -- was hugging him. It made him nervous; 
but it felt nice. 

"I simply don't wish to make a fool of myself," he finally said. 

"Man, ain't no one gonna know you're a old guy in a four-year-old body." 

Wesley snapped his mouth shut, and glared as hard as he could. "I am 
not old." 

"You're *way* old," Gunn replied. "You're like, over *thirty*." 

Wesley had to resist the urge to respond in any number of ways which 
would only prove Gunn's belief that he ought to be acting like a four-year 
old. He didn't find it any easier than he did every other time Gunn 
started calling him his 'old man'. Normally he proved his youth by proving 
his...vitality. That wasn't going to work, this time. 

"That's not old," he finally responded. "That's mature. The magical 
point beyond which it's no longer necessary to drink milk from the carton 
and put it back in the refrigerator, in order to prove one's manhood." 

"Hey, I don't do that to prove my manhood-- I've got other ways of doing 
that. I do it 'cause it beats washing another glass." 

"How exactly does this not prove my point?" 

"That you're not too old to go to the park and sit in the sun and play 
on the swings?" 

Wesley frowned at him. "That was *not* my point." Although he was having 
difficulty remembering what his point *had* been. Other than the simple 
'No, don't wanna,' which he suspected wouldn't do much for his argument 
that he was still an adult, thank you. "I simply..." he paused, trying to 
come up with a reasonable answer. "...don't feel ready to do that. And 
don't really feel like arguing about it." 

Gunn opened his mouth, then closed it. He walked over to the window in 
the suite that Angel had prepared for them, and looked out, silently. 
Finally he said, "Okay. Not gonna push the kid-stuff. But can't we go out 
*somewhere* together? You're gonna make me think you don't wanna be seen 
with me." 

Wesley looked up at him. "But I don't," he said as guilelessly as he 
could. Then he had to leap backwards to avoid being grabbed, and, no 
doubt, tickled mercilessly. 

Gunn advanced on him, though, and he yelped. Much to his chagrin it 
sounded like a high-pitched squeal, and it stopped him from running away, 
as he'd intended. He stood firm, trying not to appear as embarrassed as he 
felt -- and Gunn reached for him. Wrapped an arm around him, and just 
squeezed him for a second. 

"So where *do* you wanna go? Please don't say the art museum." 

"Actually, I was going to say the library, but the art museum *is* a 
good idea." Gunn whimpered, and let his forehead fall onto Wesley's 
shoulder. When Gunn couldn't see him, Wesley grinned. 

"I can see you grinning." Gunn didn't raise his head. 

"You can not." 

"I know you're grinning." 

"That is not the same thing. Look, do you really want to...go 
somewhere?" He'd much rather stay at the hotel. But staying at the hotel 
meant making Gunn remain cooped up, as well, since he hadn't been able to 
convince the man to leave his *side* in five days. 

Gunn glanced up, and gave him a pleading expression. "Please? Please 
can we go -- someplace at least halfway cool, sorta fun, which doesn't 
involve me saying 'huh?' all day and doesn't involve you getting pictures 
taken of you?" 

Wesley blinked. "No pictures? Are you sure you won't go into withdrawal?" 

"I'll make up for it later, trust me." 

"No doubt." He couldn't quite give the words that guilt-inducing twist 
that they'd had a few days ago; Wesley wondered if he was losing that 
ability, as he moved towards the regression that he both dreaded and looked 
forward to, or whether the fun had simply gone out of it. Surely not? 

He pursed his lips as he tried to come up with an appropriate place. 
Somewhere that he and Gunn could go, that they would both enjoy, yet would 
welcome children. Or apparent children, and their apparent parents. 

"There's the Hawley Science Museum," he offered. Before Gunn could groan 
at the word 'museum,' he added, "It's really a sort of interactive thing. 
Sound experiments, walk around inside the giant human body, remote 
controlled dinosaur skeletons." 

"You mean one of those places you go and play with the exhibits, and 
learn stuff?" 

Wesley smiled, and nodded. "I wouldn't use the word 'play'--" 

"Yeah, that's the problem. Yeah, sure, sounds good," Gunn said 
quickly. "Do we need to steal Angel's wallet before we go?" 

Wesley pretended to think about it for a moment. "Well, admission isn't 
expensive, as such...." 

"But?" 

"But the food is, and if we go into the science store...." 

"You know you can't buy that chemistry set you've been after, looking 
like a four year old." 

"How did-- what chemistry set?" 

But Gunn was standing up, and holding out his hand. "Come on, we better 
get going. If I stay in this hotel one more hour, I'm gonna start...brooding." 

Wesley laughed, and had to clamp his jaw shut again. It sounded 
*wrong*. He did, however, take Gunn's hand, and tried not to worry about 
the quick look his lover gave him. If he did, they'd get into a long 
discussion about things he didn't want to think about, and it would simply 
delay their leaving.