Protocol, Part Eighteen

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

PART EIGHTEEN

Connor wondered if he should knock, then decided to just let himself into Angel's - correction, Angel and Wesley's suite.

After all, in theory there wasn't supposed to be anything interesting going on in there.

"Anybody home?" Connor called out, for the sake of courtesy.

"Back here," Wes replied.

Connor followed the sound of him until he found Wes in the area that passed for a study. "Hey."

"Hello, Connor," Wes said. He was busy with books and papers and notes. "Your father isn't here right now."

"I know," Connor said. "He's with Uncle Spike. Demon hunting. Told me to tell you he'd be back later."

"It's very kind of him to pass the message along," Wesley said. He put a pencil into his mouth, then used his newly free hands to pick up one pile of books and put it onto the floor. "Oar rot blit fim?"

Connor frowned. He was pretty sure that hadn't been English. "What?"

Wes removed the pencil from his mouth. "You're not with him?"

Connor heaved a sigh he'd been leveling on pretty much everyone in his path from the common area to here. "No. He said I had to stay behind. Said it was too dangerous."

"I'm sure your father knows what's best."

"You're not supposed to agree with him," Connor said.

Wes gave him something like a smirk. "Actually, I am. Part of the job description. Unfortunately for you your father could elect to feed you nothing but tree bark for the rest of your days and I would be able to say nothing except 'I'm sure he knows what's best.'"

"Really?" Connor asked.

"Such is the way of a spouse," Wesley told him. He squatted down, sorting the books into new piles.

Connor peered over his shoulder. "What is all that?"

"It's what passes for organization in this fortress," Wesley said. He used his pencil to point at different sections. "Foodstuffs, budget, population, inventory of household supplies, and that big one over there is a mystery that has yet to become solved."

Connor took it all in, realizing he was looking at lists and ledgers. "Huh. Didn't know we had so much."

"No offense but in terms of organization I wasn't aware you had so little," Wesley said. "Charles wasn't joking when he said things were essentially catch as catch can."

"Dad's not real big on paperwork," Connor agreed.

"Hopefully with me around he shall never have to be," Wesley said. He looked up. "I'm sorry, did you need anything?"

"Nope," Connor said. He looked around for an empty chair, then dragged it over so he could sit. "Just giving you the message from Dad. Unless you want help?"

"The offer is appreciated but I think this is best left to me," Wesley said. He stood up again, turning his attention to a stack of paperwork. "I'm told my methods can be confusing to those who come in on them during the halfway point."

"Mind if I stay?" Connor asked.

"Not at all," Wesley said. "Do you mind if I keep working?"

"Nope," Connor said. He sat and watched for a few minutes. After a while no easy opening suggested itself, so he tried, "Boy, that spouse thing. Weird, huh?"

Wes gave a curious glance. "I suppose that depends upon one's point of view."

Connor sat forward. "Well, you know. All the rules and stuff. Gotta be a pain, right?"

"The rules for spouses are there for their husband's benefit," Wesley said, not looking up as he jotted notes down on paper. "It provides a clear cut method by which spouses may serve."

Connor tried again. "You don't find it annoying?"

"This is my life, Connor," Wesley said. "Do you find eating annoying? Do you find the English language annoying? The rules of my existence are as much a part of who and what I am as eating and speaking are to you."

"But you can't do anything," Connor said.

"I can serve your father," Wesley said. "That is the only thing I ever need to do."

"What if you want something?" Connor asked. He pointed out the teetering piles of disorganization. "Like a bigger desk?"

"I do not want things," Wesley said. "I am a spouse, not a burden."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Connor waved it off. "Sure, with the rules and all. But what about *really*? Don't you *really* want a new desk? Or something?"

Wes straightened up, turning to look at Connor with a frown on his face. "Why this sudden interest in my furniture needs?"

"No reason," Connor said. He attempted a nonchalant shrug. "Just, you know, talking. It doesn't *have* to be a desk."

"It's not a desk and it's not an anything," Wesley told him. "Connor, I am not allowed to want things. It is strictly forbidden."

"You're not allowed to want things around my *Dad*," Connor said. "But you could theoretically want things around me, right? And then if I just so happened to mention it *to* Dad then - "

"Connor, did your father put you up to this?"

Connor adopted an innocent look. "No?"

"Why?"

"He paid me," Connor confessed.

Wes actually smiled at that. "Why did your father put you up to this, Connor?"

"Oh," Connor said. "He figured you wanted stuff. Maybe you'd say something to me if you couldn't say it to him."

"I'm not allowed to want anything," Wesley said.

"Dad says it's okay for you to want stuff," Connor said. Then inspiration struck. "He told me to tell you that you *have* to say if you want stuff."

"It doesn't work that way," Wesley said. "I accept orders directly from his lips and no other method."

"Rules again?" Connor asked.

"Rules again," Wesley confirmed. He turned back to his work.

"So do they have rules for everything?" Connor asked.

"Close to," Wesley said. "Rules of dress, rules of speaking, rules of conduct, rules of posture, rules of manners, rules regarding which way I sit in a chair, rules regarding what outfits I am allowed to wear on certain occasions, rules which specify how I might serve your father at meals, in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening, in the middle of the night, rules which dictate what I am to do during those times when I've been given nothing to do, rules which shape the way I am allowed to use all the training I've had about pleasing your father in bed - the list goes on."

"How do you even *remember* that?" Connor asked.

"A lifetime of lessons," Wesley said. "From the cradle until now I have done nothing except learn how I can make your father happy."

"What if you don't want to make him happy?" Connor asked.

"According to the rules that is never an option," Wesley said. He gave Connor a reassuring look. "But I do. Your father is a good man, and he's been very kind to me. I do want to make him happy. At least as best as I am able."

"He likes you," Connor said.

Wes actually smiled at that. "Really?"

Connor nodded. "He talks stupid when he talks about you. He only does that when he likes people."

"I'll take that as the compliment that it's intended to be, then," Wesley said. He tilted his head curiously. "Does that bother you?"

"You and Dad?" Connor shrugged. "Nah."

"Are you certain?" Wesley asked. He gave a wry smile. "I've had entire lessons about dealing with the issue of being a spouse to someone who had others before me. If you don't like that I am here and your mother is not, now would certainly be as good a time as any to find out if my professors knew what they were talking about."

"I'm good," Connor said. "I mean - it'd be nice if my mom was here, but she's been gone my whole life. Dad could use somebody."

"I hope I can be someone who can make him happy then," Wesley said.

"Could you be someone who distracts him from me?" Connor asked. "It'd be nice to go on a mission without him freaking out about it."

"I’m afraid I can't help you there," Wesley said. "My duty is to him. Which means that I'm sure - "

" - my father knows what he's doing," Connor finished for him. He sighed, slumping back in his chair. "Oh well."

"Sorry," Wes said.

"It's okay," Connor said. "I'm sure he'll let me see the outside again *eventually*."

Wes looked up at that. "Ang - my Lord punishes you by locking you away?"

Connor frowned. "Well he grounds me, is that what you're talking about?"

Wes didn't look certain. "Ground…?"

"Yeah," Connor said. "Can't leave the fortress until he says so. Grounded."

"Oh," Wes said. "So it isn't that he - ah. I see."

Except it didn't sound like Wes saw it at all. "You sure?"

"Yes, quite," Wesley said. His hands were busy with paperwork again.

Connor wondered if maybe they were finding a common ground to bond with - no pun intended. "Your dad do that to you too?"

"Hmm?" Wes said, not looking up.

"Ground you."

"I'm actually not familiar with the practice," Wesley said. "I've been under the rule of the Council my entire life. Their methods differ."

"Oh yeah?" Connor asked. "How?"

"Well for starters I wouldn't be allowed to go demon hunting in the first place," Wesley said, flashing Connor a quick grin.

"Too bad," Connor said. "It's fun."

"I'm sure it is," Wesley said. "But that is not my area. I am to serve your father. I can't do that if I am dead."

"But you guys had demons, right?" Connor asked. "Dad said the Council houses were getting creamed."

Wes didn't look happy at the memory of that. "We do. They did. But it is the role of others to do the fighting. Spouses do not."

"Who protects you?" Connor asked.

"Your father now," Wesley said. "And prior to marriage it was my father. He was responsible for me until such time as someone claimed me."

"So your dad wasn't a spouse?" Connor asked.

Wes snorted. "No."

"Was your mom?"

"I have to remind myself to go over these figures with Charles at the next chance I get," Wes said, writing more notes down on the paperwork. "I feel certain these numbers don't add up."

"Sorry if I said something wrong," Connor offered.

If Wes was going to say something, it was interrupted by a knock at the outer door.

"I got it," Connor said. He reached the door just as one of the maids started to open it. "Hey, Mrs. Grieves."

The older woman bobbed a quick curtsey. "Young master."

"Everything okay?" Connor asked.

Mrs. Grieves held out a tray with an envelope on it. "A message for his highness."

"I'll give it to him," Connor promised. "Thanks."

Mrs.Grieves gave another bob before leaving. "M'lord."

Connor turned the envelope over in his hands, then brought it back to Wesley. "Here. For you. Looks like it's from England."

Wes immediately brightened up, abandoning his work to take it. "Wonderful. It'll be from my friends. I thought my first letter must have gotten to them by now."

"Guess so," Connor said. He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the door. "Want me to go?"

"What?" Wes asked, absently. He'd already torn the letter open. His eyes quickly scanned the page.

Connor couldn't see the words, but he watched as Wes's face grew more and more serious. "Everything okay?" When Wes didn't respond, he tried again. "Wes?"

Connor had never seen Wes look so quiet. His face was the kind of stoic that Angel's got when he was upset, except instead of looking mad Wes looked like he'd just been kicked in the gut.

"Wesley?"

"What?" Wes looked up, blinking rapidly. He focused on Connor as though he couldn't remember who he was. "Oh. Yes. I'm sorry - you were saying something?"

"Everything okay?" Connor asked. "With your friends?"

"I - yes," Wesley said. "Yes. They're fine."

"Then what's wrong?" Connor asked.

"Nothing," Wesley said. He crumpled the letter up into a ball. "Nothing. That was Council business. Official… things. That's all."

"I thought you weren't with the Council anymore," Connor said.

"I'm not," Wesley said. He took the ball and deliberately placed it into the livingroom fire, watching as it burned. "I belong to your father. Obviously that letter was sent to me by mistake."

"You sure?" Connor asked.

"I really should get back to work," Wesley told him.

Connor felt certain Angel wouldn't be happy about this. "I could help if you wanted."

"I don't want anything," Wesley repeated. He bent down to reorganize his books again. "I am a spouse. I don't want anything, I don't need anything."

Connor shifted his weight back and forth. "I'll be around if you change your mind."

"Duly noted," Wes said, then didn't look up as Connor left.

***

It was past dinnertime when Angel got home. He returned to his suite as quietly as possible, hoping to surprise Wes.

He found the suite dark, and Wes curled up in one of the overstuffed leather chairs that was tucked into a corner of it.

"Wesley?"

Wes looked up, startled. Panic flashed in his eyes. "My Lord, I - I didn't know you were back."

"Just got in," Angel said. "Nobody knows that I'm back."

Wes moved to stand. "I'm sorry. I'll get dinner, and run a bath, and - "

"Hey," Angel put out a hand to stop him. He gave Wes a smile. "Could we maybe start with 'hi' first?"

"Hi," Wes repeated. The panic looked like it was in no danger of fading.

"Just figured going with the basics could be nice," Angel said.

"I'm sorry, my Lord," Wes said. "I'll try to do better."

"Wasn't scolding you," Angel said. "Just meant it's okay. I don't need dinner or a bath or any of that. Just saying hi is nice."

"Hi," Wes said again. Angel could hear the tripping of his heart.

"What happened?" Angel asked.

"My Lord?"

"Why are you upset?"

"My Lord," Wes spoke the words like he was forcing them past his lips, "I am all right. Nothing is wrong. Please, tell me how I can serve you."

Angel frowned. "Do you think I'm mad at you?"

"My Lord," Wes said again. "I do not feel unhappiness, I do not feel need. I - I cannot speak any wants or wishes to you. With that in mind, *please tell me how I can serve you*."

Angel took a moment to weigh all that. He tried to fit it in with the puzzle pieces that were shaped like parts of Wes. "You'd be happier right now if you were doing what I told you?"

"I am always happy to do as my Lord wishes," Wesley said.

"You can't say a damned thing about why you're not okay?" Angel asked, keeping his voice low so Wes wouldn't flinch at the anger that underlied it. "I want that and the Council forbids you from serving me that way?"

"I'm sorry, my Lord," Wes said, his eyes wide like a deer in front of a predator. "I must abide by the rules."

"I hate those rules," Angel said. He moved forward, shifting Wes aside so they could share the same chair. Once comfortable, he pulled Wes into his arms. "Don't obey them. Obey *my* rules. Tell me how I can make you less afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Wesley told him.

"Unhappy then."

Wes's eyes squeezed shut. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

"Don't be," Angel told him. "Just be my spouse. That's all I want."

For some reason *that* made Wesley start to relax. "Thank you, my Lord."

Angel wondered if he'd ever understand the young man he was married to. "So what can we do?"

"Whatever my Lord wishes."

"That doesn't narrow it down much," Angel said. "I want to take care of you, can we do that?"

"My job is to take care of you, my Lord," Wesley said.

"Yeah, well, maybe you need a hobby," Angel said. He let go of Wes long enough to pick up a box he'd left on the floor. "Here. We can do this. I got this for you."

Wes stared at it. "My Lord?"

"It's a present," Angel said.

Now Wes looked up at him. "For who?"

The sheer innocence of the question made Angel want to hit people. He didn't know *who*, but he knew he wanted to hurt them. "For you."

Wes's long fingers caressed the corners and edges of the cardboard. "My Lord?"

"I got you a present," Angel repeated. "And just in case *this* is a thing let's just take it as an order that you have to open that box and you have to take out what's inside."

"You do not have to buy me gifts, my Lord," Wesley said.

"I don't, but I did," Angel said. He made an encouraging gesture. "Go on. I wanna know if you like it."

Carefully, as though a bomb might be inside, Wes opened the cover, then pried apart the tissue paper.

"Found it in a store after the demon thing," Angel said. "Thought maybe you'd like it."

Wes turned the ceramic teapot over in his hands. His eyes were wide, his lips were sealed.

Angel felt an ironic need to fill in the silences. "See, it's got pictures. There's a bird, and there's a kitten. And I thought, you know, with me *calling* you that and all…."

Still more silence from Wes.

"Not," Angel continued, "that I'd normally get that kind of thing for another *guy*, but since with us it was a thing… or kind of a thing, anyway, I thought… you know, maybe…"

Wes's fingertip traced the picture of the kitten as it attempted to climb a tree.

Angel deflated a little. "Spike said it was ugly."

"Spike doesn't know what he's talking about."

Angel blinked at the sudden noise. "Really?"

Wes looked up at him. "My Lord, it is the most wonderful thing I could possibly imagine."

"Wes," Angel said, "let's be honest here, it *is* some pretty bad artwork."

"The artwork doesn't matter," Wesley said.

"I could get you a better one," Angel offered.

Wes clutched the teapot protectively. "My Lord, such a thing is not necessary."

"You really like it?" Angel asked. "True answer, not Council answer?"

Wes nodded. "I really do."

"Hey, whaddya know?" Angel said. "I do things right."

"You always do things right," Wesley said. Then, more honestly, he added, "You've done a great many things right."

"I'm trying to learn," Angel told him.

There was a long moment of silence. "Do I?" Wes finally asked, so quiet Angel had to strain to hear him.

"Do you what?" Angel asked.

Wes's voice got softer still. "Do things right?"

Angel wondered how to answer that in a language Wes would hear. Finally he settled on, "I wouldn't call you my spouse if you didn't."

And damned if Angel knew why, but that seemed to be the answer Wes was looking for.