Protocol, Part Two

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

PART TWO

"If he hates me that much," Wesley said, not bothering with a preamble as he stormed his way into his private apartment, "why didn't he just kill me himself and replace me with a dog? Then he could stand around and tell all his friends how much he adores *that* Wesley because even though it occasionally vomits half-digested owls onto the carpet at least *it* doesn't humiliate him nearly as much as the child he wished he never had!"

"Have you been drinking already?" Lorne asked.

"No," Wesley said.

"We'll fix that," Lorne promised. He went over to the bar and started making noise with bottles and glasses.

"I've been pledged," Wesley told him, then noticed how ready Lorne was with the need to make drinks. "Which you knew."

Lorne nodded. "Got the memo from downstairs while you were getting it from up."

As if on cue, Andrew appeared with his arms full of clothing. "So are we packing the turtlenecks or not? I can't tell if it's a wise precaution or an insult to his culture."

"He doesn't *have* a culture," Wesley snapped. "He's a vampire. An animal. His culture is death. I doubt a fold of fabric is going to stand in his way."

"Why don't we hold off on that until after his majesty is asleep?" Lorne suggested. Done at the bar, he pressed a tumbler filled with strong-smelling alcohol into Wesley's hands. "Here. Drink it all, the Valium's at the bottom."

Wesley couldn't tell if Lorne was joking and neither did he care. He took in a few deep swallows, grimacing as the liquid burned down his throat.

Without a task to distract him, Andrew was at a loss for something to do. "You'll make history," he said, trying to be comforting.

"I'll *be* history," Wesley told him. He slumped down into a chair. In the back of his head he imagined his father's voice, scolding him for being petulant. He downed more of the alcohol, trying to drown it out. "Dead within a week."

"No, no," Lorne said, coming forward. "Don't do that. You'll get wrinkles."

"Considering I am about to face a future were my neck might be severed in half," Wesley said, "I highly doubt it is going to matter whether or not I have gotten one or two crow's-feet."

"I meant your shirt," Lorne said. He tugged at the sleeve, encouraging Wesley to get out of it. "Sit like that and it'll start looking like a Shar-Pei. And you know how I hate to see bad things happen to good fabrics."

Wesley unbuttoned the shirt and handed it over. Andrew supplied him with a light sweater to change into.

"I don't think they cut heads off to drink from people," Andrew said. "It sounds wasteful. Maybe he'll just bite?" Wesley gave him a dour look, but Andrew tried to continue on positive ground. "I bet a little Vitamin E cream would do wonders for the scarring."

"Maybe he won't bite at all," Lorne said, much better than Andrew at the soothing falsehoods. "Scuttlebutt is he only drinks from animals."

"Wouldn't humans fall into that category from a vampire's point of view?" Wesley asked.

Andrew perched himself on the edge of the ottoman. "I think it's very brave."

"It's not brave, Andrew," Wesley sighed. "I don't have a choice."

"I know," Andrew said. "But - you could kill yourself. You know, before you got there."

"I'd only damn some other poor fool to take my place," Wesley said. He contemplated the liquid that remained in his glass, wondering if he'd like a refill. "Assuming this vampire would trust another one of us after such a stunt. And much as I hate to say it we do need what he's offering."

Lorne took the glass from his hands and poured more scotch into it. "I don't think he drinks from humans."

"What *do* they do?" Wesley asked. He offered the question up to the universe at large. "I've been trained to please all sorts of companions from every part of the world, but not *once* have I been told what to do with a vampire. Other than stake them. I doubt that's what he's expecting of me on the wedding night."

"Wedding night should be fairly standard," Lorne told him, handing the drink back. "Haven't heard anyone say the parts work differently."

Wesley had a sudden nightmarish image of a cock sprouting fangs. He shuddered and decided it was a paranoia best kept to himself. "Do they?" he asked instead. "Work similarly?"

"With this vampire they do," Andrew assured him. "He has a child."

"If he's old enough I'm sure he's made several," Wesley said. "Father said he even has a grandchild who also has a soul. Runs in the bloodline, apparently."

"I don't know about that," Andrew said, wrinkling his nose. "But this isn't a normal offspring. They say - " and here Andrew paused dramatically " - the child was *born*."

They've been through this before. Wesley knew to turn to Lorne for the shortened version.

"Apparently your hubby to be has a true and proper heir," Lorne told him. "Nobody knows how that happened either."

Wesley started to joke about his husband being a man of mystery, then stopped himself when he remembered his husband wasn't even a man.

Andrew and Lorne exchanged worried looked. "Sire?" Andrew asked.

"You imagine," Wesley said, looking at nothing in particular, "what it will be like. You learn your lessons and do your best and always in the back of your head you remember it is a duty. A responsibility. An honor. You entertain the idea that some form of true pleasure might come of it, but you always accept that it probably will not. Your happiness is your sacrifice. Your *self* is your sacrifice. You do it because it is what you are born to."

Lorne stepped forward, offering a comforting hand. "Maybe we should - "

"A monster," Wesley said. He looked up at Lorne. "A literal monster, in body and - Lord, he even has a soul. Never in my life did I imagine something so horrible. What is it like, do you think? How does he take his pleasures? Will he drink from me? Torture me?" There's a new, even more terrifying thought. "*Turn* me?"

"No," Lorne said at once. "No. It's not in the deal. The Council made sure of *that*."

Wesley felt numb, but he tried to focus on the logic of this. "Yes. Yes. Of course. If I were turned I wouldn't be - the bonds wouldn't - of course - "

"Finish," Lorne told him, motioning him to take the rest of his drink.

Andrew again tried to find the silver lining. "Even if he does want to maim or torture you once you follow the protocols you'll probably end up liking it anyway."

There was a long, cold silence.

Andrew had the grace to look humiliated. "Or… maybe that's what was bothering you."

"There are a great many things which are bothering me," Wesley told him, feeling a sort of mercy for the younger man. He emptied his glass, then wondered how much of the numbness is stemming from it. "Lorne, if you truly did put a tranquilizer of some kind in this I may kiss you outright."

Lorne looked uncomfortable. "Perhaps we shouldn't joke about that where the walls might have Big Daddy's ears?"

Wesley frowned, then understood. "It isn't your fault."

"I can't have *helped*."

"As though my father would have saved me if I *hadn't* befriended a demon?" Wesley asked. "He would have done it regardless, that I promise you."

"We could talk about something else?" Andrew offered.

Wesley thought about it, then shook his head. "No. This is my assignment. It may be to a monster, but…" it took a moment for him to find the bravado he was attempting to achieve with his words. "I'll do my part. Tell me what you know about it… him."

"He's been married before," Lorne said. He started folding up clothes to have something to do with his hands. "To another vampire. Female. She's the one who gave him the kid."

"Is she - " Wesley didn't know the proper term " - dead? In the Council-approved sense?"

"The legend is that she died while giving birth to the son," Andrew said.

"There's a legend?"

"There's actually a few," Andrew told him. "But that seems to be one thing most of them agree on."

"A son," Wesley said. Then realized. "Oh God, I'll be a step-parent. How old is he? More importantly, *what* is he?"

Lorne shrugged. "Nobody knows. Apparently Papa Bear is real protective of the young'un."

"I suppose I would be too, in his place," Wesley mused.

"They say it happened over a decade ago," Andrew offered. "Maybe more."

"Step-parent to a teenager of indeterminate species," Wesley said. "That certainly answers the question of how on earth this could possibly be worse."

Lorne had his diplomacy face on. "There's actually a few legends about your hubby. Not all of them nice."

The cold feeling was back in Wesley's stomach. "He's a vampire. I can't imagine there are any stories about him which are particularly nice."

"Some are less friendly than others," Lorne warned.

Wesley didn't like this caginess. "Tell me."

"Your majesty - "

"*Tell me*."

There was a look of fellow-feeling between his two bodymen, then Andrew took the bullet for both of them. "There is a legend of the vampire known as the Scourge of - "

Wesley was out of his chair before Andrew could even finish. "No."

"Sire - "

"*No*."

"I tried to find someone to debunk it," Lorne told him. "Double and triple checked and everything. Couldn't find a one. Everybody said your hus - ah, said that *he* is the exact same guy."

"The Scourge of Europe is a legend!" Wesley said. "A tale to frighten disobedient children! There is no proof! There is no evidence that he ever existed!"

"None that survived," Andrew said, quietly.

Wesley shook his head. "No."

"No, there was," Andrew said. "It was destroyed in the fire of - "

"*This is not happening!*"

"He admitted it," Lorne told him, ending the silence that rang out. "As part of the negotiations with the Council. He admitted it."

"Lies," Wesley said. "A vampire trying to raise his own standing. How many have claimed to be Ruthven, Carmilla, or Varney?"

"Mr. Giles did spells," Andrew reminded him.

"And yet he - " Wesley couldn't finish the sentence, unable to determine if he was shocked more that Rupert would still make the recommendation, or that his father would still willingly sell his son into it.

"He may be a little off the beaten path," Lorne said, speaking about Rupert now, "but I don't think he'd agree to any of this if he didn't think it was a good idea."

"Why not?" Wesley asked. "It's not as though he has any children."

Andrew looked stricken. His crush on Rupert was the worst-kept secret amongst the three of them. "I think his counsel - with due respect, I think - "

"Not now," Lorne told him, gently.

Wesley couldn't be roused to find pity for his servant. Instead he asked. "What's his name?"

"Who?" Lorne asked.

"*Him*," Wesley said. "I've heard all the legends, but none of them ever mention his name."

"Angelus," Andrew said, staring down at his shoes. "His name is Angelus."

"Oh good," Wesley said. "For when I was a child I always prayed that my future husband would be named ironically. In fact it was right up there on the list with the part where he was the walking dead!"

Andrew flinched. "It's not my fault."

Lorne attempted to draw him back from the brink of his snappish hysteria. "Majesty - "

Wesley didn't listen to him. "I need air," he announced, and went out onto his balcony.

***

There was a hum of insects in the air when Lorne joined him moments later. This time he pressed a cool glass of water into Wesley's hands.

Wesley sipped it, looking out over the land that surrounded his family's property. "Sunlight. I only just realized - he can't live in sunlight. That means I probably won't either."

"I don't think it's contagious," Lorne said.

"I am to be his companion," Wesley said. "My duty is to him. If he does not venture into light then neither can I."

"Maybe you can sneak off when he's taking a nap?" Lorne suggested.

Wesley frowned, picturing that. "Do they sleep? Lord, so many centuries killing them and we know absolutely nothing about them. Coffins, isn't it? Cemeteries and coffins. I won't have a marital bed, it will be a tomb. Perhaps some pine box, shutting us both in there as - "

Lorne squeezed Wesley's arm, offering him quiet comfort as his claustrophobia made him gasp. "They're not all found in coffins. And rumor said this one likes his creature comforts."

"Very apt, I suppose," Wesley said. He drank more of his water, then asked, "What aren't you telling me?"

"We can talk about it later."

Wesley looked at him. "Lorne, what aren't you telling me?"

Lorne pursed his lips, then gave up the rest. "We're not coming with you."

Wesley couldn't process this. "You're joking."

"Daddy's orders," Lorne said. "You go. Andrew and I stay."

Wesley found he had no more shock to give. "He would do that, wouldn't he? Deny me the only things that might somehow make the whole thing palatable. Did he bother to give a reason?"

Lorne shook his head. "All they said was it wasn't in the contract."

"Of course not," Wesley said. He rested his elbows on the railing, memorizing the view that he knew he was seeing for the last time.

"You could sing," Lorne offered. "I could try to tell you how it works out."

Wesley shook his head. "No."

"Not even a little?"

"I'd rather have the pale comfort of uncertainty," Wesley said, "than the confirmation of my doom."

Lorne nodded, accepting that. "I'm sorry. I'd go if I could. You know that."

"Better you stay here," Wesley said. "Try to attach yourself to someone sympathetic to your cause. Rupert, perhaps. He might find work for you."

"Is there anything we can do?" Lorne asked.

Wesley nodded, then called out, "Andrew?"

The younger man was already standing in the doorway. "Yes?"

Wesley looked at him, then tried to convey his apology in his expression and in his words. "When you make the potion, make it strong."

Andrew hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want to do it yourself?"

"You're better at it than I," Wesley said. "And I need it to be powerful. When I take it, I need to forget everything I was, and why this ever mattered to me." It was gallows humor, but it's the best he could come up with. "At least that way I'll die happy."

No one found it particularly funny, and their remaining conversations were about nothing important at all.