As it was, it took them half an hour, what with Gunn's disappearance 
into a back room to 'discuss' something with Angel-- presumably the 'give 
us popcorn money, Dad' conversation, and Cordelia's fussing over both of them. 

"Do you have enough money? Do you know not to let go of Gunn's hand in 
the museum, because somebody could come along and snatch you, I'm not 
kidding, it's happened, and I don't care if you're actually thirty-two 
years old, there's not a damn thing you could do about it, are you 
listening to me, Wesley Wyndham Pryce?" Et cetera. 

And another half an hour in the truck, on the way to the museum. With 
the expected 'you wanna stop at Mickey D's?' and the obvious 'I'll eat that 
slop when I'm dead and in hell, not before.' Which was actually a bit more 
comforting than Cordelia's well-meaning big city horror stories, since he 
and Gunn had the fast food conversation almost every day, as normal adults. 
'Normal' being a relative term, of course. 

Finally, though, they pulled into the parking garage. Wesley tried to 
remember how long ago he'd last been here -- the first time had been after 
he'd lived here almost a year, and had finally got actual, disposable 
income. He'd managed a visit once or twice that year, then only once the 
year after. Recently he'd spent most of his free time with Gunn...and he 
hadn't ever thought to invite him here. 

He was, however, mortified to discover he was bouncing ever-so-slightly 
in his seat as Gunn found a parking spot. He held himself still, until the 
engine was off. Then he undid his seatbelt and climbed out with as much 
decorum as he could muster. He was looking about for the stairs, when Gunn 
came around the truck and held out his hand again. "I don't actually--" 

"How many drivers in this garage are gonna see you to not drive over 
you?" Gunn demanded. 

Wesley blinked. He heard the reply in his head, felt it worm its way 
into his mouth.... To hell with it. "Then perhaps I shouldn't be walking, 
at all." He raised his hands, ready to stammer an explanation that he'd 
only been kidding. Gunn grinned, and scooped him up. "Remember where we're 
parked," Wesley said, craning his neck to see any signs nearby. 

"Yes, dad," Gunn replied. 

They made it through the admission counter without anyone staring at 
them, which made Wesley breathe a sigh of relief as they walked into the 
main lobby. Then he had to pause, and wonder why he'd been expecting that. 

It wasn't as if he and Gunn didn't draw the odd look, every now and 
then, when they walked into a restaurant on the wrong side of some 
invisible line, and one of them was obviously out of place. Or in one of 
those neutral sorts of places, like the shopping mall, or the grocery 
store, when they did something that broadcast 'yes, we're together' without 
saying it aloud. All of which was fine. They were past worrying about that 
sort of thing, as far as he knew. 

He realized as they walked --or rather, Gunn walked, for Wesley was 
still being carried-- towards the dinosaur exhibit, that he was expecting 
people to be staring at *him*. Expecting them to *know*, as Gunn had teased 
him earlier, that Wesley wasn't what he appeared to be. He also realized 
that by trying to watch for anyone staring at them, he was giving the 
impression of a young child on his first visit, who wanted to see 
*everything*. Now. 

He pointed towards the mathematics hall. "There's an exhibit there that 
talks about the history of math, and how different cultures arrived at the 
same conclusions about the nature of numbers independently of each other." 

"Oo, that sounds like *fun*," Gunn replied. "You sure I can't just put 
bamboo under my fingernails?" 

Wesley thumped him on the head. "You do know you can put me down now," 
he said, as they drew nearer the Stegosaurus. There was only one child at 
the controls, which meant he could take a turn, sooner than later. 

"Nuh-uh," was the unexpected response. "If I put you down, you'll get 
to the controls ahead of me." 

Wesley gaped at him, despite the fact that Gunn was staring ahead, at 
the dinosaur. They'd reached the control panel, and Gunn was standing 
behind the seven year old boy who was making the Stegosaurus try to eat its 
own foot. 

"You must be joking," Wesley finally said. 

Gunn glanced at him. "I ain't joking. You've been here before, I 
haven't. It's only polite to let me go first." 

"Yes, but..." Wesley could see where this was going-- he could get to go 
first, without any arguing, if he said the five magic words: 'But I'm 
smaller than you.' Or possibly 'younger.' Which would win him the battle, 
but lose the war. If indeed it was a war. There had to be another 
alternative... He frowned at Gunn. "Yes, but I have to show you how to do 
it. Otherwise you might end up...er...breaking something." 

Gunn grinned and raised an eyebrow. "I think I got the hang of it. Jonny 
Quest here seems to know what *he's* doing." He nodded his head at the boy 
in front of them, who was now trying to make the Stegosaurus re-enact 
Riverdance, it appeared. 

"He's probably been here before, too," Wesley said, unruffled. "He's got 
that jaded look in his eye." 

"Don't *make* me tickle you to get the first turn at this thing. 'Cause 
you *know* I will..." 

"You wouldn't." 

"Just because we're someplace public? Oh, believe me, I will. I might 
not get to when you're taller'n me, but now, nobody will even look twice." 

"I'll--" Well, 'I'll scream' wouldn't be an effective threat. "How do 
you propose to operate the controls with only one hand, if you don't set me 
down?" He saw the reply on Gunn's face, and felt himself go bright 
red. "You shouldn't think such things around children," he chastised, quietly. 

"Me? I didn't think a word. You're the one with the evil mind." Gunn 
leaned down to the control panel, and grabbed one joystick. Wesley 
sighed. He wasn't going to demand a turn -- it wasn't as if Gunn weren't 
perfectly justified. He *had* been here before, and Gunn hadn't -- and he 
*wasn't* really four years old and unable to share. And he wasn't remotely 
pouting, or thinking that it wasn't fair, and he should get to go first 
because he was the one who'd enjoy it more. Because, why would he? They 
were both grown men. In spirit, anyway. 

Wesley was making that extra effort to suck in his bottom lip, and try 
to look interested-but-not-jealous, when Gunn tapped him on the arm. "Hey, 
you want this, or what?" 

He blinked, to see a joystick in front of his face. Gunn had knelt down, 
and placed Wesley on his knee, while Wesley was contemplating not pouting. 
He blinked again at the control, then shook his head. "No, of course not. I 
wasn't trying to get my own way, you know." 

Gunn snorted. "Of course not." His mock-English accent hadn't improved 
with age. "Like I'd let you. There's *two* controls, or didn't you notice? 
We can make him bop himself in the head." 

"What fun. And after that, we can stop at Toys R' Us and pick up a pair 
of Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots." 

"See, I knew you'd get into the swing of things." Gunn twitched his 
control, and the Stegosaurus skeleton attempted to flip Wesley the bird. It 
failed badly, since it didn't have any fingers, but Wesley got the message. 

He narrowed his eyes at Gunn, and reached out to grasp the other control 
-- which was a bit further away than it usually was when he was six feet 
tall. "Er, could you..." 

Gunn leaned closer to the counter, and Wesley grabbed the joystick. 
Executing a move he'd once practiced for half an hour, since the museum had 
been closing and most of the children were gone, he twirled the 
control-stick around so that the skeleton whapped itself in the head with 
its own tail. 

There was a pause. Then, "You did that on accident." 

"I most certainly did not!" Wesley straightened up, feeling righteously 
indignant, and tried to spin around to glare at Gunn -- and nearly toppled 
himself off Gunn's leg. He was saved from falling by Gunn's quick grab of 
Wesley's shirt. 

"You break something and Cordelia won't let me take you anywhere, ever 
again," Gunn warned him. 

"What if I break *your* arm?" Wesley asked, torn between sounding 
perfectly innocent and grumbling about the injustice of the world in 
general, and snarky lovers in specific. 

"Then she *really* won't let me take you anywhere -- because *your* 
pansy ass will be grounded for a month." 

Once again settled on Gunn's knee -- though not because he hadn't 
*tried* to climb down, and been held captive -- Wesley glanced over his 
shoulder. "Why exactly would that be a bad thing?" 

There was another pause, before Gunn said, "Because then I'd have to 
pout at you." Then he did so. 

Wesley was about to tease him, when he caught a woman watching them, 
with a huge 'aren't they adorable' smile on her face. 

Which they were, of course, but why did it take him being the size of a 
pre-schooler to elicit looks like that? They never got 'aren't they 
adorable' when they teased each other like this in public as adults. At 
best they had been politely ignored. At worst-- well, things could have 
been worse. They'd never been threatened. They had been the target of a few 
not-so-veiled insults, which *they* had chosen to politely ignore. The most 
common reaction was a curious stare in their direction before civility 
reared its helpful head and the gawker turned away. Which Wesley really was 
past caring about. Mostly. 

But the smiling woman, who apparently wasn't bound by the same sort of 
politeness conventions as prevailed with adults, was still staring at them. 
At him. What was it about being three and a half feet tall that made it 
polite for people to gawp at you? He was frowning at her, which a real 
four-year-old probably wouldn't do. Would one? He wouldn't have dared, when 
he was four, of course. Then again, when he was four, he'd have been in 
England, and she wouldn't have stared. 

He felt Gunn nudge him, and he turned halfway towards him, not quite 
letting his eyes leave the woman... Which meant, he realized, that he was 
gawking back at her, which was equally as rude. He sighed inwardly, and 
turned his attention fully to Gunn. 

"You gonna play or you gonna worry about women thinking we're cute?" 
Gunn asked in a low voice. 

"How long has she been standing there?" Wesley reached for the joystick 
again, and half-heartedly raised the Stegosaurus' tail and waggled it. 

"Dunno. Come on, Wes, don't worry about her. Worry about the fact that 
the T-Rex is about to chomp us." 

Wesley immediately looked over towards the Tyrannosaurus Rex robot, 
where another child was trying his best to reach their Stegosaurus...and 
chomp it. He'd seen kids doing this to each other, of course, but they'd 
never bothered *him* when he was playing. When he'd been an adult. 

He tried to wallop the T-Rex in the face with the Stego's tail. It 
wouldn't quite reach high enough, so he changed his strategy, and went for 
the back legs. Didn't quite knock the thing over, but the King of the 
Carnivores wobbled quite a bit. The other boy grinned, and made his T-Rex 
roar. Or at least open its jaws as if it were roaring, and scrabble its 
little front arm/legs. Then the toothy skull dove for the Stego again. 

"Get him, Wes. You can't let him eat us. Strike a blow for vegetarians 
everywhere," Gunn encouraged him. 

"We're not vegetarians," Wesley said as he manipulated his control so 
the the Stegosaurus ducked its head to avoid the T-Rex, then readied 
another tail-assault. 

"No, but the Stegosaurus is. Says so right here." Gunn pointed to the 
legend on the console. 

"I'm glad one of us is having a learning experience," Wesley replied, 
landing a solid whap to the Tyrannosaurus' skull as it tried to chomp them 
again. The T-Rex wobbled, but didn't quite fall. It rallied, and headed 
for his tail...his Stegosaurus' tail, once more. Wesley gave it another 
hard wallop before it could draw too near. 

"Excuse me," said a polite voice behind and above them. Wesley glanced 
up, and as he saw the bright yellow shirt of a docent, he heard a 
crash. He turned back in time to see his dinosaur lying on its side and a 
triumphant Tyrannosaurus stalking away. 

"You made us lose!" he snapped, before realizing what he was saying. 

"Is there a problem?" Gunn asked. 

"We prefer you treat the exhibits with more care," she replied, pointing 
to a sign that said "Please Keep Robot Dinosaurs In Their Own Play Area." 
It meant, as Wesley well knew, 'Don't play fight with the robots.' 

"Sorry, ma'am," Gunn was saying, standing up and picking Wesley up with 
him. Wesley frowned -- was he *ever* going to let him go? It wasn't like 
he was going to run off and get *lost*. "Didn't see the sign." 

Well, that was half true. *Wesley* had seen the sign. On more than one 
occasion. He just hadn't felt the need to point it out to Gunn, on this 
*particular* occasion. As the docent raised an eyebrow at Gunn, Wesley 
replaced his petulant frown at having lost, with a wide-eyed, innocent, 
I'm-too-young-to-read-so-it-can't-possibly-be-my-fault expression. 

She looked down at him, and smiled back. Right, so perhaps there was 
*something* to the whole cuteness-factor. Wesley wasn't above using 
whatever weapons he had in his arsenal, so he widened his eyes a bit, and 
said, "You're not mad at us, are you? We won't do it again." He could feel 
Gunn trying to hold back a chuckle. He didn't even have to be *looking*, to 
know it was happening. 

The young woman shook her head, and said, "No, honey. I'm not mad. These 
guys are made tough, just in case they decide to get rowdy, you know. We 
just don't want them getting too excited before feeding time." 

He looked back at the robots, wondering if four year olds were supposed 
to think robots ate real food. Before he could decide to say something, 
Gunn was telling her, "We'll be sure to read the signs from now on, 
thanks. It's my first time here," he added, as if *his* being cute was 
going to affect the docent in any way. 

Wesley decided to assist him. "I've been here *seven* times, so I'm 
showing him around." 

"Have you, now? My, I bet you know everything there is to know about 
the place." The docent was looking from him, to Gunn, and back. "You're 
going to show your...." Here she faltered, clearly at a loss to guess why 
they were here, together. 

"He's my boyfriend," Wesley said, with a straight-face. Gunn burst out 
laughing. 

The docent gave Wesley another 'isn't he cute' smile, though she was now 
getting ready to walk away. "I hope you enjoy the rest of your visit. Just 
be nice to the dinosaurs -- they were here first." 

"What are *you* laughing at?" he asked Gunn, as the woman walked over to 
talk to the T-Rex operator, who, as a ten-or-so-year-old, had definitely 
seen and read the signs. 

"I think I'm too young for you," Gunn replied through his chuckles. 
"Man, that was masterful." 

Wesley lifted his chin. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he 
replied. 

"You sure you don't wanna go back to the admission desk and see if you 
can cute 'em into giving us our entry fee back?" 

"I'm sure they see plenty of children who are as cute or cuter than me. 
At least... six or seven, per year. I doubt I'd have any luck." Gunn 
laughed, and started carrying him away from the exhibit. "Where exactly are 
we going?" Wesley asked, having given up on ever being put down. 

"Feeding time, didn't you hear the nice lady?" 

Wesley rolled his eyes. "Yes, but I don't expect they're actually taking 
the fiberglass dinosaur skeletons round the back to feed them their daily 
meal of attic insulation." 

"Not for them-- for us. Cafeteria's this way." 

"It's barely ten thirty," Wesley pointed out. 

"So? You turning down junk food?" 

Wesley narrowed his eyes. "Of course I'm turning down junk food." Not 
that he was, precisely. It was just.... 

Gunn stopped walking, and craned his head around to look where Wesley 
had been glancing. "What's over there?" 

"Nothing, really." He kept himself from looking over, again. Which was 
pointless, because Gunn started walking that direction, reading signs out 
loud. 

"Electronics, lights...sound? There something in the sound exhibit you 
wanna see?" 

"If you're hungry...." Wesley began. The sound wing was rather packed 
-- then he saw that the keyboard was *free* and he wriggled, 
urgently. "Let me down!" 

Gunn did, though Wesley suspected it was from surprise, more than 
anything else. Wesley ran as fast as he dared, ducking around adults and 
other kids who obviously didn't know an excellent exhibit when they saw 
one. He leapt, and landed on the 'C' square. The speakers overhead 
sounded a loud, organ's tone. Wesley grinned, and jumped to the 'E'. 

Gunn caught up with him in a moment, looking a little worried. "Hey, 
Wes, don't do that, okay? Not in a big crowd like this." 

"You're as bad as Cordelia," Wesley replied, stepping over to the 
E-flat, then jumping to the 'C' again. "I'm perfectly all right." 

Gunn frowned for a moment. "I just don't wanna lose you, okay?" 

Wesley landed on two notes right next to each other, and covered his 
ears at the cacophonous sound. Then he turned to Gunn, who began to repeat 
himself. "I heard you," Wesley said quietly. "I'm not about to disappear, 
you know. Just because I can run faster than you..." 

"You slip through crowds easier than me. You ain't faster." 

"Am, too," Wesley replied, jumping over to hit a third, and not quite 
making it. "When I say 'now', would you step on those two keys?" He pointed 
them out, to Gunn. Gunn gave him a frown, which meant the lecture wasn't 
over, but he moved into position. Wesley bent his legs to jump, and said 
"Now!" A perfect chord. He grinned. Then he turned to Gunn to reiterate 
that he *wasn't* going to get snatched, and faltered. Stared, instead, at 
the look on Gunn's face. "What?" he demanded, after a moment. 

In a quiet voice, Gunn said only, "Love you." 

Eventually, Wesley was able to look back up at him, and faked a pout. 
"You don't play fair." 

"Nope. Gotta use every advantage I have, in the Man's world," Gunn said, 
straightfaced. Wesley snorted. 

"You do realize, don't you, that *I'm* 'The Man' ?" 

Gunn was laughing at him again, damn it. "Uh, that's right, Wes. You da 
man." 

"Not what I meant." Wesley shifted from one foot to the other, which 
happened to recreate the theme from 'Jaws' rather nicely. 

"Yeah, so. You're The Squirt, then." 

"You're asking for it." 

"I am, huh? And you're gonna give it to me?" 

"If I must." Wesley pushed his sleeves up, getting ready. He moved his 
feet into a fighting stance, which Gunn recognized. A confused look 
appeared on his face. 

"What are you gonna do, kick me in the shins?" 

Wesley shook his head, and stage-whispered, "I'm going to scream for my 
mother." 

Gunn blinked. "Nah, you wouldn't." 

"Try me." 

"Thought you didn't want to be embarrassed?" he asked, but he didn't 
sound *completely convinced. 

"Face embarrassment, rather than let you get one up one me?" 

"Good point. How about I buy us ice cream sandwiches, and you pay -- 
because you're da Man?" 

"How about you jump on the 'D' and the 'G' so I can play another chord?" 
Gunn rolled his eyes, but complied. The man had good timing, Wesley had to 
admit. The sound rang out nicely. 

Gunn looked at him. "If you're thinking we're gonna do the Pachelbel 
Canon, I'm telling you right now, forget it." 

"Are you saying you can't dance?" 

"No, I'm saying I can't play the piano. If I try to break it down on 
this thing, they'll kick us out of here for disturbing the peace." 

Wesley pictured it, and couldn't help giggling. "Then why don't you just 
step down two notes, and play harmony for me? The 'A' and the 'C'. Back and 
forth." 

"You're a weird little kid, you know that, right?" Gunn said as Wesley 
began hop-playing the melody line. Gunn burst out laughing when he finally 
figured out what the song was. "I Wouldn't Normally Do This Kind of Thing?" 
he chortled. 

"Better than 'How Much Is That Doggie In The Window," Wesley replied, 
sticking out his tongue. "And when exactly did *you* listen to the Pet Shop 
Boys?" 

Gunn never stopped shifting from one foot to the other, playing his 
limited harmony line. "Yesterday afternoon, while you were watching tv with 
Cordy. Looked 'em up on the net. Downloaded some mp3's." 

"You're a strange, large man, you know that, right?" 

"Thought you liked 'em large and strange." 

Wesley faltered on the next note, and took the moment as a time-out to 
glare at Gunn. Again. With its usual lack of success. 

"What?" Gunn looked at him, surprised. 

Before Wesley could respond with a musical raspberry, two girls jumped 
onto the keyboard. They obviously had no musical talent, but Wesley 
surrendered the board, regardless. He was about to head for the listening 
tubes, when he found himself being lifted into the air. "Charles, 
*really*. This is getting quite absurd." 

"What? Since when don't you like being taller than most of the crowd?" 

"Since most of the crowd is under the age of twelve. I *can* walk, you 
know." He tried wriggling out of Gunn's grasp, again, but Gunn was holding 
him firmly. 

"So can I. I can walk and carry you at the same time." He proceeded to 
prove it, by walking towards the microphone exhibit -- thereby proving he 
had no clue what passed for a cool exhibit. 

"You *could* simply hold my hand, as I walked along beside you," he 
pointed out. 

"Yeah, but then you wouldn't see anything." 

Yes, and people wouldn't see *him*, which was the point of the exercise. 
Or at least, people wouldn't see him being hoisted above his boyfriend's 
head like a sack of potatoes. "I would so. I'd have a lovely view of... 
knees. Lots of knees." 

"'Cause God knows, you need to do some more research on kneecaps, 
otherwise you might accidentally kick somebody where it *didn't* hurt," 
Gunn said, shifting him slightly, so that he could, in fact, see the 
exhibits better than before. 

"That's right. I need to practice my aim," Wesley agreed. Gunn carried 
him toward the microphone exhibit, and Wesley tugged on his ear. 

"What're you doing?" Gunn laughed. 

"Steering. I've never driven one of these contraptions before, so it may 
take me a moment to get used to it." Wes tugged on Gunn's other ear. 

"That's not tr---" Gunn started, then stopped. "Um, not gonna finish 
that thought." 

"Charles! What did I tell you about thinking such things around 
children?" He sounded shocked -- and perhaps a bit too loud. He received a 
very peculiar look from a man who didn't appear to think that all was right 
with his world. Or Wesley's, or Gunn's, or something. But that was all 
right, Wesley was used to *those* sorts of disapproving looks. He grinned 
-- then stuck his tongue out at the man, who blinked then hurried away. 

"Where are we going?" Gunn asked, trying to head in whatever direction 
Wesley was steering. 

"Over there." He pointed, then thumped Gunn on the head. From up here 
he *could* see quite well, and he could see something he'd forgotten 
about. "No! There, this way!" He tugged on Gunn's ear, again. 

"You know, you could use that fancy vocabulary of yours to *tell* me 
where to go." There was a pause. "Forget I said that, OK?" 

"You *could* use those hands of yours to put me *down* and I could 
*show* you where I want to go," Wesley reminded him. There was silence for 
a moment. "Er, Charles?" 

"Thinking not-around-kids thoughts again. Uh, this way?" He walked in 
the right direction, but Wesley pulled on his ear again. Just for the hell 
of it. "Wrong way?" 

"No." 

"Mean Little Kid." 

Finally they reached the shadow box display, which Gunn was examining 
curiously. "You *have* to put me down, for this to be any fun," Wesley 
informed him. Gunn did so, after a dubious look, and Wesley pulled him into 
the box, which was actually the size of a rather small room. Several other 
people, adults and children, were standing about waiting. Gunn raised an 
eyebrow. Then the flash of light went off. 

"Uh, so the point of this exhibit is to blind people?" Gunn asked, 
blinking. Wesley pointed at the wall, where there was a perfect shadow of a 
tall man, holding the hand of a small boy. "Dam-- uh, man, that's cool!" 

Wesley laughed, and tugged on Gunn's hand. "When you hear the beeping, 
get ready." 

"Ready for what?" Gunn was still watching the walls, which were adorned 
with shadows from all the occupants. 

"For the light to flash! Honestly, Gunn, pay attention." 

Gunn tore his gaze away from the wall, and began to give him one of the 
'don't dis me, man, I know where you're ticklish' looks. Then the alarm 
sounded, and Wesley jumped into the air. Right before Gunn caught him, the 
light flashed. Wesley spun around to look at the shadow before the white 
light had even completely faded. There was a small shadow-him, in mid-air. 

They managed to kill an hour, playing in the shadow box. Then Wesley 
dragged Gunn - by the ear - to the sound tubes, then the earth science 
wing, then the mathematics wing where Wesley demonstrated that it was much 
more fun than bamboo under the fingernails. Gunn agreed, especially when 
he happily sat for a half hour staring at the Marble Race, trying to 
predict which pathways the marbles would take as they tripped the various 
traps, switch-tracks, and gizmos. 

Part Eleven  

Then they finally made it to the snack area, and spent much of Angel's 
money on junk food. They walked around outside, looking at the agriculture 
displays and gardens, and Wesley amused himself by whispering to Gunn about 
historical, magical, significance of some of the plants they 
saw. Afterwards they debated the engineering wing versus the science 
store, and finally the science store won out. 

"Hey, check this out," Gunn said, dragging him over to one of the 
logic-toy displays. Gunn had *finally* put him down, when his shoulder had 
obviously started to get tired, but he was still holding Wesley fast by the 
hand. "They got little mini-marble races." 

"Yes, they've been around for years-- it's actually the large ones that 
are the novelty," Wesley explained. 

Gunn was busy studying the back of one of the packages, a contemplative 
look on his face. Wesley spotted a robotic construction set, basically a 
miniature version of the dinosaur skeletons, across the aisle. He reached 
for it, but couldn't quite make it without getting Gunn to let go of 
him. "Charles?" 

"Hmm?" Gunn was still rolling the marble around the box. 

He strained against his lover's hand, but couldn't get free. "Charles, 
let me go." 

"Why? Hey, you know you can buy a bunch of these sets, and hook 'em 
together! We could make a huge track, in the middle of the hotel lobby." 

"I don't *care*; I want to look at the robotic models." He tugged again. 

"Where are they?" Gunn set the marble race track down, and took a step 
towards the models. 

Wesley sighed. "You *do* know you can let me go. I'm going two feet 
away -- surely even you can keep an eye on me." 

Gunn looked down at him, raising an eyebrow, but only said, "You wanna 
get one of them? Stegosaurus?" 

"I don't wish to buy it, I simply want to see how they're 
constructed." They were near enough to the models, now, that he could 
reach forward and grab a box. Only he didn't quite get his hand on it, and 
the front three boxes fell onto the floor. He sighed, and crouched down to 
pick them up. 

Gunn bent down to help, and said, "You know we can get one. Two, maybe, 
so we can have fights without docents scolding us." 

"I don't want one," he repeated, patiently. "I only wanted to know how 
they were made. I know, now, after having read the box, so now I would 
like to go look at the bookracks." 

Gunn shook his head, slowly. "Not unless they're picture books. You're 
not supposed to be able to read. Come here and help me pick out some 
marble sets." 

Wesley didn't *want* to look at marble sets. Wesley had seen the marble 
sets at least seven check times already, and they remained marble sets, no 
matter how many times one stared at them. The bookracks, on the other hand, 
were periodically changed in order to reflect new exhibits and current 
events in science. He shook his head. 

"No, I want to go look at the new books. I'll just be a minute." He 
darted over to the bookshelves, and began eyeing the new large-format 
coffee-table book on the differences and similarities between dinosaurs and 
fantasy-art dragons. 

It was one shelf above his head, so he could read the cover well enough, 
but couldn't reach it to pull it down and open it. He stepped forward onto 
the bottom shelf, resting his foot on it just enough so he could raise 
himself up an inch or two, and reach for the book. And found his hand being 
grabbed by Gunn's. He twisted around, glaring at him. "What?" he snapped. 

"You *know* you aren't supposed to be climbing on the bookshelves. This 
ain't the Magic Box." 

It was on the tip of Wesley's tongue to respond that he *knew* what he 
was doing, and didn't weigh enough to bring the shelves down. He could 
tell by the set of Gunn's expression that it wouldn't faze the other man, 
so instead he simply said, "Fine. Hand me that one." 

Which, for some reason, despite being what Gunn wanted -- that he not 
fetch the book, himself -- didn't work. "Let's go grab some marble 
sets. You can look at the books when you're old enough to read." 

As if it *mattered* that suddenly he was supposed to act like the child 
he appeared? Wesley didn't understand, and didn't *care*. "No, I want to 
look at that book." 

It was, as a matter of fact, a picture book, in its own way, and not one 
that a four-year-old would be completely out of place in looking at. He 
frowned up at Gunn. Who frowned back at him for a moment, then threw up his 
hands. "Fine. You wanna look at the books, look at the books. Let 'em think 
you're some kinda kid genius. *I'll" be over looking at the marbles, with 
the rest of the four year olds." He walked back over to the toys, though 
Wesley could see that Gunn was still keeping one eye on him. 

Wesley rolled his own eyes, and stepped back up to grab the book. He got 
a good grip on the spine, and was lifting it over the lip of the shelf, 
when his smaller-than-usual fingers slipped on the slick jacket. He caught 
the paper covering, but the book itself slid straight through the 
unfastened jacket, and landed smack on Wesley's head, with what sounded 
like a rather loud bonk, to his biased ears. To add insult to injury, the 
paper cover ripped along the spine, as the book slid out. 

Wesley rubbed his forehead, and blinked back tears that were 
*completely* justified by the smarting pain in his head, but might be 
misinterpreted by outside observers as childish pique. He carefully placed 
the book back in its jacket, examined the tear for a moment, then, with a 
sigh, carried it over to Gunn. 

"If you say a *word*," he began. Gunn simply held out his hand for the 
book, putting down the marble set he'd been holding. Wesley frowned at the 
marble set. "Surely you have enough to get both?" 

"Be a squeeze to get all of it. I didn't steal Angel's credit card, just 
his cash." 

"Oh." Wesley looked at the book, which he didn't have any choice about 
buying now, then at the marble sets that had so captured Gunn's interest. 
Then he blinked at the dinosaur robots -- which Gunn had apparently gotten 
off the shelf *again*. He pointed at them. "Put those back, then, and get 
your marble sets." 

"It's okay, Wes. We can come back, right? I'll get the marble tracks 
then." Gunn sounded like he really didn't care. Which, of course, made 
Wesley feel worse, because he knew better -- and while the robots were 
interesting, Wesley really *didn't* care about buying them. He'd *told* 
Gunn that, but Gunn had chosen to believe -- what, that Wesley was covering 
up his desire to play, so he wouldn't have to admit to being childish? Did 
everything have to revolve around that? Couldn't *something* just be about 
him having a preference, like wanting a book instead of a toy? 

Even if he didn't necessarily want *this* book. Wesley sighed, not 
wanting to get into it. "No, we don't need to get the robots. You said you 
wanted to set the marble races up in the lobby." He took the dinosaurs, 
intending to carry them back to the display and set them back up. One 
slipped out of his arms, and he bit off a word not even 
thirty-two-year-olds were supposed to know. 

He bent to pick it up, and the first box slid out of his arms. In a fit 
of pique, he kicked the box. Then he *did* mutter a word he shouldn't have 
known, but at least it wasn't in English. He crouched down, picked up one 
box, and carried it carefully over to the display. When he came back for 
the next one, Gunn was holding it. "How about we get two of the marble sets 
and one dino? And the book." 

"And you'll put what in the fuel tank of the truck on the way back? 
Water? Come on, just give me the model. We can get *it* later, if you insist." 

Gunn shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Wes. I've got 
enough." Which meant he was going to dig into his *own* pocket for it, 
instead of using the 'let's amuse ourselves with mini-Wesley' fund. Wes 
narrowed his eyes and reached for the dinosaur box. Gunn held it out of his 
reach. 

"Charles, stop it." 

"Look, it isn't like they're gonna sell out of these things by the weekend." 

Wesley put his hands on his hips. "Which means we can very well get the 
robots later, and get the sets which you want, now. I don't *care* about 
the stupid robots and I'm sorry I ripped the fucking book and will you 
*please* just get the--" 

He cut off, as Gunn was kneeling down in front of him, looking 
worried. "Wes? Come on, let's put them both back and buy the book and go 
home." 

Fighting back the urge to tell Gunn to get the marble sets anyway, 
Wesley nodded. He reached for the dinosaur robot Gunn was holding, but 
Gunn placed it on the shelf, himself, then wrapped an arm around Wesley, 
and hugged him. Wesley felt himself sniffle, and whispered, "I'm sorry." 

"Missed his nap, huh?" a woman's voice said. 

Wesley frowned. He was saved from answering by Gunn standing up and 
facing the woman -- thereby facing Wesley *away* from her, as he was 
resting against Gunn's shoulder. "Um, yeah. We've had kind of a busy day, 
today," Gunn was saying, a little awkwardly. 

"I don't need a nap," Wesley said quietly. Only to Gunn, since it wasn't 
any of *her* business. 

"That's what they all say, kiddo," she said, not unkindly. Wesley stuck 
his tongue out at her anyway, though of course she couldn't see it. All he 
ended up doing was getting a tongueful of fuzz from Gunn's sweatshirt. He 
wiped it off quickly with his hand, making a face. 

Gunn nodded, and carried Wesley up to the counter, where he let Wesley 
down for a moment, while he paid for the book. Wesley looked back at the 
woman, who was pushing her own child, a two or three year old, in a 
stroller. She waved at him, and he resisted the urge to stick his tongue 
out at her again. He did *not* need a nap. Even if, right now, the pillow 
that the little girl was leaning her head against looked awfully comfortable. 

Instead he wrapped his arm around Gunn's leg, and leaned his head 
against *that*. Not exactly restful, but he wasn't tired. Just...well, he 
wouldn't say 'no' to them leaving, and maybe finding a quiet spot to sit 
for awhile. Maybe they could look at the book he'd forced them to buy. 

Then Gunn was picking him up again. "I can walk," he reiterated, not 
sure it would do any good. Not sure he liked the fact that he sounded as 
if he were whining. 

"I know." Gunn settled Wesley on his hip, and wrapped the handles of 
the bag around his other wrist. "Let's go home," he said again, and this 
time Wesley just nodded. He let his head fall onto Gunn's shoulder, again, 
not caring that the woman was still staring at him. He closed his eyes so 
he wouldn't have to see it. 

And opened them, an entire nap later, to find himself being carried into 
the hotel lobby. 

Cordelia was giving him a look he'd come to know all too well in the 
last few days. He scowled at her. 

"Don't scowl, you'll ruin the shot," she told him. 

"You're taking photographs *again*?" he snapped, suddenly feeling 
extremely irritated. He pushed against Gunn's chest, so he could be let 
down and be able to go over and... Well, he'd promised to stop kicking 
people, but he was about to make an exception. He'd start with a 
video-camera-wielding vampire who healed fast. 

Except he wasn't being let down. He squirmed a bit, to no avail. 
Cordelia gave Gunn a quizzical look, which Wesley caught, thank you very 
much. He hadn't suddenly become blind, as well as short. Although he *was* 
still blinking at her, trying to make things come into focus. He felt 
rather as if he'd been woken up at three thirty in the morning, and he was 
still stumbling around the flat trying to find his socks. 

Whatever expression Gunn sent her in return which Wesley couldn't see, 
it got the aww-isn't-he-cute look off Cordelia's face, and made Angel put 
down the camera. "So, did you guys have fun?" Cordelia asked. Which was a 
perfectly reasonable question, so Wesley bit off the reply he was about to 
snap at her, and blinked some more, allowing Gunn to answer. 

"Oh yeah-- that place is a blast. They have this water clock in the 
lobby, that goes through all these different tubes and scale things, so you 
can see just when it's gonna hit the hour and go off. And the robot dinos 
are awesome." 

"Which got us yelled at," Wesley added, still feeling as if he'd rather 
be still asleep. Except he wasn't tired, hadn't been tired, so how had he 
slept the entire drive home? 

"Yelled at?" Angel asked. 

"We got eaten by a Tyrannosaurus Rex," Wesley explained, knowing full 
well it wasn't an explanation. But it was better than yelling at them to 
leave him alone. He looked back over at Gunn. 

"You wanna go upstairs and read?" Gunn held up the bag, but made his 
question sound like they'd actually chosen to buy it, rather than 
otherwise. Wesley nodded. Gunn said to the others, "Don't hold dinner for 
us -- we're gonna order pizza later." 

"We are?" Wesley was feeling a bit more awake, now. As well as hungry. 

"Maybe more 'sooner' than later," Gunn amended. "Didn't you say 
something about anchovies and green peppers?" 

Wesley blinked. "I said they were the two most disgusting pizza 
toppings on the planet." 

"Oh, and here I thought you liked 'em." Gunn was heading for the 
stairs, still carrying Wesley - but he no longer minded so much. He did 
glance back over Gunn's shoulder at Angel and Cordelia, and saw that the 
camera was still safely aimed at the floor. He stuck his tongue out at 
Angel, quickly. 

The moment they got in the door to their room, Gunn reached for the 
telephone. "You can put me down, you know," Wesley informed him. 

"Well, yeah, I could, but why start now?" Gunn proceeded to order pizza, 
while still holding Wesley, who simply rolled his eyes, and corrected him 
loudly when he tried to order one with extra green peppers and anchovies. 
"You sure?" Gunn asked, with a patently false expression of confusion on 
his face. Wesley pinched his ear as he confirmed that yes, he was bloody 
well sure. "Okay, I guess he's sure." Wesley was close enough to the phone 
that he could hear the cashier's laughter. 

Gunn was grinning, by the time they'd hung up, and Wesley looked sternly 
at him. "You know you probably confused the hell out of that poor woman," 
he said as Gunn carried him over to the chair. "We're likely to get three 
small pepper and anchovy pizzas with an order of calimari on the side." 

"I don't think Pizza Hut has... what was that?" 

"Deep fried squid. I was trying to think of something more disgusting 
than anchovies." 

Gunn made a face. "Congratulations. You did." He settled Wesley on his 
lap, and slid the book out of the museum store bag. "Dinosaurs and Dragons, 
huh? You *sure* this book isn't too advanced for your reading group level?" 

With an absolutely straight face, Wesley replied, "Hooked on Phonics 
worked for me. Would you care to open it?" 

"Just a second. I'm looking at the cover." 

Wesley was trying to *avoid* looking at the cover, and the large rip 
down the spine, but he sighed, and waited, while Gunn studied the colorful 
painting of a Pterodactyl swooping down on a large and anatomically 
incorrect Wyvvern. Finally, Wesley reached out a finger, and traced the 
rough edges of the tear. 

"Didn't you want the book anyway?" Gunn asked quietly, still staring at 
the drawings. 

"I didn't have a chance to find out." Wesley knew what Gunn was after - 
it was a book, how could he be too upset about owning it? Unless it was 
utter trash, but DK didn't tend to publish trash. 

"It's just a rip in the dust cover, Wes. You woulda bought it if you'd 
been yourself, six feet tall and too big for his britches, and tore the cover." 

Wesley shook his head, though not because Gunn was wrong. 

"You wouldn't have left it on the shelf," Gunn began, with a hint of 
Cordelia-esque scolding in his voice. 

"No, it isn't that. I just...don't like being reminded what a clumsy 
child I was. Am." 

Gunn squeezed his shoulders for a second, then said, "You are *not* 
clumsy. Any more than any four-year-old kid is. You ever *looked* at a four 
year old?" 

Wesley shrugged. "In passing. And the others, of course. Rupert didn't 
seem to have any trouble operating *his* body." 

"In the what, two hours you actually spent with him? Mostly with him 
sittin' on your lap? Wes, kids fall and they pull things down on top of 
them, and they get bumped on the head, and it happens every day. Their 
heads are too big for their bodies, they all think they're taller than they 
really are, and they got more energy than something your size can hold. My 
sister..." His voice got quiet for a moment, then he gave a soft laugh, 
and continued in a normal tone. "She used to be climbing on things all the 
time, when she was little. No matter how often me or somebody else yelled 
at her to get down 'cause she'd fall on her head, you'd turn around and two 
minutes later there she was, halfway up a fence, or a fire escape. And sure 
enough, she fell, most of the time. On her butt, more than her head, lucky 
for her. And us." 

In this case, Wesley wasn't about to make his habitual protest about him 
not being whichever child or adult-child he'd just been compared to, so he 
sat silently for a second or two. "I seemed to be breaking things all the 
time," he finally said. "Oh, not myself. But things. Expensive things. It 
wasn't as if I *meant* to be clumsy. Just the opposite; I remember trying 
to walk as slowly and carefully as I could. But I still broke things." He 
looked at the book cover again, and frowned. 

Gunn closed the book and set it down on his lap, and reached forward to 
take Wesley's chin. After a token protest, Wesley let him turn his head so 
he was looking up at his lover. Gunn's expression was sad, and determined, 
and he said, "Wes, I don't care what you break 'cause I don't own nothing 
that's worth too much. Talk to Angel before you try breakin' the chandelier." 

Wesley blinked. Stared at Gunn for a moment, waiting for him to smile 
or laugh or say 'gotcha!'. He didn't. 

What he did do, after another moment passed, was say, "Breaking things 
is what kids *do*. It ain't your fault they didn't understand that." 

"But I tried not to," he repeated, not sure Gunn understood what he was 
saying. 

But perhaps he did. Gunn pulled him close, and held him, and said, "But 
you couldn't help it -- like you couldn't help being small, or couldn't 
help using five syllable words when you were eight, and like you can't help 
it now that you whistle in the mornings after you've been fucked through 
the mattress the night before." 

Another blink. Then, "What did I tell you about saying such things in 
front of a four year old?" 

"You said 'better jerk off in the shower, because I ain't growing up for 
another three weeks." 

Wesley shook his head. "I don't think I said that. It wouldn't be 
proper." At Gunn's raised eyebrow, Wesley twitched his lip. "What with the 
'ain't' and all." He ignored the chuckling, and snuggled in a bit closer. 
Then he looked again at the book cover. It really was an interesting 
subject, and yes, he probably would have bought it on his own, but... "I 
*am* sorry. That I was such a...a prick, earlier." 

Gunn laughed. "Now who's with the inappropriate vocab, huh?" He opened 
the book again, and turned the pages, stopping on a picture of a 
Stegosaurus. "You gonna freak out if I say I think it wasn't you?" 

Wesley peered up at him. "As in, you think I'm the victim of a routine 
possession, demonic subclass 17A, stroke 12, paragraph 32?" 

"You made that up-- it sounds too much like something outta the Real 
Ghostbusters. No, I think it wasn't you, as in, it *was* you, but not your 
fault. Just you bein' worn out. Because your body's four, and you'd been 
out all day, which you hadn't yet before, and maybe..." 

"You think I'm starting to regress." 

Gunn turned a page, and nodded. "Could be. The timing's about right, 
ain't it?" 

"I--" Wesley frowned. Wasn't this what he'd wanted? To reach the point 
where he wouldn't mind looking silly, or being small, or... all those 
things he still seemed to be worried about, today. But now he wondered. To 
be under the control of his body, his hormones and enzymes all telling him 
to run about and do things he normally wouldn't think of doing-- wasn't it 
a sort of possession? 

When he was truly emotionally regressed, the way he had seen Rupert, 
Buffy, Xander, and Spike acting, he obviously wouldn't *care* about that. 
It was just this transition period that was...uncomfortable. He was 
starting to act like a child despite his best intentions, but was able to 
notice it. Worry about it. 

"Hey-- maybe you are possessed. By Angel. Were you gonna quit brooding 
and read to me anytime soon?" Gunn asked. 

Wesley jerked his head up, then found a smile, somewhere. "I thought you 
were going to read to *me*?" he protested. "This is above my reading group 
level, remember?" 

"Uh-huh." Gunn gave him a look, then just pulled the book towards them 
again, and opened it. Wesley halted him long enough to get comfortable, 
wriggling a bit and trying to get his elbows in just the right place -- so 
he could let Gunn know if he were reading too fast. Or too slowly. "You do 
remember I know where you're ticklish, right?" Gunn asked. 

"You do remember I can tell Cordelia you've been mean to me," he responded. 

"Like she would *blame* me?" But Gunn flipped past the title page, and 
began reading aloud. 

It was nice, Wesley reflected, as he laid his head back and listened to 
Gunn reading. The sound of his lover's voice stumbling over the Latin 
names of dinosaurs, the anticipation of greasy, hot pizza, and the 
not-completely-recovered feeling of tiredness since he'd woken from his 
nap, after a long, full day of nothing but fun. It had been a very long 
time since he'd felt this good. 

It would have been nice, as well, if they'd been rocking. He'd fall 
asleep within minutes, however, so perhaps it would be best if he didn't 
ask. As he watched Gunn turn another page, his four-year-old head resting 
against Gunn's chest, he decided it was just as well they weren't. But it'd 
have been nice. "Eustreptospondylus," he corrected, absently. Gunn 
repeated the word, and continued reading. 

Part Twelve  

Willow gazed at the main galleria of the Sunnydale mall with undisguised 
glee, and tugged at Spike's hand. Geez, for a guy with supernatural speed 
and reflexes, he could be so slooooow. "Come *on*! They have a sale at 
Gymboree. Tara would look so cute in those little overalls with the 
elephants on the pocket. Hurry up!" 

"Would somebody like to explain to me, slowly, again, how we got roped 
into this?" Xander was asking. 

"You said you'd take care of us if we got little, duh," Willow told him. 

"No, I meant, how did Spike and I get roped into taking you two to the 
mall, by ourselves. You'd think Anya would have learned, after the 
supermarket incident. And the bookstore. And the Toys R' Us." 

"Yeah-- we got sent for *one* book on day trading, and came back with 
the entire Louisa May bloody Alcott section," Spike grumbled. 

"Well, Tara hadn't read them. It's classic literature, from your 
generation. I don't see what your problem is." 

"It's sniffly girly books from my generation, is what it is." 

"Anyway, we didn't do anything to you in Toys R' Us-- you bought more 
toys for *you* than you did us," Tara pointed out innocently. 

"Which is another reason why Anya should have known better than to let 
us loose with you two," Xander riposted. "Anyway, I think two hundred 
bucks' worth of software comes out about even with Spike's and my Lego sets." 

Willow had to admit, they had a point. Anya had told them, each time 
they'd gone off somewhere, not to spend too much. She'd given them lists. 
The first time she had given the list to Spike, then she'd given it to 
Xander, then finally to Willow -- a list of approved purchases from 
whatever store they were being sent to. They invariably had failed to get 
less than $100 over the cost of the approved list. 

Did Anya think her boys would eventually learn how to shop 
properly? Through rote repetition? If so, surely she would have realized 
that it hadn't worked thus far. Maybe she simply didn't like to shop, and 
felt that letting Spike and Xander go nuts was a small price to pay to 
avoid the mall and shopping centers. Anya definitely liked pretty things, 
but that didn't mean she was a shopaholic like Buffy or Cordelia; her shiny 
things were usually showered upon her by one or more guilty-acting men. 

Then again, who cared *why* she'd let them loose with money to burn? 
Anya had given Xander her credit card this morning. Which meant -- 
"Oo! Spike, look, they've having a sale!" Willow tugged on his hand, 
wishing she could risk a small levitation spell because a certain vampire 
was acting like his feet were made of lead. 

"That's not the Gymboree," Xander pointed out. Willow rolled her eyes 
-- like she'd forgotten how to read? 

"But we need shoes," she pointed out, stopping in front of the store, 
and looking up at her oldest best friend with her very best pleading eyes. 

"Should I just give you the credit card, and Spike and I can wait out 
here on the old man benches?" 

"Don't be silly-- we need you to hold things for us!" 

Spike groaned. Xander shot him a commiserating look, as if Willow was 
actually asking them to do something difficult, or horrible, or 
embarrassing. "It could be worse, I guess," Xander said as they walked into 
the store. "We could be shopping with Willow as an adult. 'Here, just hold 
my purse for me while I look at this rack of absolutely identical skirts, 
to find the one that goes just right with the hat that looks like a 
squished pumpkin'..." 

"Summer squash. But thanks for reminding me-- here-- hold this." Willow 
shoved her little pink vinyl Powerpuff change purse into Spike's open hand, 
then wiggled out of his grasp, heading for the kids' tennis shoes. When she 
peeked back around the corner, Spike was still holding the purse up, 
staring at it as if she'd put a live aardvark in his hand. She giggled, and 
pointed him out to Tara. "Suuuure, he was willing to wear Mojo Jojo, when 
he was four, but look at him now. Poor manly baby." 

"I *heard* that," Spike shouted. Which just made her giggle harder, 
since, of course, he'd been meant to. 

Then she heard a quiet "Oops." She turned around to where Tara had been 
standing, to find her girlfriend standing by a pile of what had been a 
lovely display of children's footwear. Now in a pile on the floor. 

Tara looked up at her, eyes wide -- as if that sort of expression worked 
on fellow-four year olds, Willow thought. For a second, then she was 
beside Tara, holding her hand. "It's all right, honey, you didn't mean to." 

"I wanted to see the Winnie the Pooh shoes," Tara explained. "They were 
on top." 

"Maybe you should ask Xander to get them next time," Willow began. But 
Tara was already moving away, towards the display of shoes on the walls. 

"Oh, look! They have Batgirl shoes. Can I have Batgirl shoes?" 

"Don't ask *me*, Tara. Ask the fatherly-types with the credit card." 

Tara ran over to Xander, who was trying to pretend he was interested in 
cheap work boots, and didn't really know the kid who'd made a mess of the 
display. 

Willow watched as Tara tugged on Xander's arm, trying to get him to come 
look. She knocked them both into the stand-up 'sale sale sale' cardboard 
sign, which fell over with a soft *whomp*. Tara looked up at Xander, and 
there was that "Oops..." again. While Xander was busy picking up the sign, 
though, Tara was already tugging at Spike. "Come see, please. I want 
*these* shoes." Spike was still doing his molasses-walk, so Tara was 
practically hanging off his arm, dancing. 

He transferred the aardvark-in-my-hand expression from Willow's purse, 
to Tara, but allowed her to drag him down the aisle. Which thought made 
Willow giggle again, as she tried to picture *anybody* managing to drag 
Spike down the aisle. 

"Er, which ones?" Spike was saying, and Tara rolled her eyes. 

"These-- right here!" She pointed at the ones that were several shelves 
above her and Willow's heads, and when Spike didn't immediately get the box 
down, Tara began to scramble up the shelf, climbing first onto the fitting 
stool, then the shelf proper. 

"Um, Tara, maybe you shouldn't--" Willow started to say, before Tara 
looked questioningly back at her, slipped, and started to fall from the 
fourth shelf up. 

She squealed loudly. Willow ran toward her, though what she thought she 
was going to be able to do, aside from have another four-year-old land on 
her head, was anybody's guess. Spike beat her to it by a mile, anyway, 
proving that his vampiric speed was still working when he *wanted* it to. 
He turned around with an armload of Tara, and they all three looked up to 
face Xander, who had raced down the aisle with a worried look on his face 
at the sound of Tara's shriek. 

"That was a real scream, right? Not a 
found-my-bracelet-aren't-these-shoes-cute-isn't-it-a-pretty-day-outside-just-remembered-I-like-ice-cream 
scream. Wasn't it?" 

"Yes," Willow replied, absently -- still staring in relieved amazement 
that Tara had almost fallen, almost really busted her head open, and was 
only not bleeding because they'd brought a vampire along with them. She 
was trying to get up on her tip-toes to see if Tara was really *really* all 
right, though from the sound of the babble, she guessed Tara was. 

"Thanks, Spike, can you hold me up to reach those shoes? Aren't they 
cute? They have Batgirl on them -- real Batgirl, not 
new-replacement-fake-Batgirl. Aren't they cool?" 

Spike seemed a bit disconcerted, as he shifted Tara so he was holding 
her - right-side-up - in front of him, from which she reached over for the 
shoes. "Er, Tara, you-- Yes, they're nice. But you--" 

"Willow! Do you want a pair? We can match!" Tara leaned over Spike's 
arm, looking as though she'd over-balance and fall *again* to her 
head-splatting, if it weren't for the supernaturally strong grip on the 
back of her shirt. And around her middle -- apparently Spike was taking no 
chances. 

Willow was about to scold her for scaring them all like that over 
*shoes*. Then she realized what Tara was talking about. "Batgirl! Those 
are *real* Batgirl shoes! Those haven't been out since the movie came 
out!!" She leapt forward and took the shoe from Tara. "Do they come in our 
size? What am I saying, of *course* they come in our sizes!" She held it 
up to Xander. "Two of these, please." 

"That is so not fair," Xander muttered. "Do they make Batman shoes in 
my size? I don't *think* so." 

Spike snorted at him. "Well, if you didn't have feet the size of the 
Batmobile, they might." Tara was squirming in his arms, and he set her 
down, after giving her another peculiar look. 

"Excuse me, but why should the size of my feet have anything to do with 
my options in buying superhero footwear and Tara, where are you going?" 
Xander reached out and almost snagged Tara by the back of the shirt as she 
raced past all three of them, heading for the brightly colored display of 
purses and bags on the far wall. Willow blinked and followed, a bit more 
slowly, the boys right behind her. 

Tara was pointing at the row of Powerpuff purses. "Look, they have the 
whole set. I can get the Bubbles one, since they didn't have it at Carsons. 
Then we'll really match." She giggled. "And I'll have a purse to make 
Xander carry." 

Xander was looking fearfully at the bright electric blue purses. "Are 
you sure you don't want a nice, manly, leather briefcase, Tara?" 

Tara put her hands on her hips, non-existent as they were -- and shook 
her head. "No, Xander. I want *that* one." She pointed. 

Xander started to reach for the purse, and stopped. He looked at 
Spike. "Did we torture them this much?" 

"Oh, yeah." 

Xander sighed as Spike nodded. Then he brightened. "But only for two 
weeks! We're gonna owe *them* two weeks of torture, once this is over." 

"You're assuming we'll survive?" Spike asked, then scowled at 
Willow. She blinked at him, shocked and hurt that he would dare suggest 
such a thing as that she would *ever* be misbehaved. Spike 
snorted. "Right. I think I'm becoming immune to that look, Red." 

"Then why are you still holding my purse?" Willow asked. 

"Er--" Spike stared at it, then shoved it at her. "Take it, then. I'm 
gonna go look at the...um... Actually, there's nothing here I would wear, 
dead or alive." 

"These! You can wear these!" Tara came running up, holding a pair of 
bright yellow running shoes. Willow was impressed -- she hadn't even seen 
Tara leave to get them. 

Spike stared at them in actual horror. He backed up slightly, still 
holding Willow's purse, and moved behind Xander. "Help me, Xan -- those 
things are *evil* !" 

Xander snorted at him. "Spike, *you're* evil." 

"Yeah, but there's evil and there's evil. Those're like... *Darla's* 
level of evil. Fact, I think she had a pair that color." 

"Of running shoes?" 

Spike just gave him a 'you're a twit' look -- though Willow noticed the 
vampire didn't move out from behind Xander. 

Tara jumped up and down as she held out the shoes. "Come on, try 'em on, 
Spike. I bet you haven't bought shoes in a hundred years." 

"These boots are from nineteen sixty-nine, I'll have you know," Spike 
protested. 

"Yeah, but you didn't buy 'em, you stole 'em," Willow said. It was a 
guess, but the look on Spike's face proved her right. 

"Wasn't like the fellow I took 'em from would be needing 'em anymore," 
Spike retorted. "Anyhow, they're perfectly fine, and I'm *not* trying on 
those lace-up bananas. They might be radioactive!" 

Tara's eyes got, if possible, bigger than Spike's had been when *he* was 
four. Her lower lip stuck out, and even trembled a little. The whole 
picture might have been a bit more convincing if she hadn't still been 
bouncing, but Willow had to give her points for effort. Spike looked 
impressed, anyway. "If you *loved* me, you'd try them on," Tara said. 

Spike laughed. "Who said I loved you?" 

"But you *need* new shoes," Tara pointed out, skipping the chance to 
really go for the pitiful me routine. Maybe she was trying to get Spike 
and Xander off-balance, Willow thought. 

Tara bent down and started unlacing Spike's boots. Spike stepped back, 
away from her. "I do *not* need new shoes. I don't need any, Xander 
doesn't need any, you don't need any, nobody needs *anything*--" 

He stopped, because Tara was looking up at him, her face the very 
picture of shattered hurt. Willow could tell the second before she did it, 
that she was going to scream. Loudly. 

Spike had his hand over her mouth a split-second later, but it didn't 
really help. Willow held her hands over her ears, and went over to give 
Spike a stern look. "You're going to buy us Batgirl shoes," she said 
clearly, knowing Spike's sensitive hearing was probably just ringing, right 
now. Spike nodded. "And Tara's Bubbles purse." Spike nodded again. "And the 
running shoes," she said. 

"Fat chance," Spike mouthed at her. 

"I want Batman shoes," Xander added. 

"You can't even wear them!" Spike said, his hand still over Tara's 
mouth, though she'd begun to quiet down. 

"Maybe the statue won't be completely out of power," Xander said with a 
shrug. "I'll have them just in case. Besides, they're on sale." 

"Well, there is that. Sales are good. Anya likes it when we buy things 
on sale." Spike walked over to the boys' shoes racks, and grabbed a pair of 
the Batman shoes, while Willow laughed, not even bothering to suppress it. 
He still had his hand over Tara's mouth, and was dragging her along with him. 

He finally had to remove his hand, in order to pull the Batman shoes out 
of the box and show them to Xander-- which was when Tara made her move. She 
held up the running shoes. "These are on sale too..." she said cheerfully, 
all trace of upset wiped from her face. 

Willow could see the options being ticked off in Spike's head. Argue, 
and risk permanent eardrum damage if Tara decided to scream again. Say yes, 
buy them without trying them on, get yelled at by Anya when they got home, 
and stick them in a closet somewhere, forever. Or -- and she could see the 
light go on in his head -- possibly mail them to Angel. 

He grabbed the shoes from Tara. "Fine. I'll buy 'em. Not *wearing* 'em, 
but I'll buy 'em." Willow thought it was a good choice. It wasn't as if he 
wouldn't end up getting yelled at by Anya for *something* anyway. 

"You should try them on," Tara said. 

Willow giggled as Spike sighed. She could see he was considering it all 
over again. Screaming Tara, or the mortification of wearing yellow shoes, 
even for a second. Xander didn't seem to be helping much, by laughing 
behind his hand. Spike gave him a death-to-infidels scowl, which made 
Xander stick his tongue out at him. Willow rolled her eyes; she'd seen 
this before. It usually lead to 'Why don't you two girls go watch TV, 
loudly, for a couple hours?' 

"Try them on, Spike, come on," Tara repeated, oblivious to the fact that 
she was losing Spike's full attention. 

"Tara, why don't we just get our shoes and your purse, and we can go try 
on every pair of overalls that Gymboree has?" Willow suggested. 

"Oh! What about this one?" Tara dropped the shoes, and jumped over to 
grab something else. Willow watched her, slightly worried. Tara hadn't 
ever been this *flighty* as an adult, and hadn't said anything to make them 
think she had been as a child. 

"Spike, remind me never ever to give Tara sugar, again," came a weary 
sigh from behind her. 

"You think the ice cream was too much?" 

"Well, no. But possibly the cotton candy." 

"Nah-- that can't have much sugar in it-- it's mostly air, right?" 

Xander looked doubtful. "Well... Yeah, but the part that's not air is 
all sugar. Or maybe it was the fudge?" 

"Or the gummi bears," Willow offered, watching Tara bounce with another 
pair of shoes in her hand. 

Spike turned to her. "We didn't buy you Gummi Bears!" 

Xander looked sternly at her. "Where did you get the Gummi Bears, young 
lady?" 

"A nice strange man gave them to us," she said brightly. At Xander's 
horrified look, she burst into laughter. "Dork-head. I bought them for her, 
from the gumball machine." 

"They were good," Tara said. "Here, Spike, try these!" 

Spike absently accepted the shoes from Tara, looking at her rather as if 
she were a suspicious package left on a seat in the airport-- might have 
somebody's tasty treats from Grandma in it, might be an unexploded bomb. 
Then he brightened. "Yeah, okay, I'll try these on." 

Willow blinked, and looked to see what kind of shoes he was actually 
willing to consider. When she saw why he was trying them on, she laughed. 
They were black runners, with a small Tony the Tiger tastefully embroidered 
on the tongues, and a long striped tiger tail running all the way around to 
the back of the shoe. 

By the time they'd purchased everybody's shoes and accessories and 
impulse-buy-at-the-counter-oh-please-can-we-get-those-glow-in-the-dark-laces, 
Xander and Spike were looking suitably broken in. Which meant it was time 
for the *real* shopping to start. 

"JC Penney!" Tara sang as she pulled Spike along. He seemed to be too 
shell-shocked to actually answer. Or maybe it was the fact that he was 
still carrying Willow's purse, and he didn't want to draw any attention to 
himself. At least Xander now had a matching one, in electric-powder-blue, 
which Tara had insisted he take out of the bag and give to her -- only so 
she could rip the tags off and hand the thing back to him to hold. 

He'd been holding it for almost two minutes before he'd pointed out 
there was no reason to carry it, since it was empty. That had got him 
pouted at until he'd pulled some change out of his pocket and put it in the 
purse. Willow wasn't sure Spike and Xander would *ever* learn. But it was 
fun driving them nuts, in the meantime. 

They got to the department store, and Willow had to try to remember 
exactly where the kids' sections were. Second floor? First? She craned 
her head looking for a sign, and heard Tara saying, "Come on! It's this way." 

She was tugging on Spike's hand, again, managing to pull him along 
through sheer willpower and enthusiasm. Spike looked a bit frightened, but 
Willow supposed it might have been the florescent lighting. 

"I thought we were going to Gymboree?" Xander asked. 

"JC Penney's is first," Willow told him. Silly men didn't get it -- 
they were on their way to Gymboree, which meant they had to stop every 
place along the way. 

"Willow, you *do* know that...ah, hell with it. Fine." Xander sighed. 

Willow gave his hand a tug. "Hurry up. And don't say 'hell' in front 
of me. I'm young and impressionable." 

"Be nice, or I won't forge Anya's signature on the credit slip." 

"I'll pout," Willow countered. They were slowly catching up to Tara and 
Spike -- but just barely. Willow reminded *herself* never to give Tara 
this much sugar...without Spike and Xander around to foist her off onto. 

"I'll hold you upside down 'til you puke," came Xander's counter. 

"Not in public, you won't. Cause I'll scream. And it'll hurt Spike's 
ears. And he'll glare at you." Which, come to think of it, wasn't much of 
an argument, since Spike glaring at him almost always ended happily for 
Xander, as far as she could tell. He seemed about to point this out, when 
Tara squealed. 

"Willow! Look!" She was jumping up and down and pointing with her 
not-Spike-holding hand at a rack full of fuzzy footy pajamas. "They have 
glow in the dark witchy stuff on them!" 

Willow came up close and looked at the pj's -- which came in blue, 
green, and yellow. Sure enough, they had little suns, moons, and stars on 
them in greenish glow-in-the-dark paint. She looked up at Xander. "We don't 
have any pj's, you know. Except for t-shirts." 

"You said you didn't want any," he argued. 

"Duh-- that was before we saw these!" 

Tara was still bouncing up and down. "Let's go try them on!" She ran 
for the dressing rooms -- two steps, before she was being held by Spike, 
again. 

"What part of 'slow down' don't you understand?" he asked, sounding a 
bit exasperated. 

Tara wrinkled her forehead at him, as though thinking real hard. Then 
she smiled. "Spike, do you want to help us try them on?" 

He let go of her as though she'd been doused in Holy Water. "Ugh! No, 
don't want to, thanks." He grabbed another set of pj's off the rack and 
held them out to Willow. "*You* keep an eye on her for a while." 

Willow stuck her tongue out, knowing she was perfectly safe from making 
Spike think *those* kinds of thoughts. She took the pajamas and ran after 
Tara, who was already halfway to the dressing rooms. They'd give the boys a 
few minutes' respite, while they tried on the pj's, then they could go back 
out for round two. Or three. Willow caught up to Tara outside the 
dressing rooms, where Tara was trying to convince the salesclerk that they 
could try on clothes without parental supervision, thank you. 

"Our dads are right outside the door, there," Willow said, pointing in 
the general direction of Xander and Spike, who were standing about in the 
women's underwear section, trying not to look suspicious. They'd better not 
think of picking out anything for Anya at JC Penney's, not a with a 
perfectly good Victoria's Secret just a few shops away. She'd kill them. 

Willow shrugged and followed Tara into one of the little curtained 
changing rooms, ignoring the dubious look the salesclerk had given them. 
Willow was about to help Tara off with her shirt -- or rather, Willow's 
shirt -- when she felt a hand on her arm. She looked up to see the 
salesclerk, who had her other hand on Tara's arm. "Shh, honey. Come with 
me, quick." 

Before Willow could think enough to say 'What the hell are you doing?' 
or try to come up with a four-year-old version of the phrase, the woman was 
hauling them out of the dressing room and out a side door, marked 'Staff 
Only'. "Hey, let go of me..." she said as they were pulled through a dark 
storage area. The woman, who, now that Willow looked at her, wasn't wearing 
any kind of uniform or nametag at all, bent close to her. 

"Just be quiet, little girl, or you'll be sorry-- and so will your 
friend," she hissed in Willow's ear. Then they were being pulled out into 
the store proper, quite a ways away from the women's clothing section. 
Willow and Tara both struggled; Willow tried to think of a spell that would 
turn this woman into a mushroom or something. 

"Let us go!" Tara shouted. "Help, we're being kidnapped!" 

The woman stopped, and bent down to threaten them again -- Willow glared 
at her, knowing that in about two more seconds Spike and Xander would be 
there to rip her entrails out. 

"What's going on?" came a voice from behind them -- male, but not Spike 
nor Xander. Willow twisted around in the woman's grasp, to try to explain, 
but the woman spoke first. 

"Oh, sir, you have to help me! My ex-husband kidnapped my two babies 
and I've only just found them. You have to help me get away!" 

Willow turned her glare on the woman. "You are *not* our mother! Help! 
Help, daddy!" she screamed. 

"What the *bloody* hell is going on, here?" she heard a familiarly 
accented voice barking. 

Willow was grabbed suddenly, and she found Xander behind her, on his 
knees with his arms wrapped around her. Spike had done the same with Tara, 
only he'd been able to get her out of the woman's grip. 

"Who the fuck are you and what are you doing?" Xander demanded. 

"Please, help me!" the woman said to the JC Penney's employee who'd 
stopped her, retaining her hold on Willow's arm. Until Willow bit her. She 
let go of Willow with a small shriek, and Willow found herself folded in 
Xander's arms. After a moment of rubbing her hand, the woman knelt down. "I 
know you don't remember me, sweetie. It's been a long time. But I really am 
your mom." 

"You're crazy!" Willow said loudly. "You're not our mother." 

The Penney's clerk was looking more and more worried and confused, and 
reached over to the red courtesy phone near them, calling for a 
manager. Xander was sputtering at the woman. "Who *are* you? I've never 
seen you before in my life, and you're certainly not their mother." 

"And if you ever lay a finger on either one of 'em again, I'll happily 
rip it off at the shoulder," Spike growled. 

After a few minutes of the two men fussing over Willow and Tara, and the 
woman still insisting insanely that they belonged to her, the manager 
showed up. He brought along a security guard, just to make the party 
complete. Willow was torn between wanting Xander and Spike to get them out 
of there as fast as possible -- because being almost-kidnapped was still 
way too scary, even now that she was safe in her best friend's arms -- and 
finding out what on earth was going on. 

That was what the manager wanted to know, too. "Somebody start 
explaining now, please. *Before* I decide whether we need to call the police." 

"Fine, call the police!" the woman said, sounding desperate. "They can 
arrest Alex for kidnapping!" 

Willow looked up at Xander, to find him exchanging a confused look with 
Spike. Had this woman mistaken them for someone else? Surely if Xander 
*had* two kids, he'd have mentioned it? Even if they weren't her and 
Tara.... Willow shook her head, and kept quiet while the store manager 
tried to calm their would-be-kidnapper down. 

"Look, no one is going anywhere with these two children until we know 
who they belong to," he was saying. 

"They belong to us!" Xander snapped. "They're ours -- they do *not* 
belong to her. We don't even *know* her." Willow, Tara, and Spike all 
glared at the woman, with nearly identical expressions of 'so there'. 

"Can I have your names, please? And some identification?" the manager 
asked. 

"Xander and William Harris," Xander said promptly, indicating himself 
and Spike. He hauled his wallet out of his jeans, without loosening his 
hold on Willow. "These are Willow and Tara Harris." 

The managed took the license Xander handed him, and studied it 
carefully. Then he stammered, "And who...that is, which of you is the... 
um... natural father?" 

What happened next was a bit breathtaking for Willow-- because she'd 
thought only she and Tara could do the 'read each other's minds without 
actually wasting the magical energy to do *real* telepathy' thing. She'd 
never expected that in a real emergency, Xander and Spike were capable of 
it as well. 

Xander gave Spike one quick look, and Spike lifted Tara all the way up 
and settled her on his hip. Proudly. As if he really *would* have tried on 
the yellow running shoes, if Tara had just pouted for a few more seconds. 
"Willow's mine, and Tara is William's," Xander explained. 

"They're the same age. They look like twins to you?" Spike raised one 
eyebrow at the man, as if encouraging him to see the obvious-- which wasn't 
true, of course, but looked pretty good. Tara and Spike had the same 
colouring, down to Spike's not-yet-re-bleached waves. 

"Of course they're twins," the woman said. "And Alex is their father. 
*He* is just the man who helped my ex-husband kidnap our children." 

"Your ex-what?" Xander said, at the same time as Spike was saying, 
"Excuse me? If I'm gonna be accused of a crime, I'd like to have had the 
pleasure of committing it!" 

"Can either of you prove any of this?" was the manager's next question. 

The woman promptly pulled out some papers from her purse. Willow 
couldn't imagine what they were -- nor how Xander and Spike could prove she 
and Tara belonged to them. Since they didn't, really. The woman handed the 
papers over. "I've been searching for so long...I carry these with me, in 
case...I've been hoping to find them...." She broke down, then, sobbing 
brokenly for a moment. The salesclerk awkwardly reached over to pat her 
shoulder, while the manager read the papers. 

"A marriage license for one Debbie and Alex Harris. Birth certificate 
for twin girls, Willow and Tara Harris." He glanced over at Xander and Spike. 

"Those are fake," Xander insisted. "Willow and Tara's mothers... They 
were together, and wanted kids. William and I agreed to be the 
fathers. When Elisabeth and Dawn were killed a couple years ago, William 
and I got custody." Willow stifled a laugh at their 'mothers' names, and 
looked suitably woe-be-gone at being reminded of her moms' deaths. Xander 
never *used* to think this fast when they were trying to get out of 
trouble. Maybe Spike was actually a good influence on him -- by getting him 
into trouble more often, so he could practice. 

"I miss my mommies," Tara said quietly. She had her arms around Spike's 
neck, looking as though she might have been choking him, if Spike had had 
to breathe. 

Willow could tell the store manager didn't know who to believe. Despite 
the faked certificates, it was obvious she and Tara didn't know and didn't 
like this woman claiming to be their mother. And who *was* she? Where had 
she gotten that paperwork, and why? Those were questions to be answered 
not in the middle of a store, where crowds might gather, and police might 
come, and they all might have to deal with the fact that Spike didn't 
actually possess any ID of his own, as far as Willow knew. 

"Look, my husband-- ex-husband, has had the girls for two years. He's 
obviously told them all sorts of lies, just in case I ever managed to find 
them. They were *two* when they last saw me, and they don't remember me. It 
doesn't make any more sense that they'd remember these imaginary women who 
died that long ago, either." 

Willow saw Spike frown slightly, as if thinking, then he gave another of 
those brief telepathic looks to Xander. Or, more specifically, at Xander's 
wallet. Xander opened it again, also frowning, then smiled, as he thumbed 
through its contents. He pulled a picture from one of the little plastic 
sleeves, and handed it over to the manager. 

"*These* are the girls' mothers," he said, with a fond little smile that 
Willow was going to have to give him a kiss for, sometime later. Because 
the picture he had handed over was one of her and Tara. Adult her and Tara, 
sitting in the magic shop, no more than a week ago, leaning against each 
other and smiling. 

He didn't try to explain who the two boys were in the background, 
holding something which looked like a big water balloon. It reminded her 
*why* she maybe wouldn't give him a kiss, later. The manager dutifully 
took the picture and compared the images to her and Tara. 

"They do look very much like these women," he allowed. Well, duh, Willow 
wanted to say. 

"That's a photo of my sisters," the woman explained. "He must have 
stolen it." 

Willow stared at her. She was *way* too prepared for this. Willow 
tightened her grip on Xander's arm, which in turn made him tighten *his* 
grip. It made her feel safer, knowing that nothing would wrestle her away 
from him, nor Tara from Spike. "She knows who we are," she whispered to 
Xander. He gave her a blank look, then his eyes cleared and he nodded. 

"The statue?" he whispered back. 

She mouthed the word 'later' to him, then turned back to the store 
manager. They had to get out of this, first, so they could go back to the 
Magic Box and figure out what was going on. Preferably after they'd also 
bought the glow-in-the-dark pj's. 

"Could I see some ID, Mr. Harris?" the manager asked, of Spike. Willow 
didn't have to be telepathic to hear the collective 'Oh, shit' that was 
ringing in the minds of the 'Harris' party. 

"Don't carry it," Spike said fairly smoothly. "Don't drive. House 
husband, so I don't need it for work." 

Well, the part about not driving was true, if it was supposed to be a 
rating of how good he was at it. Willow had to stifle more than one giggle 
at the image of Spike in an apron, being a house husband, though. "Daddy 
stays home with us, and Papa goes out and builds big houses. All by 
himself," she said helpfully. 

"Well, with a little help from a crane, a wrecking ball, and an entire 
construction crew," Xander said, playing along. 

The woman shook her head. "*He*" -- pointing at Spike -- "doesn't even 
have a green card, which I'm sure the INS would be happy to hear." 

The manager put up his hands. "I think *I've* heard enough. I have no 
idea which one of you is telling the truth, and this is way too complicated 
for store security to sort out. I'm calling the police, and social 
services, and *they* can deal with this." As if suddenly realizing what he 
did for a living, he added, "I hope this doesn't ruin your shopping 
experience. Er, whichever set of you doesn't end up being arrested." 

"Oh, thank you," the woman said, with loud, apparent gratitude. Spike 
and Xander only glared. 

"You're a bad lady! I don't like you!" Tara yelled at the woman, who 
responded with such a perfect expression of heartbreak that Willow wondered 
if she were a professional actress, or actually insane. 

It didn't look as though they were going to learn anything more from 
her, and the longer they stayed the more chance there was of the police 
arriving in time to make things harder. Willow wriggled her fingers and 
chanted a spell, and the woman, store manager, security guard and clerk, 
all froze. After a moment's concentration and a muttered acknowledgement 
of the fact that yes, she owed a minor goddess of theft a major favor, a 
security camera tape appeared in her hand. 

There was silence for a moment. Then, "Er, Red, why didn't you do that 
earlier?" 

"I wanted to know who she was, so we can find out who's behind all 
this," she explained. "But it will only hold for a few minutes, so we 
should--" 

"Already escaping," Xander said, standing up and hurrying away. Spike 
was on his heels, with Tara in his arms, who was again leaning sideways to 
catch up the two pair of pajamas. 

Spike wrestled them out of her hands. "Calm down," he said when she 
started to pout. "I'm not leaving them behind. Just have to--" and he 
crushed the theft-detection devices. 

"So *that's* how you do it!" Willow exclaimed. 

"Yeah, and if you ever tell anyone," he looked around. "Er, um, I'll 
probably be spanked. Tell anyone you like. Tell Buffy!" 

Xander whapped him on the head, and they continued out of the store, 
moving quickly but as inconspicuously as possible. As they exited the 
store into the mall proper, he said, "We'd better get out of here before 
the cops shut down all the exits, again." He looked over his 
shoulder. "You realize this is *another* store we can never come back to?" 

Willow looked at him closely. "What do you mean 'again'?" 

He turned bright red. "Um, there might have been some 
nakedswimminginthefountain. Last year. But I was under the influence, dammit." 

"Influence of what-- naked Spike?" Willow retorted as he carried her 
swiftly towards the exit to the parking garage. 

Xander glared at Spike. "Pixie dust." 

"Uh-huh. Sure." Then Willow blinked. "Wait, Spike knows where to get 
pixie dust?" Neither of them would answer, but Spike was still snickering 
by the time they found the car. 

"Spike, get in the trunk," Xander said, and he made it sound like a 
punishment rather than a 'so you don't turn into ashes.' 

"Nope. Sitting in the backseat with a blanket over my head." 

"Can you stay that way always?" Xander asked. 

"In the back seat?" 

"With a blanket over your head." 

Spike whapped him, and Xander glared, and Willow gave Tara a 
smile. "Isn't love grand?" 

Part Thirteen  

They were all seated around the table at the Magic Box, with the phone 
in the center. Books were scattered about, and Willow was sitting at the 
laptop, still typing away. Tara listened as Giles explained the last of 
what they knew to Angel and the rest of the LA group over the speaker 
phone. She yawned. 

"Yes, that's right. Willow's looking through the police mugshot 
databases now, and she's set up a program to search the internet for any 
sort of picture of this woman, as well. We've no idea if we'll find 
anything that way, since she may never have been in trouble with the law, 
but every bit helps." 

Tara could hear Cordelia's voice saying something in the background, 
then Angel came over the speaker, much more clearly. "Do you think we 
should come back down there, all of us?" 

"Eggzinabasket," Tara murmured. Anya looked at her. 

"What did you say?" 

Tara blinked, and sat up straight in her chair. "Sorry. Um. Eggs. 
Basket. If they're there and we're here, we've got lots of people in 
different places." Anya was still looking bewildered. Well, it made perfect 
sense to *Tara*. Then again, so did a lot of things that got that look from 
everyone except Willow. 

"Tara means, if whoever was behind this tries to do something to us 
again, it's better that we're not all in one place, where they can strike 
at us all at once," Willow called from the computer. 

Yeah. That's what she'd meant. Tara yawned again. 

"Finally coming down from your sugar rush, sweetie?" Willow asked. Tara 
nodded, and opened her eyes again. She hadn't realized she'd closed them. 

"Yes, the sugar rush you two inflicted on her," came Anya's 
accusation. Tara didn't have to look over to know she was scolding Spike 
and Xander. 

"Hey! *Willow* gave her the Gummi Bears!" Xander protested. 

"I did not!" came Willow's protest, and Tara looked at her, 
confused. Willow winked, and went back to her typing. 

"You did so!" Xander began. 

"Children! Please!" 

Everyone stopped, and stared. Tara giggled. "That's so funny, when you 
say that. I mean now. Since you're a kid, too," she told Giles. 

"Yes, and I'm a child who would like to prevent the world from ending, 
or whatever plot it is that's the point of all this." 

"I don't think it's another apocalypse," Buffy said. "Usually we get a 
memo when it's an apocalypse, and we didn't get one this time. Must be 
something else." 

Tara gave Buffy a confused look, but Buffy didn't see it, and no one 
else was asking her to explain. Tara yawned again, and wondered if there 
was a good spot she could lie down. She saw one, and crawled down from the 
chair and walked over. It took a moment of tugging, but Spike finally sat 
down on the floor, cross-legged, so Tara could curl up on his lap. 

Angel had said something, but Tara missed what it was. She heard Spike's 
answer, though, which was, "Looked pretty real. Somebody's got some 
connections, to pull off that many fake docs. Think it's your friends, the 
evil ambulance chasers?" 

"They've been pretty quiet lately, but it's a possibility," Angel said. 

Xander was shaking his head, Tara noticed between slow blinks. "Yeah, 
maybe. But that stuff wouldn't have mattered much, after a couple of weeks 
when the girls get big again. We could always have just kidnapped them back 
and stashed them somewhere until we could do the restoration spell. It was 
more like this woman was trying to get us in as much trouble as possible, 
right there and then. She knew Spike wouldn't have any ID, which could 
*really* have screwed up our lives royally. Speaking of which, *Dad* -- 
think you can do something about that? I know you've got kennel club 
papers. Can you get some for Spike?" 

There was no immediate response. Then Tara heard Angel stammering, 
"Xander, I'd rather you called me 'Deadboy'." Then he sighed. "But yes, I 
can get Spike some ID. Probably take a couple days, so until then try to 
stay out of trouble." 

"Oi! I always try to stay out of trouble." Tara opened her eyes, again 
wondering when she'd closed them, and found everyone staring at Spike. 
"Well, I didn't say I was very good at it." 

She giggled, and shifted a little, trying to get comfortable. This time 
she *meant* to close her eyes, and she listened to the conversation. It 
felt weird, being held by a room-temperature body with no 
heartbeat. Nothing at all like snuggling with Willow, or like her memories 
of being held by her mother, when she'd really been four. But it was nice, 
in its own way, if primarily because she knew everyone else in the room was 
snickering at how easily Spike was accommodating her. That would teach him 
to use her favorite sweater as a superhero cape. 

"It's odd, though," she heard Angel's voice again. "Wolfram and Hart 
have never bothered Sunnydale before. Why would they start now?" 

"That we know of," Buffy corrected. "Who knows what else they've been 
doing?" 

"Still, we should look into the other possibilities," Giles said. "It 
could be anything." 

"Biker Mice," Tara said. 

"What's that?" Spike asked her, his voice quiet. 

"From Mars," she explained. "Biker Mice from Mars." 

"What's she saying?" Xander asked. 

"Don't think it's helpful, Xan." Spike replied. 

"Couldn't be much less helpful than 'it could be anything' " Dawn 
pointed out. "No offense, Giles." 

"Well, if you have any suggestions, I'm sure we'd all be happy to hear 
them," Giles said in his funny, stuffy, preschooler voice. Tara giggled. 

Dawn shrugged. "No, not really. Um... we could make a list of everyone 
who's ever tried to mess with us, and isn't dead." 

"Oi!" Spike said, startlingly loud in Tara's ear. She jerked a little, 
and tried to tell him to shut up and let her sleep, without actually 
expending the energy to open her mouth. Didn't work. "Dead people can mess 
with you just fine, you know. I've done it, on numerous occasions." 

"Okay, fine, deceased weirdo. Everybody who's ever messed with us and is 
still out there roaming around somewhere. I mean, they seemed to know a lot 
about us, or at least some of us-- so it wasn't just random Hellmouth badness." 

"Not unless the random Hellmouth badness is getting much better 
organized," Giles observed. Tara giggled again. She felt something brush 
her nose, and she pried one eye open. She found Spike diverting his gaze 
away from her face. 

"Do you really wanna make that list? We'll be here all night," Buffy said. 

"Should we narrow it down to people who have been in Brussels 
recently? Since that was where it was last seen, albeit in the 17th 
century. We don't know where it was shipped from -- it wasn't on the 
packing manifest." 

"Like who?" 

Tara closed her eyes again, and a moment later felt the same sensation 
of something brushing her nose. She opened her eyes and found Spike 
watching the planning meeting with great interest. 

"Like...well, no one I know of," Willow admitted. "This stupid website 
won't give me any information!" She thumped the keyboard, then muttered 
something Tara didn't know she knew how to pronounce. 

"If you turn the laptop into a salamander, it won't give you *any* 
information," Giles pointed out. 

"What are we looking for? I can help," came Cordelia's voice over the 
phone. 

"The usual - hotel reservations, airplane reservations. Anything. Look 
for a name you recognize," Willow replied, and Tara thought that maybe she 
wasn't the only one who needed a nap. 

"That could take days!" Cordelia protested. 

"Well, if anyone can come up with something better...." Willow repeated 
Giles' words. 

"I have one," Xander spoke up. Tara prised one eye open 
again. Everyone was looking at Xander expectantly, and with varying 
degrees of surprise. 

"Anya can do some of the web-surfing, as can Cordy. You," he had gone 
over to Willow, and was picking her up, "need a nap." 

"I do n--" Willow started to say, then she looked over at Tara, who 
smiled sleepily. "Sure. Why not." 

Xander moved to sit beside Spike, and settled Willow in his lap. Tara 
squirmed around in Spike's arms until she could lean against both Spike's 
chest, and Willow's shoulder, then shut her eyes again, perfectly content. 
She heard several people chuckling, but she couldn't imagine what could 
possibly be funny. 

Then there was Giles' voice saying "Oh, someone *must* get a picture of 
*that*." 

Tara didn't particularly care what they got pictures of, as long as no 
one tried to make her move from where she was, to do it. She wondered if 
they could get Anya to make more brownies, after the meeting was 
over. Then she fell fast asleep. 

Part Fourteen  

Cordelia tried not to sigh with impatience. She'd voted to stop for 
supper, as well. She just hadn't had any idea it would be this difficult. 

"I don't *want* a kid's meal," Wesley was saying. For the fortieth 
time. She didn't understand why Gunn didn't just buy him what he 
wanted. Who cared if they threw half of the food away? 

"But it has everything you're asking for," Gunn pointed out. Again. If 
this is how it usually went between them, Cordelia was no longer surprised 
why they only ever went out to eat to the same one of three 
restaurants. If you could call an English pub, a pancake house, and 
Denny's, restaurants. 

"You think this will take much longer?" Angel asked her, leaning against 
the counter beside her. 

She nodded. "Oh, yeah. Taco Bueno is open 24 hours -- we'll be here." 

"Why didn't we go through the drive through, and just order the first 
thing on the menu?" 

Cordelia gave him a look that communicated clearly just what a dumb 
question that was. "Because Wesley said 'I want to go inside'." 

"Ah. Good point." 

Wes was sitting on the counter, his chin stubbornly stuck in the air. "I 
don't want my nachos in Pokemon shapes. I want nice, normal, non-animated 
nachos." 

Cordelia leaned over, inspiration striking. "So why don't you get the 
kid's meal, and I'll trade nachos with you? I don't mind Pokemon-shaped chips." 

Wesley started to argue with her, then stopped. "Er--" He frowned, like 
he was desperately trying to come up with something wrong with the 
arrangement, but couldn't. "I suppose," he said at last. 

Cordelia felt like cheering. And it would be a damn fine cheer, given 
how good she was at it in high school. But she wasn't quite dressed for it, 
and Wes might take it the wrong way, so she settled for smiling. 

"But I want an adult-sized drink," he told Gunn, sternly. 

"You got an adult-sized stomach to hold it?" Gunn asked. 

"Gunn, for god's sake, just buy him a regular soda," Cordelia said. 

"I don't want soda, I want iced tea. Not that it's anything like real 
tea, but it's better--" He'd stopped, because Angel was holding out a 
cup. Regular adult-sized, with tea in it. Wesley smiled. "Thank 
you. Now, will someone help me down?" Gunn grabbed him under the arms, 
and lifted him down. Wesley strode over to the napkins and straws were 
kept, and looked over at them. "Would someone please get me a straw?" 

Cordelia walked over and grabbed four straws, and held one out to Wesley. 

"You two are gonna spoil him rotten," Gunn said. 

"Excuse me?" She turned on him. "Since when is handing a straw to a 
*polite* young man, spoiling him?" 

"And who took him to Hawley's Museum, three days in a row?" Angel put in. 

"That wasn't spoiling him-- I was practicing my dinosaur wrangling," 
Gunn protested. 

"Which accounts for Day One, but since you brought three remote control 
dinobots home with you that afternoon, Days Two and Three land you smack in 
the spoilers' club," Cordelia put in. 

"Day Two was 'cause I forgot to take enough money with me to buy the 
marble sets, on Day One," Gunn said firmly, sitting Wesley in the booth 
next to him. Wesley's chin was only a few inches above the top of the 
table, but *nobody* had the balls to suggest a booster seat. Not even 
Cordelia. 

"And Day Three?" Angel asked smugly. 

"Day Three was... help me out here, Wes." 

"You were spoiling me," Wesley replied, picking up a perfectly normal 
nacho and putting it in his mouth. 

"I was *not*!" Gunn said, giving Wesley a glare like he thought Wesley 
was looking. Wesley was looking at his child-sized burrito, and picking at it. 

"What's wrong, now?" Cordelia asked. 

"It has lettuce on it," Wesley said, sounding disappointed. 

"Did you ask for no lettuce?" Gunn pointed out, making no move to get 
out of the booth to allow Wesley to carry it up to the counter to 
complain. Or do so himself, which was what Wesley was obviously hoping 
for, given the pitiful look he was giving Gunn. 

"Lettuce is good for you," Cordelia told him. Then she decided she 
needed some fresh air, because Wesley was *not* really four, and knew 
perfectly well how sadly lacking in nutrition the iceburg lettuce was. 

Wesley just picked at the burrito, pulling off tiny strands of lettuce, 
one at a time. No one moved to do it for him. Cordelia glanced at Angel, 
then Gunn, and saw them very determinedly not watching. Wesley got a piece 
of lettuce stuck to his finger, and tried to shake it off. Once, twice, 
then three times -- still stuck to his finger. 

"God! Here, geez!" Cordelia reached over with a napkin and wiped the 
lettuce off. When she leaned back, she found Gunn and Angel smirking at 
her. She opened her mouth to yell at them, then thought better of it. All 
she had to do was wait a few minutes, after all, and they'd do something 
even more Wesley-whipped, and she could prove that she was the bigger 
woman. By laughing her ass off. 

So she simply smiled at Wesley again, and bit into her taco. A few 
minutes later, sure enough, Wes was leaning forward, trying to drink out of 
his straw, which was about level with the top of his head. He said nothing, 
simply craned his neck and tried to tilt the cup without putting so much 
weight on the top that the lid came off. After the second time he almost 
poked himself in the eye, Gunn sighed, and shifted Wesley onto his lap, 
where Wes was almost tall enough to eat like a normal person. Cordelia 
raised an eyebrow. 

"What, I'm gonna let him lose an eye at Taco Bueno?" Gunn said defensively. 

"Did I say anything?" 

"Yeah, you raised an eyebrow. In Cordelia-speak that means 'nyah, nyah, 
told you so'." 

Cordelia was tempted to explain otherwise, when Wesley suddenly lost his 
grip on his burrito, and it slid sideways. "Be careful!" Cordelia was 
saying, reaching forward to stop the food from sliding onto the floor. Not 
that she'd had a chance of stopping it...unlike some vampires, who were now 
holding a burrito in their hands and setting it back on the table. 

"I've had a lot of practice catching Cordy," Angel explained with a shrug. 

"It wasn't my fault -- my seat moved," Wesley explained, craning his 
head upwards. Cordelia wondered if he could glare, from that position. 

"Sorry," was all Gunn said. Cordelia waited a moment, to make sure 
nothing *else* was going to happen, then resumed eating her taco. 

She got one bite in, before Wesley sighed. When he looked up from his 
lettuce-picked burrito, he found three pair of eyes watching him. He 
seemed startled by the attention, which made Cordelia want to snort. Yeah, 
right. "Is there something fascinating about my burrito?" he asked. 

"You sighed," Angel explained. 

"Is there something fascinating about my breathing? Aside from the fact 
that you don't do it anymore?" 

"Um...no. Guess not." 

Wesley nodded, and went back to staring at his burrito. Then he sighed 
again. 

"Wesley, is there something you need?" Cordelia asked tentatively. Gunn 
crossed his eyes at her, over Wesley's head. 

"Oh, no. I was just thinking that this might be nice with cheese on it." 

Gunn looked down at him. "Then why didn't you order the cheese burrito?" 

Wes frowned. "They had a cheese burrito?" 

"Wes, you can still read the menu," Gunn reminded him. Cordelia 
wondered if being with Wesley nearly 24 hours a day, for the last seven 
days, had numbed Gunn's brain. 

Sure enough, Wesley countered with, "I couldn't *see* the menu. You sat 
me down on the counter facing away from it." 

"And you couldn't turn around?" 

Wesley started to argue, then just nodded. "You're right. I should 
have ordered the cheese burrito. But as I'm stuck with this, I shall have 
to eat it." 

"Don't look at me," Cordelia said. "I'm not getting up to buy him 
another burrito." 

"Did I ask you to?" Gunn asked her. It didn't stop him from making that 
'pleasepleaseplease' face, but he didn't do it as well as Wesley 
did. Four-year-old Wesley, at any rate. Cordelia was suddenly glad they 
hadn't both decided to become four year olds. 

"No, no, Charles is right. It would be a waste to purchase another 
burrito, when this one is perfectly...fine...." He pulled another strand 
of lettuce off his burrito. 

"They should put you in a commercial," Cordelia told him. "You really 
do look pathetic." Wesley glared at her -- then smiled in surprised 
delight when Angel came back to the table and handed him a wrapped burrito. 
"Wimp," Cordelia told him. "Didn't sitting for Spike and Xander teach you 
anything?" 

"Taught me when to give in," he said simply. 

Gunn said, "Which was whenever one of them blinked at you, I bet." 

Angel was giving Gunn his 'not going to dignify that with an answer' 
face-- which meant he was gonna hold out another two seconds, then say 
something dorky. "So what. They were cute, and I love 'em," he said after 
two point five seconds. All three of them stared at him in shock. "Um, I 
may have been possessed when I said that," he said after another second. 

They were still staring at him. 

"What?" Angel growled. 

"You're eating Cordelia's taco," Gunn said. 

Angel looked down and registered that he had, in fact, picked up 
Cordelia's taco and was about to bite into it. He put it down 
quickly. Cordy snickered. "No, be my guest. You want something to shove in 
your mouth besides your foot, go for it. I can always get Wes to give you 
the big puppy eyes and make you go get me a new one." 

"No, that's okay--" 

"I insist. After all, you got your undead germs all over it. Not like 
*I* want it anymore. Or were you just picking it up because you were 
*nervous* ?" Cordelia challenged. 

Angel scowled, and picked the taco back up. "Fine. I'll try it. Can't 
kill me, after all." 

He had just bitten into it when Wesley looked up and asked innocently, 
"Does this mean you love *me*, too?" 

It was to Angel's credit, Cordelia thought, that he didn't even hesitate 
before saying "Of course, Wes." He took another bite of taco -- probably 
to keep from saying anything else. Cordelia was glad, because she'd been 
perfectly ready to stomp on his foot if he'd done anything to ruin the look 
that had appeared on Wesley's face with those words. 

Wesley rubbed his nose, and picked up his cheese burrito. "I need some 
hot sauce," he said a moment later, sounding a bit subdued, as if he 
weren't really just saying it in order to make someone jump when he said 
'frog'. 

"Here," Cordelia said, handing him over a couple of packets she'd gone 
to fetch. Then she gave Gunn a dirty look. "What?" 

"Welcome to the club. You want a membership card with that?" 

"How is hot sauce *spoiling* him?" she demanded, and tried to go back to 
eating, then realized no one had gone to buy her another taco. 

She glared at Angel, who said around a mouthful, "This isn't bad. I 
think I wanna try some hot sauce." He reached over to pick up one of the 
packets in front of Wesley, and Wesley looked at him, stricken. Angel's 
hand froze. "Um. I'll go get...." 

"Get me another taco while you're up there, huh?" Angel looked back at 
Cordelia as if to say 'and your legs got broken when?' -- but he obviously 
decided to err on the side of his own continued existence, and simply 
nodded. As he walked away, Cordelia stuck her tongue out at his back. 
"Cha-ching," she said with a smile. "Ba-da-bing." 

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Wesley asked curiously. 

"Yeah, it means you're too old and too British to get it, so eat your 
burrito, gramps." She thought he was going to protest for a moment, then he 
suddenly smiled, like he'd figured out that for once, no one was teasing 
him by saying he was too young for something. 

Angel returned to the table with three more tacos, a handful of hot 
sauce, and a large order of cinnamon crisps, the last of which he placed in 
front of Wesley. They all looked at him. "What?" 

"Did we say anything?" Cordelia asked, reaching for two tacos. "Er, 
unless two of them are yours?" She'd been teasing, but Angel's sheepish 
expression said that yes, they had been. "Oh, my, god. Angel! You like 
cheap greasy tacos? Your first human food in forever, and it's *tacos*?" 

"Maybe it's just an association," he said, as he picked one up. 

"Association?" Cordelia narrowed her eyes. Angel looked too guileless 
to be trusted. 

"Well, they make me think of you," he said. 

She told herself it was a line and she ought to be annoyed. But she 
couldn't make herself stop smiling long enough to say so. She was able to 
when she heard Wesley and Gunn snickering. "What?" she demanded of them. 

They didn't say a word, just grinned and ate their food. Until she 
turned her attention back to her own taco, which didn't taste all that 
greasy, to be honest. Then she heard Wesley sing, "Cordy and Angel, 
sitting in a tree...." 

"You are so dead, mister, if you finish that phrase." Wesley gave her 
the big, 'who me?' eyes. She shook her head. "I'm not falling for 
it. You keep your mouth shut and finish your burrito -- and *don't* tell 
me that's logically impossible. Do it, so we can get out of here." 

The 'who, me' eyes went away -- and were replaced by kicked-puppy eyes. 

"Oh, god, I never thought I'd beg for a vision...." 

"Speaking of," Angel said, looking up from his taco. "You didn't get any 
that you might have forgotten about, right? About whoever sent Giles that 
statue in the first place, or..." He shrugged, stopping short of mentioning 
recent events. "Anything like that?" 

Cordelia looked at him like he was an idiot, which he was. "Like I'd 
ever *forget* a giant freakin' migraine-inducing vision?" 

He had the grace to look sheepish. "No. Of course not. That was stupid. 
It's just bugging me. All the supernatural firepower we have on our side, 
and we know *nothing*." 

"We know whoever's behind it doesn't mean us any permanent harm," Wesley 
said. He had the last bit of burrito in his mouth when they all started 
staring at him, so his 'what?' came out as "Whadb?" 

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Cordelia said automatically. Then she 
blinked. "How do we know that?" 

"Well," he said after dutifully swallowing his food. "I should have said 
'immediate harm,' I suppose. But it seems to equal out to the same thing. 
Of all the things anyone would send to Rupert and his group, there could 
have been many more dangerous objects. Why send something that, at worst, 
simply resulted in a bit of insanity, and at best, a great deal of 
enjoyment for most of the parties involved?" 

"A 'bit' of insantiy?" Cordelia asked. "Who's insane, who wasn't before?" 

"I simply meant, there was the possibility of someone touching the 
statue who wasn't able to cope." He closed his mouth and seemed to be 
trying not to say something. Then he got that Eureka look on his 
face. "We should look into the path the statue took, as it was being 
shipped to Sunnydale, to find out if there were any peculiar incidents--" 

"Already done," Cordelia interrupted him. "We finished that this 
morning, while you and Angel were playing with the marble things." 

"You were playing with my marbles?" Gunn demanded. Then, "That didn't 
sound right." 

Wesley laughed, and Cordelia forgot what else she'd been about to 
say. It wasn't that she'd never heard him laugh, before. He'd laughed a 
lot, since he'd become friends with Gunn. But he'd almost stopped laughing 
entirely, once he'd become a kid again. Until today, when she'd heard him 
laugh twice. She found Gunn watching her, with a knowing look on his face. 

"Yeah, he's adorable," Angel said, in the thickened Irish brogue he 
hardly ever used. Wesley suddenly realized they were all watching him. He 
scowled. 

"Shouldn't one of you have a camera, or something?" he said bitterly, 
though it sounded to Cordelia to be mostly faked. Another improvement. 

"Actually," Cordelia said, as she reached into her purse. 

"I was joking!" Wesley dove under the table with his cinnamon crisps. 

She laughed. "So was I, sucker." He peeped his head tentatively back 
above the table after a few seconds, and she showed him the stick of 
sugarless gum she'd retrieved from her purse. "Hey, you guys may want to 
have bean-breath all night, but some of us are going to be minty-fresh." 

"For sitting in a tree?" he asked, wide-eyed. She stuck out her tongue 
at him, and he laughed again. "No thank you, I only french-kiss my boyfriend." 

"And you thought 'playing with your marbles' sounded wrong?" Cordelia 
said to a suddenly-choking Gunn. 

"I didn't mean it sounded wrong *that* way. I meant it sounded wrong in 
an 'I'm insane' kinda way." Gunn looked around, then frowned at Wesley. 
"You're not trying to get us thrown out, are you?" 

Wesley looked back at him with the wide, innocent eyes Cordelia was so 
glad she had on film. It meant she could sit back and enjoy the sight, 
now, without diving for her camera. "Get us thrown out?" Wesley repeated. 

"Everyplace I've taken you, you've told some stranger that I'm your 
boyfriend." 

Cordelia laughed. "He has not!" 

Gunn turned to her. "He *has*! I swear, I'm waiting for social 
services to show up on the doorstep and arrest me for child abuse." 

"You're exaggerating, Charles," Wesley said in that stern voice that 
made Cordelia want to giggle. 

"You told the museum docent," Gunn said. "And that lady on the bus, the 
cashier at the grocery store, the telemarketer who called the hotel...." 

Wesley was looking innocent again. Cordelia dug into her purse, 
anyhow. Who cared if she already had that expression on film a thousand 
times? It was just too cute to pass up. 

"But I can't ever say it when I'm an adult," Wesley explained. "Don't 
you ever feel like being able to tell people?" 

Gunn opened his mouth to argue, and didn't say a word. Instead, he 
reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed it to 
Cordelia. "What's this for?" she asked. 

"He's gonna ask me to buy him a pony. Don't give me back my wallet, 
when he does." 

"I am *not* going to ask you for a pony," Wesley protested, the 
poster-child for aggrieved innocence. Cordelia smirked, and started to hand 
Gunn back his wallet. Gunn put up a blocking hand. 

"Uh-uh." He glanced down at the top of Wesley's head, and waited. 

Wesley waited. Cordelia waited. Angel wisely shoved his other taco into 
his mouth, and pretended he wasn't waiting. Finally Wesley said, "I could 
eat another order of cinnamon crisps, perhaps. A small one." 

Gunn glared at Wesley's skull, then at Cordelia, who was still holding 
out his wallet. Finally he reached to snatch it back, but Cordelia pulled 
it away. "No, you're right. I shouldn't let you give in..." 

The look on his face was enough to send her scrambling for her camera, 
if her hand hadn't already been full with his wallet. She caught the look 
on Wesley's face, next, and she returned the grin. "You aren't even 
pretending to be doing this on accident, are you?" she demanded. 

Big eyes. God, those things were dangerous. "Doing what?" 

"'Doing what'," she repeated, then laughed. "Wesley, you're being spoiled." 

Still with the big eyes. He slowly shook his head, and somehow that 
made the eyes-thing even more...eyey. "No, I'm not." 

"Oh, right." That sarcastic comment was from Angel. The big-eyes 
turned on him, and he added quickly, "Not that there's anything wrong with 
that." 

Cordelia sniffed. For a vampire, he had *no* backbone. "You *are* being 
spoiled. Admit it." 

"I'm not," he insisted. "If I were being spoiled," and he swung that 
deadly gaze on Gunn, "I'd have another bag of cinnamon crisps." 

Gunn looked guilty, then looked guilty for looking guilty, then looked 
helplessly at Cordelia, who just snickered. Finally he said "If I get you 
cinnamon crisps, I'll have to put you down." Wesley just looked back up at 
him with the eyes of doom. Gunn turned the pleading look back at Cordelia. 
"God. Cordelia, would you *please* get Wesley another bag of cinnamon 
crisps? And never let me have my wallet back?" 

Cordelia shook her head. When Gunn turned his *own* big-eyes on her, she 
laughed. "Won't work, buddy." Granted, it would only not work because she 
was on the *inside* of the booth, trapped by Angel, the taco-eating vampire. 

Which was where Gunn turned his eyes next. "Hey man, you owe me." 

Angel looked up at him, taco paused halfway to his mouth. "I owe you for 
what??" 

"Not telling Cordelia that you hide her cookies in your pockets and 
pretend you ate them?" Wesley offered. 

"I don't do that!" Angel sputtered. "I tell her right up front that I 
don't eat, and..." He looked down at his taco. Then he snatched Gunn's 
wallet out of Cordelia's hand and hurried away. 

Cordelia watched him go, and wondered what sort of torture was best to 
use on a 250 year old vampire who used to torture people for 
amusement. Bake him more cookies, perhaps? Stand there and make *sure* he 
ate one? "Stupid vampire," she muttered. "My cooking isn't *that* 
bad." When she turned her glare away from the 
pretending-he-doesn't-know-he's-being-glared-at vampire in line at a Taco 
Bueno, she found Wesley looking at her, uncertainly. 

But he turned to Gunn and asked, "Was I not supposed to tell her?" He 
sounded sincerely uncertain, not like he was still teasing them. 

"She knows," Cordelia answered for him. "She's still annoyed, 
though. He told me he *liked* my cookies." She gave Angel's back another 
glare, and could tell he was pretending he didn't have vampiric hearing. 

Wesley looked back up at Gunn, again, who said, "Don't worry about it." 
He pressed a kiss on Wesley's forehead, and Cordelia had to stifle the urge 
to whip out her camera. Stifle it, only because the kiss was already over 
and any photo she got now would be of the two of them flipping the bird, or 
something worse. 

She opened her mouth to say something, and Wesley looked at her. She 
closed her mouth again. "Maybe we could make him wear sunglasses?" she 
suggested to Gunn. Wesley looked hurt, so she hastened to add, "Hey, you'd 
look cute. Sort of that mini-rebel look. Have you ever seen those posters 
of babies on Harley's?" 

Which made the Wesley-eyes swing back in Gunn's direction. "Speaking of 
which..." 

Gunn shook his head. "No. Absolutely no way on earth." 

Cordelia raised her eyebrow, now that she was safely out of Wesley's 
firing line. "What?" 

"I am *not* gonna take him riding on the motorcycle." 

The look of sheer superior logic on Wesley's face was priceless. "But 
it's *my* motorcycle." 

"But you're *four*, and it's not safe." 

"They make motorcycle helmets for four year olds." 

"They make nipple-rings for four year olds too, but I'm not gettin' you 
one of those, either." 

Wesley blinked up at him. "They do?" 

"NO!" Gunn said. "No, no, no, no no." 

Cordelia shook her head, and accepted the wallet back from Angel, who 
was sitting down with a tray -- with a bag of cinnamon crisps and two 
tacos. Wesley was still staring at Gunn, reaching out a hand and accepting 
the crisps Angel handed over, without even looking. "Please?" Wesley asked. 

"No." 

"But I *want* one." 

"No." 

Cordelia watched as Wesley wriggled, a little. Pushed his face closer 
to Gunn's, and said, "Please?" 

"Why didn't we bring the video camera with us?" Angel whispered in 
Cordelia's ear. 

"Because Wes pouted when we tried," she whispered back. 

"Man, he's gonna be dangerous when he's fully regressed," Angel whispered. 

"I think he's regressed enough," she whispered. Which they all already 
knew, after the phone call from Sunnydale. They'd decided not to tell 
Wesley about it, when Gunn had had to spend half an hour calming Wesley 
down after he'd missed a documentary on Ancient Italy on the Discovery 
channel. 

So Wesley's suppositions about Bad Guy X not having done anything really 
dangerous were true-- as far as he knew. Trying to kidnap Willow and Tara 
in the middle of the mall went beyond the 'bit of insanity' Wes had 
described, but they weren't about to scare him with that news. Instead, 
they were just being careful. They'd agreed that keeping him at the hotel 
at all times would be just too mean -- whether to themselves or Wesley, 
Cordelia wasn't sure. 

They couldn't deny him the pleasures of being a kid-- going out and 
playing, visiting all the places any kid would want to see in L.A., just 
when he'd finally relaxed enough to be able to enjoy them. And they 
couldn't deny themselves the fun of seeing him enjoying things -- though if 
it had been just that, vs. keeping Wesley safe, he would have been in the 
Hyperion under lock and key right now, instead of sitting in Taco Bueno 
pretending he wanted Gunn to buy him a nipple ring. 

The compromise was simple-- safety in numbers. They all went out 
together. Wes wouldn't notice anything weird, since he was expecting them 
to all want to fuss over him anyway. And with one vampire, one insanely 
protective lover, and one dead-shot with a tossed high heel as his 
bodyguards, Wes would be as safe on the town with them as he would cooped 
up in the hotel. 

Whether *they* would be safe from those big, blue eyes...well, they 
could always make Wesley pay them back, once he grew up again. She settled 
back in the booth to eat Angel's fourth taco, and watch Wesley try to 
wheedle a bike ride and nipple ring out of Gunn. It really was more 
entertaining than the movies. 

Part Fifteen  

Dawn watched as Giles sat on the small horse, and it moved slowly back 
and forth. The look on his face was priceless -- or rather, it would cost 
about 5 cents to develop the picture she'd just snapped, and 2 cents a 
print for copies... It wasn't a typical four-year-old 'wheee! I'm riding 
the horsie!' look. It was a 'someone just stuck a lemon in my mouth and 
told me it was ice cream' look. When he caught her watching him, the look 
deepened. "This is it?" he asked. 

"Well, yeah. What'd you expect for a quarter -- the Kentucky Derby?" She 
sucked on her raspberry slushee and smirked. Giles frowned, then slid off 
the horse as it came to a stop. 

To the next three children in line, he announced firmly, "That 
experience is vastly overated." The two girls and a boy looked up at their 
mother, who gave Dawn a peculiar look. She just grinned and shrugged, and 
handed Giles his slushee back. 

"You wanted to ride it," Dawn reminded him as they walked away. She 
could hear the other kids clamoring 'me, next!' so apparently Giles' 
warning hadn't any effect. 

"Because whenever I saw children riding one of those things, they 
appeared to be having a great deal of fun." He glanced back, with a 
thoughtful look on his face. "Do you think it would make a difference if I 
tried it again in a few days?" 

"You mean, after you've regressed some more?" Dawn shook her 
head. "You're as regressed as they get." She took a slurp of her own 
slushee, and wished again that she'd gotten the grape. And it wasn't like 
she could guilt Giles out of *his* grape slushee, even without Buffy nearby 
to scold her for it. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Giles demanded. His lips were purple. 

"I think your sense of adventure is more experienced than a regular 
four-year-old's. Nothing short of a real horsie ride will make you think 
you're riding a horsie." 

"You do know you needn't use the word 'horsie', Dawn." 

Dawn giggled. She knew she shouldn't, but his lisp *was* adorable. "You 
want a Dawnie ride?" 

"Ex-CUSE me?" Giles' eyes got bigger than the dogs' in that fairy tale 
Buffy had read to them last night, about the ones with eyes as big as 
saucers. Dawn had to giggle again. 

"On my shoulders, silly. God, you're a worse pervert than Xander and Spike!" 

"I am *not*. And I wasn't thinking anything...perverted. I was just 
wondering where you wanted me to shove the quarter," Giles said, 
straightfaced. Dawn stuck her tongue out at him. 

"Who's shoving what where?" Buffy asked, coming up behind them with her 
arms full of shopping bags. 

Giles didn't answer her when Dawn pointed the finger of guilt at him. He 
was too busy jumping up and down. "Oh! Can we go over there?" 

"Where?" Dawn looked. All she saw were a bunch of tables, all 
scattered around a section of the parking lot. 

"A *book sale*?" Buffy said. "Giles, you're *four*; you're supposed to 
be having fun." 

Giles gave her a stern look. "I *like* books. A book sale *is* fun." 

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather go to the Lions Club carnival?" Buffy 
asked. 

"No. I'm likely to get grabbed, or something. Here there is plenty of 
space for you to keep an eye out for any suspicious-looking people." 

"The only thing suspicious-looking is a four-year-old boy who wants to 
look at books," Buffy countered. But she was letting Giles drag her 
towards the book sale. Dawn followed, wondering if they could go to the 
carnival next, anyhow. Surely a *Slayer* could prevent one small 
child-like-person from coming to any harm? 

"Ow!" 

She looked over, and saw Giles sprawled on the asphalt -- after having 
tripped over a curb. Buffy was on it, though. She grabbed Giles up and was 
looking at his hands and knees, checking for massive bleeding, apparently, 
given the look on her face. "Giles, are you okay?" 

The first thing Dawn noticed was that those kid-eyes looked twice their 
actual size when filled with tears, which weren't quite spilling over. "I 
think I broke my...patella," he said slowly. Looking up at Buffy to see if 
she believed him. It was all Dawn could do not to applaud. Even though it 
was mean to take advantage of somebody who hadn't studied in her anatomy 
classes because she was busy saving the world. Or that was the excuse Buffy 
usually gave for *most* missed classes. 

"Really?" Buffy asked. "Left or right?" She carefully tickled his knees, 
and Giles giggled in spite of himself. Dawn revised her estimate of her 
sister's intelligence upwards-- which was unusual. Maybe she was coming 
down with something? She didn't *feel* sick. 

"Well, perhaps it's not broken. Just bruised. It might be difficult to 
walk on." 

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I *offered* you a ride, you know." 

"As I recall, I didn't refuse. I merely got distracted." Giles' hand 
went towards his nose, as if trying to adjust glasses which weren't 
there. Dawn just held out her hands, and Giles jumped up and took 
them. She pulled him up, then around onto her back. After a moment to get 
settled, she gave her sister a smile. "So...book sale, or do we sneak off 
to the carnival?" 

"Book sale," Giles said sternly. 

"I think if his patella really *is* broken, we should take him 
home. Put an ice pack on him and leave him on the couch all day." Buffy 
sounded serious. It was only because Buffy had used this same tone on 
*her* more than once, that Dawn knew she was kidding. 

"It's not that broken. I want to look at the books." Giles didn't seem 
to believe her, either. 

"I don't know..." Buffy began. 

"Dawn, I'll give you ten dollars if you head over towards the book sale." 

"Deal!" Dawn walked away from Buffy, towards the books. 

Buffy followed, casting stern glances at Dawn. "You know you shouldn't 
let him bribe you." 

Dawn blinked at her sister. "Why not? He does it all the time when he's 
old." 

"I'm not old!" Giles said loudly into Dawn's ear. 

"Say it, don't spray it, Giles," Dawn replied calmly, wiping her ear 
off. "You were born before the Super Nintendo was invented, therefore, 
you're old. It's okay. Buffy's old, too." 

Giles seemed to consider this for a minte, as he leaned down and pointed 
at a book he wanted. When Dawn handed it to him, he studied it for a 
minute, then said, "I don't bribe you all the time." 

Dawn kept her mouth shut, though she rolled her eyes. Sure he didn't. 
Which was why her savings account was twice as large as it should have been 
based on the pitiful allowance Buffy gave her. He'd *never* said anything 
like 'Dawn, if you pretend you never saw that, I'll give you ten dollars 
and drive you to the mall...' 

Then she realized Buffy was still watching the two of them, with 
narrowed eyes. Too late, Dawn tried an innocent smile. Buffy folded her 
arms in front of her, and said, "*You* are buying his books. All the books 
he wants." 

Dawn gaped at her, then quickly took the book Giles was holding, and 
checked the tag. Only fifty cents. She gave it back and 
shrugged. "Fine." The way Buffy smiled, though, made Dawn suddenly doubt 
she'd get off as scot-free as she hoped. 

She knew she wouldn't, when, half an hour later, Giles was telling Buffy 
to go fetch a basket, or something, and stop complaining. "You've the 
strength of a Slayer, one would think you could hold a small stack of books 
easily enough." 

"*Small*! Giles, I didn't read this many books in my entire four years 
in high school." 

Dawn could just imagine the look Giles gave Buffy -- she couldn't see it 
because he was still clinging to her back, and demanding that she pick that 
book up, or that one, or what about that one over there? She'd realized he 
was going to spend her entire ten dollar bribe on fifty cent books. Which, 
if he hadn't grabbed two she wanted to borrow, she'd have started 
complaining about. 

She did almost cheer when he announced that he'd seen everything he 
wanted to see, and they could pay for the books now. Because by that time, 
they were heading into the red zone, meaning she was spending her own money 
on it. Giles waved one hand in front of her face, in Buffy's direction. "I 
want to hold them." 

"You'll just drop 'em on my head," Dawn told him. Then it occurred to 
her that such might have been his intention in the first place, and she 
pinched his leg, lightly. "Brat." 

"Buffy! Dawn's being mean to me," Giles called. 

Buffy turned around, the stack of books in her hand. Dawn rolled her 
eyes. Buffy looked uncertainly at Giles, and Dawn groaned. He was doing the 
pout. He had to be. Little middle-aged brat. "Dawn, are you being mean to 
Giles?" 

"Yes, Buffy. I live to torment your Watcher. I have nothing better to do 
in my life than make Giles cry." She was being sarcastic, of course. 
Tormenting Giles was a hobby, not a career. 

"She pinched me. Hard," Giles put in. 

Now Buffy was staring at her again, in that 'watch me be a Mom' way 
she'd adopted. Still not anywhere good at it as their real mom had been, 
but Dawn had to give her credit for trying. Of course, if Buffy *really* 
wanted someone to do the Mom stare at her, she should ask Spike. Not that 
Dawn was planning on telling her that, of course. 

"Dawn, you shouldn't be mean to Giles." 

"*What*? You mean you believe him? I didn't do anything!" She 
considered dropping Giles, but if she did he'd probably *really* break a 
patella - or his head. "Buffy, if you say 'because he's littler than you' 
I'm going to tell everyone about that package you got in the mail from 
Frederick's of Hollywood." 

Buffy's eyes went wide. 

"Frederick's of Hollywood?" Giles was asking. 

"You're too young to know," Dawn told him. 

"How dare--" Buffy hissed. "I did not--! It wasn't for me!" she 
finally managed. 

Dawn blinked. "Who are they for, then? Have you got a girlfriend, now, 
too? Or a boyfriend with tastes I *really* don't wanna know about?" 

"I am not telling you anything. You are going to pay for these books 
and we are *leaving*." 

Dawn just watched her for a moment, then nodded. "Yup. Classic mom- 
maneuver. Skip logic, and go directly for the 'because I said so' orders." 
She waited until Buffy looked like she'd worked up a delicious, crunchy 
retort, then added, "Of course, Mom didn't use that move to distract 
anybody from asking why she was shopping at Frederick's of Hollywood." 

Buffy looked positively evil when she grinned and replied, "Actually..." 

Dawn stared at her, wide-eyed. "Really?" 

"I was looking through her purse for a breath-mint, and found a receipt. 
She about turned purple." 

"Damn! And I missed it? Where was I?" Dawn asked. Then she looked down. 
"Oh. Stupid question." 

"You were at Monica's," Buffy said, with a shrug. "It was the day you 
two gave her poodle a home perm." 

Dawn blinked at her. Then she said slowly, "Sometimes I wonder about 
the people who came up with my backstory." 

"Actually, you had a fairly typical childhood," Giles put in. "If you 
ignore all the times you encountered demons, vampires, werewolves, and 
fairies." 

"Fairies? I don't remember fairies -- that would have been neat!" 

"He means Xander and Spike," Buffy told her. 

"Oh." Dawn pouted. 

Then she pouted more when Buffy set Giles' stack of books next to the 
cash register and said to the woman, "She's paying." 

"I can't reach my purse," Dawn said, holding onto Giles' legs. 

"I can get down," Giles offered. 

"You'll fall again," Dawn told him, not letting go. 

In a dry voice, Giles said, "I think I can manage to stand still while 
you purchase my books, and not injure myself." 

"I don't have any money," she tried again. "You haven't given me my 
bribe, yet." 

"What about the one I gave you this morning? You haven't spent that 
all, have you?" 

And now Buffy was looking at her like she'd done something evil, again. 
"What?" Dawn demanded. 

"What did he bribe you to do?" 

Dawn grinned. "You'll find out. When you least expect it." 

It involved Buffy's underwear drawer and putting a big ol' cheesy 
picture of Spike and Xander grinning into the camera, with Buffy's room as 
a backdrop, in it. Under her set of days-of-the-week undies. It didn't 
really matter that Spike and Xander hadn't put it there, and would get in 
trouble for nothing. Heck, that was kind of the point. Dawn had to hand it 
to Giles -- his brilliance could be astounding. 

Buffy glared at her, and held out her hand. "Money. Now." 

Reluctantly, Dawn reached into her purse-- then grinned. "Um... I really 
*don't* have it. I left my wallet in the car." 

"Fine. You can pay for supper." Buffy pulled her own billfold out, and 
paid the cashier. 

"But we're going to Chuck-E-Cheese's for supper," Dawn 
protested. "We're meeting the rest of the gang and having pizza and 
playing video games for hours... I don't have that much in my bank account, 
much less my wallet!" 

Buffy gave her half a smile. "Relax. You only have to pay for me, 
Giles, and yourself. And if you watch *us* play Pac-Man, you'll save 
money, right?" Dawn tried the little-sister pout, again. It still wasn't 
working. Maybe she was getting too old.... Buffy was cheerfully accepting 
a bag of books from the cashier, then gave them a bright smile. "Now, who 
wants Dawn to buy us ice cream, to spoil our dinners with?" 

"We just had slushees!" Dawn felt herself blanch. "Did I just say that?" 

"I want pistachio," Giles said, leaning sideways and reaching for the 
bag of books. Buffy held it out of his reach. "And I want my book on the 
solar system." 

Buffy rolled her eyes, but that didn't stop her from digging through the 
bag and pulling out the book Giles wanted. "I don't know why you want it 
now," she complained. "You'll just get carsick if you try to read while 
we're moving." 

"I'm not going to read," Giles announced with much dignity. Dawn noticed 
that he didn't try to deny that he'd get carsick. Which was a wise move, 
since they'd already seen the results of him trying to focus on a Latin 
manuscript while the Range Rover jumped and bounced down the road. It 
hadn't been pretty. 

"Then why do you want the book?" Buffy asked, as she opened the door and 
Dawn let him down into the back seat. 

"I want to start putting the stickers in place," he answered, jutting 
out his chin. Buffy shot Dawn a grin, and handed Giles the book. 

"Are you sure we should be going to Chuck-E-Cheese tonight?" Dawn tried 
as she slid into the driver's seat. "I mean, taking everybody out in 
public, someplace crowded like that.... and we still don't know any more 
about that freak who tried to snatch Willow and Tara." 

"I know -- but we can't lock everyone in the basement for the rest of 
the month." Buffy glanced at Giles, as though thinking they might 
try. "I'm pretty sure I can keep an eye on Giles at a pizza place well 
enough, and I challenge *anyone* to get past Spike and Xander, to get at 
Willow and Tara again." 

Dawn giggled as she checked the rear view mirror. "They're such dads." 

Buffy laughed with her. "Did they tell you that the papers Angel sent 
to Spike, that prove he's William Harris, also had adoption papers for 
Willow Harris, and a birth certificate for Tara Harris?" 

"Tell me? I thought Spike was going to burst something, the way he was 
strutting around. Oh! We should buy them Father's Day cards." Dawn 
laughed again. "I feel sorry for their kids, if they ever have *real* 
ones. Any daughter they raise will be spoiled rotten, but *never* get to 
go out on a date." 

"Please, stop," came a pitiful voice from the backseat. Dawn stopped 
the vehicle, and they both turned around. 

"You weren't reading? Giles, are you sick again?" 

They saw Giles sitting there, belted in with a child's adapter-seatbelt, 
holding his planets-and-moons sticker book in front of him. "No. But the 
thought of Xander and Anya having children..." 

"Think of it this way -- Angel will be a grandpa!" 

"Technically, I think he'll be a great-grandpa," Buffy corrected her. 

Dawn pulled the car back onto the road, and waited until Giles was fully 
immersed in his book again, before adding, "Of course, you'd be a grandpa, 
too." 

Giles spluttered. "What? I would not. How do you figure that?" 

"Well, you think of all of us like your kids, right? So our kids would 
be your grandkids." 

Giles looked at her in the rear-view mirror. Or rather, she looked at 
him, and he made a face. "I do *not* think of Anya and Xander as my 
children. Well, possibly Anya. Xander was left on my doorstep by trolls." 

"Uh-huh. And what about Spike?' Buffy asked, getting in on the action. 

"Spike is old enough to be *my* great grandfather," Giles argued. 

"Only chronologically." 

"The fact remains, I make no claims on Spike as being any sort of 
relation of mine. Except possibly an alley cat one's neighbors have fed 
and one cannot be rid of." 

"Which explains why you bought that behind-the-scenes tell-all Passions 
book for him last Christmas?" Buffy asked. 

"It was the cheapest thing I could think of," Giles retorted. 

"Cheap would have been buying him cigarettes," Dawn pointed out. "Or a 
book of matches." 

"Except that Anya doesn't let him smoke in the apartment, so he's barely 
going through a pack a week, now." There was silence from the backseat, 
then Giles said, "Or so I gather." 

"Uh-huh." Buffy gave Dawn a wink. "You've never once called their 
place to see if Spike made it home before sunrise okay?" 

"I never! I was only doing it because Anya was busy and couldn't get to 
the phone." 

Dawn had to clamp her jaw down on her giggles -- she couldn't drive and 
laugh hysterically at the same time. She knew, she'd tried. Never with 
Buffy in the car, of course, because she wanted to maintain her driving 
privileges. And Xander was sworn to secrecy.... 

When Buffy just kept smirking at him, Giles asked, "Are you certain it's 
a good idea to go out to Chuck-E-Cheese's?" 

"Ah, the classic Watcher-technique," Dawn observed. "Distract them by 
asking if something mildly potentially dangerous is really a good idea." 

"Plus there's the 'repeat a question someone else asked and hope 
everyone's forgotten about it by now' gambit," Buffy added. "Actually, 
Giles was never into asking whether it was really a good idea. That might 
have actually worked. He was more like 'Buffy, I absolutely forbid you to 
do this.' Which as we know is like a red flag for Slayers." 

Giles looked up, an evil expression on his face. "Buffy, I absolutely 
forbid you to shut up about any of you ever having children, and what 
relationship I might be to them if you did." 

Buffy opened her mouth, then closed it again. Dawn smirked. Buffy 
pouted-- and Dawn was quickly thankful that Buffy *wasn't* still four. "I 
want ice cream," Buffy said, in a voice as high and childish as Giles'. It 
was all Dawn could do not to run off the road. 

Part Sixteen  

"I don't think it'll work," Tara told her girlfriend, with a shake of 
her head. 

"Oh, it will too! Come on, Tara." 

"Yes, it's really an excellent plan," Giles put in. The three of them 
were sitting together at one end of the table, eating pizza and breadsticks 
and drinking enough soda to float the Enterprise. Either version. 

"But if we try to walk off without at least two adults with us...." She 
glanced over at the adults at the table, who were also eating pizza and 
breadsticks and drinking enough soda --and that only between Spike, Xander, 
and Dawn -- to float two battleships. Any time any one of them had tried 
to move from the table, one to three adults had jumped up and grabbed the 
four-year-old's hand and said 'where are we going?' 

At first it had been fun, when Spike grabbed Willow's hand and she said 
'bathroom', then when Giles did the same thing to Buffy. But the 
older...taller set had caught on, so now the kids were trying to come up 
with something new. 

"It isn't like we're trying to give them the slip," Willow 
explained. "I don't wanna get grabbed by some stranger, and I don't wanna 
get lectured again by Spike for getting out of eyesight for all of two 
seconds." 

"So why don't we just *ask* them?" Tara asked. 

"Because they're too bloody big to get into the maze," Giles explained. 

"Are you sure?" She eyed the colorful tubes, then looked back down the 
table at the adult adults. Then she looked at Giles, and saw the twinkle in 
his eye. He *did* want to give them the slip. She gave him a look -- the 
same look that he usually gave her and Willow when they were trying some 
new spell, as a matter of fact. 

He didn't bother trying to look innocent at her, just rolled his eyes. 
"All right. Look, *no* adult can get into those tubes, so we'll be 
perfectly safe from harm. I don't want to be snatched any more than you 
do-- I just want a bit of breathing space -- and breathing in the men's 
room is not at the top of my to-do list." 

Tara thought for a millisecond, then nodded. "Okay! Let's do it!" They 
counted to three under their breaths, then Tara ever so accidentally 
knocked her soda over onto the table-- and started wailing. 

None of the adults at neighboring tables even looked up -- this was 
Chuck-E-Cheese, after all -- but Xander and Spike came to her rescue in an 
instant -- which gave Willow and Giles the chance to slip off to the tubes 
while everyone fussed over Tara. Then, when they were all looking around 
and going 'Where's Willow? Where's Giles?' Tara used her secret super 
Pepsi-power (five caffeinated sodas in two hours) to zoom over to the tubes 
herself. 

Spike almost managed to grab her, but she zipped past him, trailing 
cola-particles in her wake, and giggling. She slipped inside the entrance 
to the tube-maze, losing her shoes in the process somewhat near the sign 
that said "take off your shoes here", and began scrambling upwards to where 
Willow and Giles were. 

At least, where they'd been a moment ago. She stopped at a junction 
where she'd seen them, and looked around. A bunch of kids she didn't know 
were headed up one way, and a little girl who looked lost, was sitting down 
along the other tube. Tara hurried over to the unoccupied tube and slid 
down, squealing as she went. As she hit the bottom, and exited the tube 
maze briefly, she peeked out -- and saw Xander standing just beyond the 
maze, watching her. She stuck her tongue out and hurried back up before he 
could catch her. 

She caught sight of Giles, and scurried after him, managing to grab his 
ankle before he climbed up another tube. He glanced down. "Oh! Good lord, 
I thought you were Dawn." 

"Dawn? She can't get in here...can she?" Tara looked around. Nothing 
but under-seven as far as she could see. 

"I'm not sure. But she was waiting for us when we tried to give you the 
slip -- er, I lost Willow, ducking back in here." 

Tara squeaked. "They got Willow? Oh no!" She had to go rescue her poor 
girlfriend. Tara began to shuffle back down the tube, but Giles grabbed her 
wrist. 

"No, Willow got into the other tube. I think she's up there, over our 
heads." 

Tara looked up through the big clear bubble at the top junction of their 
tube, to see, sure enough, Willow looking down at her through the bubble in 
the bottom of the overpassing tube. Grinning, sticking out her tongue, and 
waggling her fingers in her ears. Which was universal sign language for 
"Nyah-nyah, nyah nyah, can't get me!" Tara pursed her lips, narrowed her 
eyes, and scrambled up the tube, climbing right over Giles. 

"Ooh-- you just wait! I'm gonna get you, Willow Rosenbooger!" She could 
hear Willow giggling somewhere above her as she climbed. 

"Hey! Wait up!" Giles called, behind her. She didn't, of course, but if 
he helped her catch Willow, all the better. They chased her through three 
tubes, somehow never managing to get into the same tube at the same 
time. At one point Tara and Giles climbed out into a crow's nest, and 
looked around. On the ground level, looking up at them, were Anya and 
Spike. "You know, I don't think we quite gave them the slip," Giles observed. 

"Well, they still can't get *at* us. We can play in here as long as we 
like." 

"Until we get kicked out when the restaurant closes." 

"Which isn't until ten p.m.! Come on, there she is!" Tara leapt for 
another tube, and slid halfway down -- and landed on Willow's head. "Haha! 
Gotcha!" Then Tara said, "Ow!" as Giles landed on *both* their heads. 
"Watch it!" She thumped him on the arm. 

Then she found all three of them sliding the rest of the way down the 
tube. They landed in a heap at the bottom of four tubes. They all leapt 
up, as one, stuck their tongues out...and hurried off in different directions. 

This time, when Tara looked out a bubble window, she saw Buffy standing 
with her arms crossed, grinning, directly below her. Buffy waved, and Tara 
made the universal sign-language gesture. When Buffy made as if to dive for 
the opening of a nearby tube, Tara laughed hysterically, then squirmed 
away. Just in case Buffy had long arms. 

She over-squirmed, though, and found herself once more sliding down a 
tube, to land against Willow. Who was pushed into Giles. Who popped out 
onto the floor. The two girls just stayed there laughing, braced too far up 
the tube for an adult to reach, while Giles scrambled for another entrance, 
running as fast as his little legs would carry him, Xander hot on his tail. 

"Hey, quit pushing me!" Willow said suddenly. 

"I'm not!" 

"Yes you are. I'm slipping-- I'm gonna fall out. Stop it!" 

"Oh, you are not. Baby!" 

Willow looked up and stuck her tongue out, waggling it. "Bottle blonde!" 

"Not now, I'm not. Neurotic homework highlighter!" 

Wilow crossed her eyes, obviously concentrating hard. "Goyim!" 

Tara stared at her. "I'm a what?" She leaned her head past Willow and 
called out "Xander! Willow called me a mean name!" 

"It's not a mean name-- it just means you're not Jewish," Willow said. 

"Well, duh!" Tara thought for a second, then pouted. "I don't know any 
special words for 'not ex-Southern-Baptist' " 

"Gooberface!" 

"That works." 

"You know, if you two can't play nice--" They both 'eeped' and jumped 
away from Xander, who was crouching at the mouth of the tube...and was only 
inches away from them. Tara shoved Willow ahead of her, trying to get them 
out of reach before he could grab them. She thought she heard him laughing, 
but didn't stop to find out. 

They ran around the tube maze, dodging strange kids, adults they knew 
all too well, and, at various points, each other. Finally Tara landed at 
the bottom of a tube beside Willow and Giles, who were sitting down and 
breathing hard. 

"You two aren't wimping out, are you?" 

"I'm considering the necessity of ingesting more pizza, before racing 
around for another hour," Giles replied. 

"Yeah. And I'm thirsty," Willow added. 

Tara peered through the blue plastic of the tube's walls. "If you go 
out there, you're gonna get grabbed." 

"What?" Willow and Giles sat up, alarmed. 

"Buffy, Dawn, Anya, Spike, and Xander -- they're all standing 
there. Watching us." She pointed. 

Giles peered over his shoulder, and made a face. "Everywhere we turn, 
one or more of them is right there. Watching." 

"Mad because watching's your job?" Willow asked. 

"No, merely annoyed because we did this in order to get out from under 
their overly-protective gazes." 

"It's kinda nice, though," Tara pointed out, even though she felt more 
like racing through the tubes, some more, than sitting here and 
talking. When Willow and Giles looked at her with expressions of 
disbelief, she said, "Well, in case something *did* happen. They'll be 
right there." 

"Like if someone grabbed us," Willow said, nodding. Then her eyes lit 
up. "Or if someone stuck her head out of the tube and said she was thirsty?" 

Tara looked at her skeptically. "Um, if you wanna try it...." 

Willow grinned. "Nope, I was thinking maybe you would!" Tara felt 
herself being grabbed by both Willow and Giles, and being pushed so that 
her head stuck out the bottom of the tube. 

"Help!" she shouted between giggles. Then thought better of it, since 
she didn't want to be rescued and dragged out. "Um... Willow wants Pop! 
Lots of pop! I do, too!" Her message delivered, Giles and Willow yanked 
her back up to safety, and Tara whapped Willow on the head, lightly. "Geek!" 

Giles pouted. "You didn't ask for my pizza." 

They all watched the opening of the tube, and eventually, Xander's head 
poked its way inside. "You want soda, you have to come out. No food or 
drink in the play area." 

"Boo!" they yelled. It echoed in the tube, and Xander put his hands over 
his ears. 

Tara giggled, and couldn't seem to stop. Xander looked at her for a 
minute. "Right, and only diet soda for Tara." 

*That* stopped the giggles. She couldn't believe he would be so mean! 
"Willow, Xander's saying I'm a fat little kid!" 

"No, sweetie, he's saying you've had more than enough sugar for one night." 

"You should know," Giles put in. "You fed her three of your regular 
colas, after Xander tried buying her only diet ones, before." 

"I did not!" Willow protested. 

"Willow?" came a foreboding, very authoritarian voice. They all looked 
at Xander, then Tara and Willow looked at Giles. 

"When did you teach him to sound like that?" 

"What? *ME*? I never did anything of the sort. He got it from...from 
Spike, I imagine. Er, actually, I don't want to imagine..." He 
sighed. "Too late. I've imagined it. Someone shoot me, please?" 

"We have a fresh pizza, at the table," Xander said. "And breadsticks." 

Tara watched as Giles actually moved an inch towards the mouth of the 
tube. She grabbed his arm. "Don't go!" 

"But they have more food," he said, not even looking back at her. He 
moved another inch, and she let go. 

"Fine. Go, see if we care. Willow and I will play without you." But 
Willow was inching towards the exit, as well. "Willow!" 

"I'm *thirsty*," she whined. 

"I can't believe you'd leave me," Tara sniffed. "After I've given you 
the best...um...four years of my life! Over Root Beer!" 

Willow looked at her, then said softly, "The best four years?" 

"Well, duh!" 

"Cool!" Willow said, then slid out of the tube, running for the table. 

Tara looked after her in dismay, then shrugged. Fine. She could still 
have fun by herself. She took off for the farther reaches of tubeville, 
clambering in and out of the Amazon Jungle, playing Tara, Queen of the Ape 
People. She even noticed that if she used the little anti-static spell she 
and Willow put on the dryer in the apartment building when they were doing 
laundry, it made the slidey tubes *really* slippery. 

Of course, every time she did that, it made her kinda tired for a second 
or two, but she wasn't worried-- she had plenty of energy to spare. Finally 
she made it up to the highest point, and sat down for a rest. Just a little 
one, where she could watch everybody down below, and make faces at them 
through the bubble. A little while later-- she wasn't sure how much later, 
because she'd closed her eyes, just for a second, she heard voices in the tube. 

"Hey, watch where you're going, lummox!" 

"You're the one who stopped, Spike. What's the matter-- afraid of heights?" 

"No-- but you pinched my arse!" 

"Er, and this is bad why?" 

"Because we're in a kiddie tube, and you nearly made me slip. I'd have 
landed on your face," Spike explained. Tara looked around, confused. Why 
could she hear Spike and Xander so clearly, from here? 

"Yeah, butt-first." 

Tara crawled to the edge of the bubble, and looked down the tube. Right 
there, less than four feet away, was Spike. "How'd you get in here?" she 
asked. Wasn't he supposed to be too big? 

Spike turned around, and smiled at her. "Awake, then, are you? Come 
on." He held out one hand. She crawled towards him to take it, and shook 
her head. 

"You can't get in here. It's for kids-only. You're too big." 

Spike just grinned in that way that made her want to cuddle him. Or be 
cuddled, which when she was awake and adult, was the sort of thought that 
was worrisome. Right now, she slid down into his arms. 

"You got her?" Xander asked. 

"Yeah. Back up, now -- hey! No pinching!" 

Suddenly Tara was sliding in Spike's arms, all the way down the tube. 
She, Spike, and Xander, landed in a heap on the rubber playmat at the 
bottom, Spike's arms still wrapped around her. "You pinched, didn'cha!" 
she asked Xander, who was grinning unashamedly at Spike. One arm unwrapped 
from around her shoulder to whap Xander on the head. Xander whapped him back. 

"You know, if you two can't play nice..." came Anya's voice from the table. 

"Yes?" they both chorused. 

"You won't get to play naughty when we get home!" 

The whapping stopped instantly. Spike stood up and carried Tara over to 
the table, Xander following. "Anybody want this, or you think I should keep 
her?" Spike asked the group, holding Tara out over the table like she was a 
pizza that somebody forgot to pick up. 

"Is that the prize that came with all the skeeball tickets?" Buffy asked. 

"Yeah. They were all out of stuffed monkeys, so I got the little 
girl. 500 tickets this thing was!" Tara laughed, and poked him in the 
ribs. Spike frowned at her and added, "I think I got ripped off." 

"We can hang her in the living room, with Mr. Fluffy and 
Frankenporker." Xander was putting slices of pizza on plates, and passing 
them out to Spike, Tara, and Giles, before keeping one for himself. Tara 
grinned, then looked really, really hungry at him. He passed her his plate, 
and reached for another. 

"Sneaky," Spike whispered in her ear. 

She looked over. "Can I have something to drink?" 

At least three people said "No soda!" 

Part Seventeen  

"Why do you do that?" Wes was asking. Angel sighed the most patient sigh 
Gunn had heard since his Grandma Nannie got asked 'Why is the sky blue' for 
about the five thousandth time, when he was a kid. 

"Why do I do what, Wes?" 

"Comb your hair straight up like that. Is it so things won't hit you on 
the head so hard?" 

"No, it's a fashion choice." 

Gunn was very proud. Wes just stood there watching Angel continue to 
comb his hair, and didn't say a word. For at least ten seconds. Then, of 
course, he started laughing hysterically, to the point where he actually 
fell down on the ground and began to roll around. And point. "Fashion... 
choice...heeheeheeheehee...." 

Gunn was proud of Angel's newfound social ability, too, though he'd 
never tell the vamp. Angel was just waiting patiently while Wesley laughed 
at him. Of course, from the look on Angel's face it seemed he was just 
happy to see Wesley laughing so freely, that he didn't mind it being at his 
own expense. Then again, maybe Spike and Xander *really* had softened him 
up, and putting up with one human kid was *nothing*. 

Gunn waited for Angel to ask Wes why he was laughing, but after a couple 
more minutes it seemed pretty clear that Wes wasn't gonna stop laughing for 
a while. As long as he didn't pass out from lack of air, Gunn figured it 
was a good thing. Meant he'd finally regressed enough to *relax*. 

He wasn't all the way, yet, Gunn knew. A couple times he'd caught Wes 
trying to act like he was still an adult, like he still cared about what 
everyone thought of him and how he appeared to strangers. Gunn 
deliberately hid all Wesley's matching socks that morning, just to help him 
along. Of course, today they'd been at the hotel all day, so Wesley was 
going around barefoot. 

Angel looked up at Gunn. "Do you think he's gonna hurt himself?" 

Gunn considered the giggling child sprawled on the carpet. "Not unless 
he starts turning blue." 

Angel looked back down at Wesley, then asked in a serious tone, "Think 
we should tickle him?" 

That started Wesley off on a fresh round of hysterical laughter. Gunn 
gave Angel a grin. "You think we *need* to?" 

Wesley was still rolling. Angel brushed the top of his hair, as if 
considering something. "Well... if I make him turn blue, I'll never find 
out what he thinks of my hair." 

Gunn blinked. Then he pointed. "I think we *know* what he thinks of your 
hair." 

"He could be laughing about something completely unrelated." Angel 
crossed his arms. "He *might* even be having a seizure." 

"No history of epilepsy in his family." Which Gunn actually knew, since 
Wes had told him that his parents had wondered if his breaking things were 
the result of 'fits', or if he did it on purpose. He blinked the memory away. 

"What about insanity?" 

"That would be *your* family, dude." 

Angel gave him a slightly pained look. "Drusilla isn't actually 
*related* to me, you know." 

"Uh-huh. And your excuse for you?" 

Angel blinked. "Me?" It was clear he didn't know if Gunn was referring 
to the Angelus portion of his personality, or the 'I am indirectly 
responsible for Spike's existence' portion. 

"You *gotta* be insane to go around with your hair looking like 
that." Gunn shook his head. There was a happy shriek from the floor, and 
Wesley was off, again. Gunn almost started laughing, himself, just from 
hearing it. 

"What's wrong with my hair?" Angel muttered. Then Cordelia yelled for 
him to take the phone, and he walked away towards the office. Gunn 
crouched down beside Wesley, and waited for him to open his eyes. 

When he finally began to wind down, he looked up and Gunn said, "Boo." 
Like a shot, he was off again, fourth round. Gunn shook his head, and 
wondered where Wes got the energy. Maybe he should take a page from 
Xander's book, and stop giving the kid sugar. But sugar smacks cereal 
didn't have *that* much sugar...did it? "Wes? How many bowls of cereal 
did you eat this morning?" 

Wesley somehow managed to stop laughing long enough to answer 
coherently. "Four." 

"Four? You had *four* bowls of sugar? I mean cereal? Where did you put 
it all?" 

Wes rolled his eyes. "With the three slices of cinnamon toast and two 
glasses of chocolate milk-- it was only a *part* of my complete breakfast, 
you know." 

This from the kid who couldn't eat a whole Taco Bueno kid's meal just a 
few days ago. Of course, if you added up the bits and pieces stolen off 
someone else's plate, and the extra cinnamon crisps, and the oh, can we get 
one to eat in the car on the way home... Dear God. His lover was a 
four-year-old eating machine. He couldn't remember the grown-up Wesley 
scarfing down that much food -- even the time they'd hit Ling's All-Night 
Buffet after spending 36 hours trapped, waiting for the Mekrak demons to 
leave, with only a granola bar between them. 

Then again, the grown up Wesley didn't run around the hotel screaming 
"Help! The Zombie Cheerleader is after me!" at the top of his lungs, 
either. So maybe this version needed all the energy he could get. Which 
didn't explain why *Gunn* wasn't scarfing down the sugar smacks -- after 
spending the last two weeks chasing after being-chased-by-zombies-Wesley, 
*he* needed all the energy he could get, too. At least he had the benefit 
of foisting Wesley off onto Angel or Cordelia for a few hours each day. 

Speaking of whom -- "Who fed you that much cereal?" 

Wesley looked up at him from the floor, still sprawled in a completely 
unself-conscious way. Cordy was right, he realized. They needed to put 
sunglasses on this kid. "Angel." 

"Angel, huh? Then maybe I oughtta give you *back* to Angel until the 
sugar's worn off." He smiled as he picked Wes up, to avoid sending him 
into a major sulk. That was the disadvantage of having Wesley sharing his 
emotions freely. He went into funks as easily as he laughed. 

"But by the time the sugar's worn off, it'll be time for lunch!" Wesley 
protested. 

"Uh-huh. You ever hear of peanut butter sandwiches, and carrot sticks?" 

Wesley made a face. "I want tacos." 

"Tacos?" Gunn settled Wesley on his hip, and carried him towards the 
office, listening for any signs that Angel was discussing things Wesley 
didn't need to know about. 

"And more cinnamon crisps." 

"Wes, you know those things are just sugar and styrofoam." 

The eyes again. Damn. If his wallet weren't up in the suite, he'd be 
dialing Taco Bueno delivery right about now...and they didn't *have* 
regular delivery service. He tore his eyes away, to see that Angel was 
motioning him into the office. Gunn lifted an eyebrow and nodded his head 
down at Wes, but Angel just nodded and continued with the 'c'mere' gesture. 

"It's for you," he said to Wesley, with a somewhat perplexed expression. 

"For me? Really? But I can't talk to them like this." Wes went from 
excited to downcast in two seconds flat. 

"Yeah, you can. It's Spike." 

Angel held out the phone, and Wesley looked commandingly up at Gunn. 
"Down, please." 

Gunn set him down on Angel's chair, and Wes immediately started to 
chatter into the phone -- almost faster than the human ear could follow, 
turning the chatter into jibberish. Then Gunn realized -- he couldn't 
understand it because it wasn't English. He glanced over at Angel, who 
shrugged. 

"Don't ask me -- some demon language that Spike speaks, obviously. He 
was always better at the non-human ones than me. And French, which Spike 
swears is a demonic language, too." 

Wesley undoubtedly had a good reason for picking a language that Angel 
didn't parley-voo, Gunn thought. He wondered if he should be worried, or 
amused. He saw Wesley glance up at them as he listened to something Spike 
was saying. His gaze flickered to Angel, and he smiled. It was the most 
mischievous smile he'd seen on Wes' face since...well, yesterday. But this 
time Angel was the target, so he relaxed. 

Wesley nodded at the phone, then chattered something demonic -- or 
possibly French. He listened for a moment, still staring at Angel. Then 
he laughed. It wasn't the hysterical Angel-has-funny-hair laughter. This 
was worse. This was mischief, and amusement -- and it was courtesy Spike. 
Gunn suddenly recalled Spike's offer to tell Wesley some things to do to 
Angel while he was four. Gunn stepped away from Angel, just in case. 

Angel glanced at him. "What?" 

"Nothing." Gunn waited, then took another step away. 

Angel gave him another paranoid look. "Do you know what they're saying?" 

"Nope." Gunn shook his head. "Don't have to. Spike, evil 
laughter...all add up to 'I don't know you, I ain't within firing 
distance'." Wesley was chattering again, interspersed with laughter. Gunn 
had the feeling he was telling Spike what was going on. 

Angel suddenly said, "You know, this is a long distance call. I think 
you should say good-bye." He reached for the phone in Wesley's hand. 

Wes pulled it back and glared at him. "I'm not through talking to 
Spike, yet." 

Angel backed away from the Wes eyes, and groaned. "I should have killed 
him years ago..." 

Gunn glared at him, too. "Wesley?" 

"No, Spike. I should have picked up a stake the minute Drusilla looked 
up at me and said 'look what followed me home, Daddy-- can I keep it?' and 
said no. And poof, all my troubles would have been gone. But nooooooo, I 
had to actually look into those big damn eyes of hers..." 

Gunn was too busy laughing, then, to voice his suspicion that it might 
have had something to do with *Spike's* big damn eyes, too. Or big damn 
anything else. 

Wes was nodding now, just as if Spike could actually see him shake his 
head over the phone. Not that they didn't all have that habit of course, 
but there was something adorable about how *serious* Wesley was when he did 
it. It was the visual equivalent of 'Yes, I understand that the safety of 
the world depends on this, Mr. President.' when he was probably agreeing 
that the new Honda commercial was silly. Then Wesley said, "I will," in 
plain English, followed by, "Then you should thump her," in that same 
serious tone. He hung up without actually saying goodbye. 

He jumped up onto the desk and leapt at Gunn. Gunn caught him, mostly 
through sheer reflex and having been practicing this catch a thousand times 
in the last few days. Which reminded him.... He glared at Angel. "Next 
time you feed him sugar cereal, I'm handing him over to you and I'm taking 
the morning off." 

Angel looked immediately innocent, which meant Angel had *known* what he 
was doing. Of course he had -- he'd probably watched Xander consume just 
as much sugar cereal then spend the day zooming off the walls. Which 
meant.... Gunn watched as Angel looked at the clock. "Oh, I almost forgot, 
I have an appointment. Downtown. Gotta head for the sewers, excuse 
me." He tried to brush past Gunn, who was holding a now-wriggling Wesley. 

"Appointment? Someone doing your hair?" Gunn demanded. 

"Um-- actually, no. It's work. Work-related. We have a case." Angel 
was still trying to get past Gunn and out the door. Gunn just kept 
stepping sideways, back and forth, so that the Evil Eyes of Doom were 
always within range to gaze at Angel. 

"Case? We have a case? Do you need me to look anything up?" Wesley 
asked. He sounded eerily like his older self. 

Angel looked down at him, and stammered, "Uh, no, it... um, it isn't 
that kind of case. Yet. Maybe there will be something later? Right now 
I'm just...meeting a guy." 

Wesley blinked at him. Then his eyes widened (if that was possible), and 
the most incredibly demonic smile appeared on his face. "You're meeting a 
guy? Really? Angel, that's wonderful!" 

Angel's turn to blink, then look disturbed. "No, that's not what I meant--" 

But Wes was reaching out and tugging on his arm. "What's his name? 
What's he like? Is he cute? Oh god, it's the Host, isn't it. I always knew 
he had a thing for you." 

Angel was shaking his head wildly. "What?! No. No, no, that's not what 
I-- you think the Host has a thing for me?" 

"Are you blind, man? How many times has that man pinched your arse?" 

"It's just his way of being friendly. He does it to everybody," Angel 
protested. 

"Not to me, he don't," Gunn told him. 

"And he stopped pinching my arse after we stopped sleeping together," 
Wesley said blithely. "Angel, *surely* you--" 

"WHAT!?" Gunn turned Wesley around, and held him up so he could glare at 
him in the eye. "Slept together? *Slept* together? Wes, you better be 
about to tell me it was completely platonic when you didn't have anywhere 
else to go." 

Wesley just looked at him, his expression a tad miffed, at first. Then 
he began looking more innocent than Angel had. 

"Damn. Damn, damn -- you gotta promise me *never* ever to tell me *any* 
details. I do *not* wanna know." Gunn settled Wes back on his hip, where 
he wouldn't have to look over at his boyfriend's face, and stepped 
hurriedly back into Angel's way. "Excuse me? Where are you going?" 

"Hey, obviously you two need to...discuss some issues. I'll just go out 
and see of Cordy needs a hand with the filing." 

"I thought you had to go meet a guy," Gunn reminded him. 

"Er, I do. I thought I'd help Cordy after I got back, though, so I need 
to tell her not to do all the filing before I get back." From Angel's 
expression, even *he* knew that one was lame. 

"He's green all over," Wesley said. 

"His mother has a *beard,*" Angel responded, looking frightened. 

"See! He took you home to meet his mother. And you don't think he has a 
thing for you?" Wesley crowed. 

Gunn was closing his eyes and *not* thinking about green-all-over 
people. Not thinking about their mothers. In fact, he was thinking about 
Mother Teresa, just to focus on an image as far removed from this 
conversation as possible. Except now he was seeing Mother Teresa with a 
beard. He opened his eyes quickly and glared at Wes. "I said I didn't want 
to hear any details!" 

Wesley looked hurt. Really hurt. Gunn was just about to do the whole 
down-on-my-knees-what-color-pony-do-you-want thing, when the corner of 
Wesley's lip twitched. "That wasn't a detail. It was merely an anatomical 
curiosity that I thought Angel might find interesting. A detail would be 
something like the fact that his--" 

Gunn put his hand over Wesley's mouth before he found out anything more 
about the Host's anything. Then, hand still over Wesley's mouth, he handed 
him over to Angel. Angel took him, reflexively no doubt, and Gunn started 
to leave the office. "I'm outta here. I'll go meet this guy, while you 
two help Cordelia with the files." 

"Oh, uh, actually," Angel hurried up behind him, still holding Wesley -- 
and holding his own hand over Wesley's mouth. "Actually, uh...." Gunn 
stopped, and glanced back at him. "It isn't work. I'm meeting my hairdresser." 

Wesley pulled Angel's hand away. Some vampire strength, Gunn 
scoffed. "You're dating your hairdresser?" Wesley said. 

"I'm not *dating* him!" Angel glared, and put his hand back over 
Wesley's mouth. Which Wesley then reached up and removed. 

"But you're meeting him, that's very good." 

Angel glared at Gunn, in consternation. "How is he doing that?" 

"You got me." Gunn shrugged. 

Angel put his hand over Wesley's mouth. Wesley rolled his eyes, and 
pushed it away. "I *swear* I was holding it in place that time!" 

Wesley started to grin, then wiped all traces of smugness from his face, 
and said piteously, "They're being cruel to me!" 

Before either man could react, Cordelia stepped between them and grabbed 
Wesley from Angel's arms. "What are they doing to you?" She gave them both 
evil, mother gorilla glares. Which Gunn knew he had better never let on 
he'd compared Cordelia to, even in his head, if he wanted to live to ever 
maybe have a *real* kid for her to spoil rotten when they brought him to 
the office. Which he hadn't just thought, no he hadn't. Nope. 

"They're talking about sex, when they know I can't enjoy it for at least 
another two weeks," Wesley said pathetically. 

Gunn looked at him. "At *least* two weeks?" 

Angel looked at him. "*We* were talking about sex? Mr.'He's green all 
over' ?" 

Cordelia looked over at Angel. "Who, the Host? Duh, everybody knows that." 

"They do?" 

"Haven't you seen the picture he has of him in speedos, at the beach? 
It's on his desk in his office. Along with the one of you and him onstage 
singing 'Ebony and Ivory.' " 

Angel winced. "I was drunk." Then he blinked. "He's got a picture of me 
on his desk?" 

"See?" Wesley said proudly. He told Cordelia, "Angel's just getting a 
clue that the Host likes him." 

Cordelia grinned. "Think we should invite him over to dinner sometime?" 

"No!" Angel said. "We can't...we can't, anyway, while Wesley's...like 
this, right?" 

"Somehow I don't think he'll mind," Cordelia said. She looked at 
Wesley, enquiringly. "Wes? Do *you* care if Lorn sees you?" 

Wesley thought about it for a moment. Then, in a serious voice, he 
said, "If it will help Angel...I'll do it." 

Gunn exchanged a grin with Cordelia, as Angel tried to think of some way 
to convince them all that this really wasn't necessary. "Why don't you go 
get your hair done," Gunn finally told him, "And we'll call and invite him 
over." 

"No, really--" Angel tried again. "Wesley, won't you be embarrassed?" 

"He's seen me naked, unshaven, and before I've had my tea, Angel. I 
hardly care if he sees me three feet tall." 

Gunn gave him a quick glare. "I *said* I didn't want to hear any details." 

"Those weren't details," Wesley retorted. "Details would be 'he's seen 
me naked after peeling me out of a pair of grey speedos'." 

Over his own groaning, Gunn could hear Cordelia saying, "*You* took that 
beach picture, Wes?" 

Then somehow there was Angel calling from the lobby, "Bye! Going to get 
my hair done! In Bangkok..." 

When Cordelia stopped tittering, Gunn looked at Wesley. Who looked so 
innocent you could stick construction-paper wings on his back and sell him 
in a Christian bookstore. "Okay -- he's gone now. Spill. What did Spike 
tell you to do to him? Details, kid." 

Wes looked haughtily at him. "What makes you think Spike told me to do 
anything to Angel?" 

"Oh, right -- this *is* Spike we're talking about." That came from Cordelia. 

Gunn gave Wesley a 'you're my homey, ain't ya?' look. "Come on-- who 
helped you set up that photo-on-the-mirror trick? Who stood lookout while 
you slipped Aretha Franklin CDs into all his Manilow cases?" 

Wesley simply raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think Spike told me to 
do anything to *Angel*?" 

"Because you were looking at him when you laughed." 

But Wesley just looked at him, not quite doing the innocent face. This 
was more like a 'not my fault if your logic is faulty'. Which, OK, Gunn 
had seen dozens of times before -- most often over a pente board. 

But that meant it was fair to resort to treachery. "Come on, Wes -- 
don't we deserve to have some fun at Angel's expense, too?" 

There was a softening of Wesley's expression, and he fidgeted a bit in 
Cordelia's arms. Then he sighed. "All right. I'll tell -- but you can't 
let on you know." 

"We swear," Gunn and Cordelia said together. 

"Cross your heart, hope to get painted purple?" 

"Wes! Just tell us, already!" Gunn wasn't about to swear, because he'd 
seen what happened when you did. Somehow, he'd end up purple. 

"All right, all right. He told me...to look at Angel, and laugh." 

Gunn stared at him. "Uh... would I be perpetuating a cultural stereotype 
if I said 'Watchoo talkin' about, Wesley'? " 

"No, just perpetuating a really crappy sitcom," Cordelia answered. "Just 
look at him and laugh? Really? But we do that all the time!" 

Wesley looked smug. "It's not the *fact* of laughing. It's how you do 
it. Spike gave me detailed instructions." 

"So? Share!" 

"No. Sorry. It only works for children. And childer." Wesley looked so 
happy about that -- made Gunn wonder how many times he'd been told 'No, 
Wesley, only adults can do that.' Some of which, like chasing demons down 
blind alleys and swinging a double-bladed longsword, they were perfectly 
right about, of course. 

"You mean, only stuff kids can do? Like get held upside-down?" Gunn 
grabbed him from Cordelia, and held him upside-down. Wesley shrieked, and 
giggled -- then shrieked again when Cordelia tickled him. 

Gunn held him until his face turned red, then flipped him 
upright. Wesley was breathing hard, but still grinning like a loon. Or 
like a four year old. "So, whadya say we go make dinner plans?" 

"Can I call Lorn?" Wesley asked. 

Gunn opened his mouth to say 'yes', then stopped. "Is this gonna 
involve me knowing any more details?" 

"Details?" Cordelia asked. 

"About him and that green whosit. Doing things I don't wanna know about." 

Wesley was doing the innocent-eyes thing, again. "Who, me?" Then there 
was a hand over his mouth. 

He reached up to remove it, but Cordelia didn't budge. The eyes above 
that hand got bigger. Then they bulged out a bit, as if she were 
suffocating him. The pitiful help-me-you-love-me-don't-you look Wesley was 
giving Gunn was almost too much to bear. So it was a good thing Gunn was 
heading out of the office to the lobby where he didn't have to *look* at 
that look. 

A few hours later, Gunn was overjoyed that *he'd* been the one to give 
Wesley his lunch. He'd managed to resist the insinuations that not letting 
him have ding-dongs and ice cream for lunch constituted some form of subtle 
child abuse, and they'd all had tacos, as originally requested. With no 
cinnamon crisps. 

So now Wesley was winding down, though lack of hyper-ness didn't 
remotely diminish the power of the huge eyes staring at Gunn now. And 
staring. And staring. It was like one of those creepy pictures where the 
eyes follow you around the room. 

Add to that, Wesley wasn't *saying* anything. He was just sitting there 
in Gunn's lap, the book open on his knees, and looking up at Gunn. Looking. 
He couldn't take it! 

"I am *not* falling for this." Look. "I'm not!" More look. "No way. No 
how." Tiny bit of guilt in that look maybe, which was the straw that broke 
the camel's back. Or the boyfriend's heart. "Aw, dammit, Wes! What color pony?" 

But what he heard was, "You're not rocking." 

"I'm not what?" The words slipped out; Wesley turned back to his book 
and didn't repeat the request. Gunn smiled, though. He'd seen the 
uncertainty in Wes' eyes, that maybe he didn't know if he ought to be 
asking, despite the recent ease with which he begged for anything he wanted. 

Gunn leaned back in the chair, and pulled Wesley back, as well, settling 
him against Gunn's chest. He propped the book up on Wesley's lap, and held 
it so Wesley could arrange himself however he liked. Then he slowly pushed 
against the floor and began rocking. 

After a moment there was a soft whisper. "You don't have to." 

"You think I'm gonna make you ask Angel? For an ancient undead white 
boy, he has *no* rhythm. Best you let me do it." He felt the tiny tremor 
of Wesley's silent laugh, then Wesley was laying his head back, wriggling 
down a bit, and flipped the page of his book. "Is this the Sumerian Big 
Book of Bedtime Stories?" Gunn asked. 

"It's in English," Wesley scolded. 

"If you say so." 

"Read to me," came that imperious voice, and Gunn didn't know that the 
Eyes Thing worked without there even being any eyes involved. He frowned 
at Wesley, and wondered if he would lose this power when he grew up, again. 
Probably not. Gunn began reading. 

"To Sherlock Holmes, she is always *the* woman. I have seldom heard him 
mention her under any other name..." 

Part Eighteen

The comfortable, relaxed look on Wesley's face was enough to remove any 
fear Gunn might have had that he'd get bored with reading Victorian mystery 
stories out loud. All he had to do to keep Wes smiling was keep reading, 
and actually sound like he understood what he was talking about. That was 
worth a hundred pages of chicks in long skirts putting one over on the 
Great Detective who didn't seem all that bright when it came to falling for 
a brilliant mind behind a pair of pretty eyes -- but who the hell was Gunn 
to judge. 

It was easier to pay attention to the book when he was doing the reading 
-- when Wes read out loud, Gunn tended to get lost in the sound of that 
choirboy voice, so terribly concentrated and serious, rising and falling, 
and the look on Wesley's face. That always got him pouted at when Wes 
looked up and caught him zoning, even though the brat *knew* why he was 
losing track of the storyline. Because he'd told Wes, in great detail, just 
to watch his ears turn pink. 

"It's Eye-ree-nee," Wesley corrected him at one point. Gunn stared at 
the letters, wondering how 'Irene' could possibly be intended to be spoken 
that way. But then again, these were people who went out of their way to 
invent Worchestershire Sauce, just so they could laugh at Americans trying 
to pronounce it. Gunn shook his head, but repeated the woman's name, the 
certified-correct-by-Wesley way. 

He continued reading, hesitating once or twice over every proper noun to 
see if Wesley was going to correct those, as well. After the third time 
Wesley simply poked him and said, "It's pronounced the way it's written." 

"Uh-huh. I told you this wasn't in English." Wesley poked him again, 
but let him continue. Gunn read, trying occasionally to figure out the 
plot. It was hard, though, when most of his attention was on the child in 
his arms. 

Gradually, though, the book drew him in. Which was why it surprised him 
to glance down and see Wesley's eyes closed and his face completely 
relaxed. Gunn realized he'd felt Wesley relaxing as he read, but hadn't 
noticed him falling asleep until now. But that wasn't what made him 
stare. What made him stare, and try very hard not to smile even though 
Wesley wasn't awake to see -- was the small thumb stuck in Wesley's mouth. 

Gunn couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Wesley look so utterly 
relaxed, awake or asleep, other than the time Gunn had spent three hours 
rubbing the adult Wesley's back then fucking him senseless. Of course, 
Gunn hadn't been in much condition to enjoy the sight, that time. 

He had half a mind to think real loud -- since he couldn't yell without 
waking Wesley up -- for Cordelia to come upstairs with the camera. But he 
knew Wesley wasn't ready; as of this morning he was still trying to prevent 
Gunn from discovering that Wesley had been sucking his thumb in his 
sleep. It had almost been more than Gunn could stand, the past few days, 
to lie there quietly with his eyes slitted open, peering at Wes through his 
own eyelashes and waiting for his lover to wake up. 

Not that the view wasn't wonderful, just that the temptation to reach 
out and stroke his hair, or kiss his forehead, was so overwhelming. But if 
he did, Wes would wake up and take his thumb *out* of his mouth, and feel 
all self-conscious, so Gunn had learned to simply watch and wait. 

Eventually, Wesley would wake up on his own, and blink sleepily. Realize 
where he was and what he was doing. Look furtively around as he popped his 
thumb out of his mouth, then give a sigh of relief that he hadn't got 
caught. Gunn always let Wesley 'wake' *him* up, putting on a big show of 
yawning and stretching and grumbling, when he'd been awake for half an hour 
or more, just watching. 

Now, though, he could sit and watch all he wanted to, without peeking 
and without needing to be ready to feign sleep at the slightest movement 
that meant Wesley might be waking up. Even if Wesley were embarrassed when 
he woke, he couldn't think that Gunn hadn't seen him. Gunn was willing to 
not say a word about it...but he was glad to get the chance to just sit 
back and watch. 

He reached up, very slowly so as not to jostle anything, and stroked 
Wes' hair. Leaned forward, just as slowly, and placed a soft kiss on his 
forehead. Wesley didn't wake. Maybe there *were* good reasons to feed him 
four bowls of sugar for breakfast. 

Gunn wasn't quite sure how long he watched Wesley sleep in his arms. It 
couldn't have been longer than half an hour, though -- not nearly long 
enough --before the thick eyelashes eventually fluttered open. Gunn looked 
down, prepared to try to forestall any uncomfortable reaction on Wesley's 
part, with his most neutral, not-worried-about-it expression. 

Wesley just stared at him for a second, eyes opened impossibly wide -- 
as usual -- then smiled, shyly. He did pull his thumb out of his mouth 
fairly quickly, but he obviously wasn't trying to hide it, nor did he seem 
too upset at having been caught out. Gunn gave him another kiss on the 
forehead, and picked him up as he stood. 

"You think we missed dinner?" Gunn asked, setting the book aside for 
tomorrow. 

"Cordelia wouldn't have dared let us miss *this* dinner," Wesley 
asserted with confidence. Then, "But perhaps we should get downstairs, in 
case Lorn is already here." 

Gunn felt Wesley wriggle, wanting to be let down. He considered 
ignoring it as he usually did -- but if the Host *was* already here, Wesley 
might feel less self-conscious about greeting him on his own two feet. 
Rather than in the arms of his current boyfriend. Gunn glared at 
Wesley. "I'm not gonna be getting any more details, over dinner am I?" 

Wesley looked surprised. "Why Charles, I do think you doth protest too 
much!" 

"What! You're saying--" But Wesley was wriggling out of his arms; this 
time Gunn let him go so he could chase Wesley out of the room and down the 
hallway. It occurred to him as he hit the bottom of the stairs, Wesley a 
good ten feet ahead of him, that maybe *he* should start thinking about a 
four-bowl-of-sugar breakfast, too, if he was gonna try to keep up with the 
scandalously younger man that he was dating. 

Gunn was looking down to make sure he didn't trip on that loose edge of 
the carpet-runner that he kept meaning to fix, when he heard Wesley give a 
sudden "Eep!" He glanced up to see that Wes had run straight into a pair 
of legs in white linen pants -- that were attached to a torso draped in a 
matching jacket and an expensively hideous Hawaiian shirt. Which was 
attached to a head that could be detached and still survive, as long as you 
didn't mutilate the body. That knowledge might come in handy, if Wes 
supplied Gunn with many more unwanted details like the green-all-over thing. 

"Well, hey! Who do we have here?" The Host bent down to give Wesley the 
once-over, and Gunn blinked at his smirking lover. "You know, you look a 
lot like..." The Host's eyes narrowed, then his face smoothed over into a 
surprised, shocked, neutral smile. "At least I know *I* won't be getting 
the paternity suit," he said, and Gunn realized he was going to have to 
tell *Lorn* about the 'no-details' policy, too. 

Gunn glanced down to see Wesley doing the eyes thing. Gunn sighed and 
shook his head. "He isn't gonna buy you a pony, either." 

But the Host looked up at Gunn. "Well, of course I will! If he wants 
one." He grinned at Wesley, still obviously clueless, as he asked, 
"Where's your daddy, short stuff?" 

"England," Wesley said simply. Gunn wasn't sure if that meant he was 
going to try to pull the joke on throughout dinner, or not. Could be fun.... 

"England? Is that why I haven't seen him in two weeks? Then why are 
you here, if he's--" He suddenly snapped his mouth shut, as if realizing 
the explanation might involve a dead or in trouble mother. 

Gunn saw Wes realize it too, and frown, then grin, then let his face 
slip into a truly phenomenal pout, all in the space of a couple of 
milliseconds-- fast enough that the Host most likely caught none of it. 
"He's a horrible daddy. He took off to go see some sort of all-nude bathing 
competition at Brighton Beach, and left me here with all these strangers." 

"Wes went all the way to Brighton for a nude beach? There's one right 
down near La Roca, just off the freeway. I *know* he's been there..." Then 
the Host clammed up, as it dawned on him that he was talking to a 
four-year-old kid about nude beaches. 

Gunn glared at Wesley. "What did I say about details?" 

"*I* didn't say it," Wes protested. "The big green man said it!" 

"You *made* him say it," Gunn said sternly. Well, as sternly as he could 
ever manage when Wes was giving him the innocent choirboy look. He usually 
folded when faced with the adult version -- so why was he even remotely 
surprised he was falling for the mini-'Who, Me'? 

"For that matter," Lorn said, as if he wasn't listening to Gunn's and 
Wesley's exchange, "Why aren't you at the beach with him, Charlie?" 

"Don't call me Charlie." It was a reflex, and Gunn hated how it made 
him sound like Angel telling Xander not to call him 'Dadboy'. Gunn thought 
it was better than 'Deadboy', but nobody asked him. 

Wesley tugged on Lorn's hand, and asked, "Is Uncle Angel here?" 

Gunn watched as the Host tried to recover from the infusion of cuteness, 
before responding, "I haven't seen him. Cordelia said something about 
roaming the sewers, and that he'd be back later." 

Then, and Gunn should have *known* this was coming so he could videotape 
it and show to Angel, later, Wesley said, "He went to get his hair 
done. He likes you." 

The Host blinked, and seemed --for once in the entire time Gunn had 
known him -- to be at a loss for words. "Uh... He does? I mean, he is? 
Getting his hair done?" 

"Yes. He goes to Madame Foo-Foo's." Gunn knew damn well Wes had just 
made up off the top of his head, and he couldn't help snickering. 

The green demon still seemed a little thrown by Wesley's earlier 
comment, but he grinned at the name of the alleged beauty parlor. Guy 
probably knew every hairdresser and clothing store in L.A. -- even the ones 
Cordelia didn't know about. "Madame Foo-Foo's, huh?" 

"Uh-huh. She charges him fifty dollars to stick his finger in a 
light-socket. That's what my dad says." 

The Host laughed. "You probably shouldn't say things like that...but 
your daddy's probably right. I think Angel's brave to wear his hair that 
way. It shows his individuality." 

Gunn looked sharply at Lorn. Was that a note of sincerity? Was Wesley 
*right*? Wesley, who was even now holding his arms out to Lorn in a classic 
pick-me-up gesture, which Lorn then did. He rested Wesley on his hip and 
looked tickled green to have been accepted by the small boy. Gunn was 
tempted to tell him, just to see if he'd drop Wesley. On his head. 

"Can I have a Pergeron?" Wesley asked. "I want a white one." 

"A what? Dearie, don't you think a Shetland would be more your speed?" 

Wesley made a face. "Shetlands are for babies! I want a Pergeron. Gunn 
won't buy me one." 

"Yeah? Where you gonna keep it," Gunn asked, knowing there was no *way* 
Wesley would waste the buy me a pony eyes at him, when he had the Host to 
torment. 

"We can put it in Uncle Angel's dungeon. He never uses it anyway, and 
there's all kinds of saddles and bridles in there already." 

The only reason Gunn didn't choke on his own tongue was that he was too 
busy watching to make sure Lorn didn't drop Wes while *he* choked on *his* 
tongue. Of course, Gunn's stifled laughter soon gave way to the disturbing 
realization that Lorn *liked* that kinda thing, judging from the 
speculative look that was creeping over his face. And that Wes *knew* he 
liked that kind of thing... 

He decided to concentrate on his admiration for Wesley's ability to keep 
a straight face while saying it, though Gunn made himself a fervent promise 
to do something extremely rotten to Wes the *minute* he grew up again. Or 
at least an hour or so after he grew up again. 

"Oh, good, you found Wesley and Gunn!" Cordelia's cheerful voice 
interrupted his thoughts of revenge. 

He looked over and said quickly, "Yeah, me and Wesley, Junior, are 
entertaining Lorn until Angel gets back." Cordelia stopped, and mouthed 
'Wesley, Junior?' before glancing at the Host and a delightedly grinning 
Wesley. In a somewhat lowered voice, Gunn said, "We've told him Wes went 
to Brighton Beach, so don't tell him the truth about him being in the 
hospital to get those polyps removed." 

He looked over to see Wes giving him a dirty glare. Gunn didn't react 
-- after all, if Wes was gonna drag *him* into playing a joke on Lorn, then 
Wes deserved getting dragged into whatever popped into Gunn's head to 
provide cover for it. 

But the light had gone on in Cordelia's head, and she was smiling and 
nodding. "That's right. We're stuck baby-sitting this little rugrat until 
he gets back." 

"I'm not a rugrat," Wesley protested. 

"Are too," Cordelia informed him. When Wesley stuck his tongue out at 
her, she simply responded in kind. 

"She's being mean to me!" Wesley protested, giving Gunn a pitiful look. 

"Good. Be mean back to her." 

The Host smiled. "I can tell *someone* has baby-sat before." 

He did hand Wesley over to Cordelia, who took him, grinning evilly. "I 
think someone should come help me with dinner." 

"You're cooking?" Wesley asked, doubtfully. 

"No. I ordered Chinese. But we have to set the table." From 
Cordelia's expression, Gunn guessed that *somebody* had just been 
volunteered to do the dishes, too. And that Cordelia would make sure they 
used lots of plates.... 

"So, um," Lorn said, as they watched Cordelia taking Wesley towards the 
dining room. "Wesley never told me about...?" 

"Mini-Wes, the Tiny Terror?" 

"I am *not* tiny!" Wesley shouted back over Cordy's shoulder. 

"I'm not sure whether he's got really good hearing, or he just has the 
place bugged," Gunn told the Host. 

Wesley stuck out his tongue, then assumed a very haughty 
expression. "If you're asking where I came from, my daddy says the angels 
dropped me on his doorstep." 

"Head-first," Cordelia added immediately. 

"My daddy says you're a razor-tongued harpy," Wesley told her. 

"That's cause your daddy keeps forgetting who does that direct-deposit 
thing with his paycheck, and has access to all his bank account numbers," 
she responded. 

Wesley opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. Very carefully, he 
said, "I don't think I'm old enough to know what that means." 

"Uh-huh," Cordelia kept glaring at him. "It means that somebody is 
gonna get spanked and sent to bed *before* dinner with Uncle Angel and 
Uncle Lorn." 

Wesley immediately turned on the eyes. Like a switch, he was begging 
and pleading and promising to be the bestest ever and if someone spanked 
him could it be Gunn because he never spanked very hard? *That* made 
Cordelia turn red, and Gunn reconsidered waiting until Wesley grew up 
again, before doing something extremely rotten. 

Wesley ignored them both, and went back to his story, calling loudly 
over Cordelia's shoulder back at Lorn, until Cordelia sighed and let him 
down so he could walk back over. 

"My daddy says he wasn't 'specting me, but that the angels knew he 
wanted me a lot. That's why they dropped me -- not on my head," he added 
with a glare to Cordelia. "And daddy says I look just like the angel that 
brought me here, that I'm the handsomest little kid he ever saw and that I 
don't look a thing like him and that I'm the smartest and funniest and 
bestest kid ever." 

Wesley was hanging onto Lorn's hands, talking up to him, while the Host 
smiled and listened. Gunn listened, as well, but had to force the smile out. 

"And daddy says he wouldn't ever ever trade me for anything, not even a 
new motorbike because Uncle Gunn is gonna buy him one with a 
sidecar. Daddy thinks I'm gonna be the cleverest Watcher ever, even though 
he doesn't think I should be one, he says he's not gonna make me. And he 
says that I'm the best present he's ever had, and that I'm *perfect*!" 

Lorn laughed. "You are, I can tell. I can see your daddy thinks the 
world of you." 

Wesley nodded, smiling and solemn. Gunn wondered if Wes had told himself 
those things when he was a kid, because he *knew* Wesley's 'daddy' hadn't 
ever said them. He wondered as well if what he'd been doing for the last 
couple of weeks was enough to convince Wes that it was all true -- or if 
there was always gonna be that little kid in there who had to say it out 
loud like it was a lie, because he didn't believe it in his heart of hearts. 

He wanted to pick Wes up right now, and tell him his 'daddy' wasn't the 
only one who thought he was perfect, and damn straight he could have a 
sidecar for the motorbike, and a fucking team of Clydesdales, if he wanted 
one. Even if it meant blowing the whole 'fool the Host' gag. Then Wes 
looked up at Lorn, with eyes suddenly shadowed and uncertain, and said 
softly, "Uh-huh. My daddy loves me." 

Gunn leaned back against the wall behind him for a second, and closed 
his eyes. Tightly. 

"Oh, Wes, everyone loves you," Cordelia said softly. Gunn opened his 
eyes to see her kneeling beside him, and hugging him tightly. Wesley looked 
a little confused, accepting her hug with one arm wrapped around her neck. 

He was looking at Gunn, though, so Gunn pushed away from the wall and 
went over and picked him up. Kissed him hard on the cheek, and whispered, 
"I love you, too." 

"What's going on?" Angel asked. They all turned around, and Angel's 
curious expression faded. "What's wrong?" 

"Nothing. We're ordering Chinese," Cordelia explained. "You entertain 
our guest while I go order." She waved absently at Lorn. 

"Um, okay?" Angel watched her head for the phone, and looked at 
Gunn. "Is Wes okay?" He was glancing towards the Host, apparently making 
the wrong connection as to what had upset him. 

"Yeah, he's fine. He's miffed because Lorn won't buy him a Pergeron." 

"I never said I wouldn't!" Lorn objected. "I just think maybe I should 
ask his father, first. You know, see if his apartment takes pets." 

"His father?" Angel repeated. "What does Wesley's father have to do 
with this?" 

"You know -- his father? Who's makin' us babysit him?" Gunn tried to 
sound as casual as possible while still speaking to Angel on a 'Practical 
Jokes For Dummies' level. 

"Well, I wouldn't exactly put it that way," Angel said, frowning. "I 
mean, maybe at the beginning it was touch and go, with the whole rogue 
demon hunter gag, but now..." 

"Now he's more of a family man, yeah," Gunn said agreeably. 

"Family man? Wesley's father?" Angel was looking at Gunn like he'd just 
said he wanted to get a nose job and a skin-bleaching and change his name 
to Biff, and did Angel think it would be covered under the company medical 
plan. Which they still didn't have. 

"Oh for god's sake," Wesley muttered under his breath. "Uncle Angel, 
you didn't cut your hair! You said you wanted to look good for dinner." 

Angel's mouth froze in the 'catching flies' position. He tried to give 
Wesley a glare while looking clueless for Lorn. He managed a sort of 
half-laugh, half-shrug, all 'I'm going to kill them later, don't mind me' look. 

"Madame Foo-Foo couldn't see you, huh?" Lorn sounded amused, and 
flattered. Gunn realized that Wesley better know what he was doing, or the 
Host might see if Wesley's head could be removed from his body without 
inflicting permanent damage. 

"Huh? Who?" Angel looked from Lorn to Gunn to Wesley. 

"Your hair-dresser," Wesley reminded him. 

"I told you, I wasn't getting my hair done. I was...hell, I was meeting 
a guy about your book of Casters." 

There was a silent pause. Gunn tried to figure out how to say 'You mean 
Wesley's *father's* book,' without making Angel blow everything. He 
figured Wes was doing the same thing, only distracted by the discovery that 
Angel might be able to replace one of the rare books that had been 
destroyed when their old office had exploded. 

"You're up to *that* already?" Lorn was asking. "I would have thought 
you'd still be reading Mother Goose." 

"Why would Wesley be reading--" 

"He likes to pretend, you know. Be like his dad." Gunn interrupted Angel. 

"Am I missing something, here?" Angel asked. "Why are you pretending 
that Wesley can't read?" 

"Of course I can read." Wesley rolled his eyes. "Hooked on Phonics, 
remember?" 

"Yeah, but you're not quite up to the book of whatzamajigger, yet," Gunn 
reminded him. Well, *tried* to clue-in Angel, while pretending to remind 
Wes. He was starting to lose track. 

"Hooked on what?" Angel was asking. 

"Who wants egg drop soup?" Cordelia called from the office. 

"That's disgusting, and if anyone puts it in front of me, I shall be 
sick. Loudly," Wesley promised. 

"Check, no egg drop soup for the rugrat." 

Lorn was looking at Wes, now, grinning. "Your dad doesn't like egg drop 
soup either. I bet he's happy he's corrupted you, too." 

Angel frowned, then stared at the Host. "You know Wesley's father?" 

Gunn groaned. Lorn turned around and blinked at him. Then he suddenly 
smiled. "Oh, don't worry. Just 'cause I know what he likes to eat, doesn't 
mean I know him in the *biblical* sense, honey." 

"Um... I guess that's good..." 

"Not for years, now." 

Angel's eyes looked like they might just roll completely back in his head. 

"And it really didn't mean anything. Well, not anymore -- not that I 
would kick him out of bed, but he's taken," Lorn gave Gunn a sly smile, and 
Wesley grinned triumphantly. 

"You mean you really *did* sleep with him?" Angel squeaked, staring at 
Wesley. 

Gunn could tell Wesley was considering a baldness spell, and spoke 
quickly, "Angel, why don't you go see if Cordelia needs help finding your 
wallet?" 

"Huh?" 

"To pay for the food." 

"She's got the number memorized. What? Why are you all looking at me 
like that?" Then he blinked. "Oh! Are we pretending that Wesley is 
Wesley's son? Um, why are we doing that?" 

Wesley thumped himself on the forehead. "Thank you, you moron. I had 
Lorn utterly convinced otherwise. Now he'll *never* buy me a Pergeron." 

Lorn was gaping at him. After a minute he seemed to figure out, and 
believe, what was going on. "Wes?" 

"Magic spell. Be reversed in two weeks. Physical regression only, 
though they tell me it affects my emotions as well. I don't believe 
them." He stuck his tongue out at Angel. Then he gave the Host a bright, 
totally guilt-free smile. 

Lorn narrowed his eyes. "I seem to recall someone saying you needed a 
spanking." 

"You can't! Not anymore, anyway." 

Gunn put his hand over Wesley's mouth. "What did I *tell* you about 
details?" Two round, wide, innocent pony-eyes stared at him above his hand. 
He'd be a complete idiot to remove that hand, right? 

"You told me I shouldn't tell you things like Lorn's very good at that 
sort of thing. But I'm not telling you. I'm telling Angel. Since he was 
asking earlier." All heads turned towards the sputtering vampire, although 
only the Host's was turning out of surprise -- the rest of them just wanted 
to see how he'd react. Gunn put his hand back over Wesley's mouth, even 
though it resulted in Wes biting his finger reasonably hard. 

"I was *not* asking about any such thing. I was asking about --" Angel 
stopped. "I don't remember what I was asking about. If I go out and come 
back in again, will this conversation not have happened?" 

"No, we'll just have time to think of better questions." Everyone 
turned to the Host, who seemed to have regained his composure, and his 
sense of humour, at least as far as 250 year old clueless vampires were 
concerned. The way he scowled at Wesley made Gunn think Lorn was gonna be 
standing in the 'extremely rotten once he's grown' line. 

Wesley just looked back, and about two seconds later Lorn was a big 
tall, green, pile of Wesley-controlled mush. "Did you really get me a new 
copy of the book of Casters?" Wesley asked Angel excitedly. 

"Er, uh, yeah...maybe. I don't have it, the guy said he might not sell 
it." He tried to look casual. 

Wesley frowned. "You're saying that to get back at me for telling Lorn 
you like him." 

"I am not! And I don't-- er, I mean, I don't *not* like you," he said 
to the Host, who looked entirely amused. "As a friend. I like you." 

"Which is why you're wearing *navy blue* instead of black?" Cordelia 
asked, pointing to his shirt. 

"I was wearing navy blue this morning," Angel protested. 

"You were not! Liar!" Wesley shouted. 

Angel looked abashed. "Well... Maybe not the shirt. But I was wearing 
navy blue... Oh, never mind." 

"You were wearing navy blue neverminds? For me?" The Host winked at him, 
and Angel turned around to bang his head against the wall. 

"If I say I'm not playing this game, you'll all just deny that there's 
any game," Angel said slowly, thoughtfully. 

"What game?" Wesley asked. Gunn choked slightly, but kept his mouth shut. 

"The 'try to convince Angel he's still in Hell' game. I've been going 
about this all wrong -- thinking that I was safe because I'm back home, 
away from Spike and Xander. But I should have realized everyone's in on it. 
Spike was calling to get the latest update, of course." He sounded 
terribly, terribly logical. And utterly insane. 

Gunn seriously considered taking a step backwards. Grabbing Wesley and 
running. But he knew Angel was only faking it, in order to get back at 
them all for messing with his mind. Except -- and he had to sometimes 
remind himself of this -- a two hundred and fifty year old vampire had a 
lot of experience to draw on, for the 'how to play mind games' 
event. Maybe he should grab Wesley and run to San Diego. 

"Angel?" Wesley had walked up and pulled on Angel's pants leg. Stared 
up at him, and Gunn wondered if he thought the eyes thing would counter 
Angelus' decision to show them who was boss. 

Angel looked down, and his logical, insane, thoughtful expression didn't 
change. "Yes?" 

Wesley pointed to his elbow. "I've got a boo-boo." Which was true -- 
there was even a glow-in-the-dark band-aid on it. Angel was crouching, 
halfway down towards Wesley's elbow, his face wiped clear of everything 
except concern -- when he stopped, and cursed. At least Gunn thought it 
was a curse, as it wasn't in English. Wesley laughed. "Evil vampire, nyah 
nyah!" He stuck his tongue out at Angel, and Angel, who had been glaring 
at him, laughed. 

"Heh, you got me, Wes," Angel said. Then he stooped down and picked 
Wesley up. The logical, insane look was back. Gunn peered at him, trying 
to decide whether there needed to be comments about someone's bipolar 
undead ass getting staked if anything bad happened to Wes while Angel was 
holding him. But Angel just smiled at Wesley, and asked, "Hey -- you wanna 
watch cartoons after dinner? They're having a Thundercats marathon." 

Wesley gave him a disgusted look. "As if I'd watch trash like that. 
Besides, you're going out to a movie with Lorn after dinner." 

Angel and the Host both replied with, "Excuse me?" 

"Casablanca's playing at the Regal Cinema on Lower Sunset. Eight-thirty. 
Tickets are on Cordelia's desk," Wesley said smugly. "Now take me into the 
dining room, please. It's my turn to help set the table." 

Angel and Lorn exchanged helpless looks, while Gunn put a hand over his 
face, attempting to hide his own look of overwhelming pride. "Just how long 
have you been planning this, you... Bad Seed," Angel asked. 

Wesley looked like he was about to go into serious pout-mode, then he 
laughed. "The specific movie? Since Monday. You two going to one? Oh... 
years. Lots and lots of years." Gunn was impressed by the guy's daring. To 
say that to Angel, to his face -- while Angel was *holding* him...spoke 
either of Wesley's stupidity, or great faith in his ability to look too 
cute to kill. 

"That would imply you were setting us up when you and I started sleeping 
together," Lorn pointed out, and Gunn couldn't tell if he therefore didn't 
believe Wesley, or was amused, or...what. The Host sounded casual enough 
to have been talking about sporting events he knew nothing about. 

"Why do you think I wanted to know if you liked--" Wesley stopped, and 
tried to look down his nose at the hand covering his mouth. 

"Since I don't like Casablanca, why don't you and Gunn use the tickets?" 
Angel asked. 

"*I* like Casablanca," Lorn said. 

Angel just opened his mouth, then closed it. "Er," he finally said. 

Wesley tapped on Gunn's hand. Gunn didn't move it. Wesley raised an 
eyebrow. Gunn left his hand where it was. Wesley pushed his hand away, and 
said to Angel, "Be sure to buy popcorn with lots of salt, no 
butter-flavoured oil." 

"I like salt, what can I say?" Lorn shrugged. 

Angel turned his pained look on Gunn, who raised his hands and shook his 
head. "No way am I helping you get out of this one. After what you and 
Cordy pulled to get me and Wes to start talking to each other again after 
Wes wrecked my truck?" 

Wesley gaped at him, and looked hurt, shocked, and angry all at 
once. Which was how he always looked whenever Gunn mentioned the truck 
wreckage -- but seeing it on a four-year-old face was much, much 
worse. Gunn held his hand over Wesley's face. Aha. A new, working 
defense. Except for the tongue sliming his hand. 

"You mean the locking you in the bathroom together, or the spell to 
dissolve your clothes? Because the clothes thing was Cordy's idea," Angel said. 

"Uh-huh. Cordelia? Destroyed clothes? Try again, bubba." 

Cordelia's voice floated out of the dining room. "*Those* clothes? Trust 
me, they needed dissolving. You were all covered with Brujala Demon guts." 

Wesley chose that moment to bite Gunn's hand. Hard. Ish. As Gunn was 
sucking on his finger and glaring, Wes said, "Which demon I finally had to 
run over with that damned truck, because it kept *healing*. And is it my 
fault the thing exploded on contact?" 

"No, but it's your fault you were *in* the truck when it exploded. You 
coulda been killed. Then I would've been out a boyfriend *and* a good truck." 

"I think this has the makings of the perfect country and western song," 
the Host intervened with an air of thoughtfulness. "All it needs is 
something about somebody's mother..." 

"Your momma," Gunn obligingly replied. Then grinned. 

"I'm sorry-- have you *met* his mother?" Angel shook his head. "Not a 
country and western type." 

The Host nodded. "Can't see her ordering Numfarr to do the Dance of 
Achey-Breaky Heart, somehow." 

Angel was saved, suddenly, by the bell. Ring, rather, as the phone 
rang. Gunn felt it an unfair use of vampiric speed to drop Wesley into 
Lorn's arms and run to the phone before it could ring a second time. "Angel 
Investigations, we hope the..er, hello?"