Protocol, Part Thirty-Five

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

PART THIRTY-FIVE

As far as Angel could tell, the cat was in love with Wesley.

Not that Angel could blame it. Wes was great. Smart, funny, attractive, brave, able to do that thing with his hands that - well, point being, Angel could see where the cat was coming from. Or at least an *angle* of it, at any rate. Hopefully he and the cat weren't coming from *exactly* the same place, as that had the potential to be complicated, and not a little disgusting.

But the *liking* Wes concept - that they seemed to be in agreement on.

If cats got lovesick, then Hieronymus was a kitten who wrote soppy poetry in his spare time. He followed Wesley everywhere, tiny paws scampering a blur across the floor as they attempted to keep up with Wes's bigger stride. When Wes stopped, the kitten stayed beside him, either amusing himself by playing with the cuff of Wesley's pant leg, or by curling up tightly around his foot and falling asleep, or by simply sitting there and staring up at Wesley as though he were God, and about to drop down a couple of tablets with some bullet points on them at any second.

When Wesley sat, Hieronymus sat with him, either on his lap, or on his chest, or on his shoulder, or even in the middle of whatever book Wes was trying to read. Once there, he would fold his paws under himself, close his eyes, and purr hard enough that his fur poofed out.

There were also gifts. Too small to catch actual mice, Hieronymus instead marched up to Wesley, tail held high, and made grand presentations of lost buttons, stray feathers that had escaped from the pillowcases, and even the occasional dust bunny. Wesley invariably responded to this with petting, words of praise, and often far more enthusiasm than he showed for anything that Angel had given him.

Which, by Angel's way of thinking, meant that as far as making Wesley happy went, either Hieronymus was very, very good at it, or Angel was very very bad.

Angel wasn't sure which answer he liked better.

***

"This is an *actual* cat, right?" Angel asked Willow, during a rare moment when Wes was elsewhere and the two of them were alone in the suite with only the kitten for company.

"Aren't you the *cutest* widdle thing," Willow cooed, dangling a string for Hieronymus to chase after. "Yes, you *are*."

Angel waved a hand in front of her face. "Willow?"

"What else *could* it be?" Willow asked.

"Speaking as one half of this witch/vampire conversation," Angel replied, "I'm thinking anything."

Willow lifted Hieronymus up, holding him high so that he and Angel could make eye contact. "He's a kitten, Angel. He's small, he's furry, he has a little pink tongue, and he's adorable. How exactly is that threatening to you?"

"Wes likes him," Angel muttered.

"What?" Willow asked.

"Nothing," Angel said.

***

The Hell of it was Wes *did* like the cat. As far as Angel could tell, he was absolutely thrilled by it. Whereas most people would've probably gone insane to have a cupcake-sized shadow constantly attached to them, Wes seemed to enjoy it. He petted him, played with him, fed him, and when Hieronymus's energy waned, scooped the kitten up into his pocket so he could fall asleep inside of it.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

***

"Only *you*," Spike declared.

"Shut up," Angel told him.

"*Only* you," Spike repeated, changing the emphasis around. "*Only* you. Only *you*."

"I heard you the first thousand times," Angel said.

"*Only* you," Spike said.

Angel hung his head in his hands. "It's not like I'm *proud* about it."

"And *I* am?" Spike asked. "I'm *related* to you."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"It's like I'm *tarnished* now," Spike said. "Marred by your inane, moronic.. .why do you even *tell* me these things?"

"Been asking myself that exact question," Angel replied.

"Wait," Xander frowned. "You're jealous of a *cat*?"

Angel glared at him. "I didn't say jealous."

"You said envy," Xander said. "Envy *is* jealousy. It is the exact same green-eyed monster that, apparently in your world, is shaped like a kitty."

"I hate you both," Angel said.

Xander rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Have you thought about getting a dog? It could symbolize your insecurity. Of course then when it starts humping everybody on the leg…"

"*Hate*," Angel said, "you *both*."

"I'm seeing you in a cocker spaniel," Xander held up his hands as though framing Angel's face in a picture. "Although if we're talking about your *ego* we might want to move into the Great Dane variety."

"I'm going to stake myself," Angel announced.

"Don't get my hopes up," Spike replied.

Angel gritted his teeth. "I am *not* jealous of a *cat*."

"You're only envious of one," Xander said.

"I'm *frustrated* by one," Angel sat forward, resting his elbows on the dining table. "I'm killing myself trying to make the slightest dent in all that training, trying to get Wes to *notice* me, maybe give me *something* that's real and it doesn't work. Not the talking, not the being together, not the gifts - thanks, by the way, for nothing with that flowers idea."

Xander shrugged. "He liked the greenhouse. I don't know why bouquet of wooing didn't cut it."

"And this *furball*," Angel continued, "comes along and gives him dirt, literal *dirt*, and Wes is thrilled with it. I don't get it."

"Maybe he's insane," Spike suggested.

"Wes is not insane," Angel said.

"Maybe he thinks the cat is cuter than you are," Xander said.

"I'm cute!" Angel said.

"Vampire," Xander reminded him.

"The cat's got fangs too," Angel said. "*And* claws. *And* - and you didn't actually mean that seriously. I knew that."

Xander patted him on the arm. "Of course you did."

"I'm still cute," Angel said.

"You could be the last vampire on earth and I still wouldn't care about your looks," Xander said. "You could be the last *man* on earth - the last *person*, the last - "

"The denials would go so much farther if you weren't having sex with my grandson," Angel pointed out.

"Why don't you think he likes you?" Spike asked.

"I think it's pretty obvious why Xander doesn't like me," Angel said.

Spike stretched out an arm and hit Angel over the head. "*Wesley*, ponce. Why d'you think your little wedded lad fancies the kitty over what you call looks and charm?"

"He just *does*," Angel said. "He spends all his time with him, he talks to him, he's happy whenever he's around, he'll do anything to make sure *it's* happy -"

"You're an idiot," Spike said.

"I was going for advice here beyond your usual comments," Angel said.

"Too bad," Spike gave a lazy shrug, "'cause that's all I'm giving out."

Angel slumped back in his chair. "Thanks."

***

It was late at night when Angel woke up for no reason whatsoever.

No, wait, there was a reason: Wes wasn't there.

Angel sat up. This wasn't good. Wes being up usually meant something was wrong, and Angel had learned it wasn't something that Wes should ever have to be alone for.

Angel got out of bed. His head felt woozy, and his legs weren't yet strong, but he could still slip on a bathrobe and walk to the door unaided. He'd go out, find Wes, and -

He stopped, his hand hovering above the doorknob.

Wes was on the other side, talking to someone.

No, Angel realized, not someone. Hieronymus.

Angel fisted his hand. He knew he shouldn't stay there. It was rude, intrusive, and crossed boundaries that he wanted to protect.

On the other hand, how often did he get to hear Wes while Wes was uncensored?

Angel sat down on the floor, his ear close to the crack of the closed door, and listened.

***

"I don't care," Wesley told the kitten. "You are my cat. You are part of my Lord's household. That means there is a certain image that you must project. That image does not, I assure you, include parading about with your ears turned inside-out."

"Ee!" Hieronymus said.

Wesley gently nudged Hieronymus's ears back into place. "That's entirely irrelevant. *You* may think it's fashionable, but others do not."

"Ah!" Hieronymus said.

"Perhaps when you're older you can become a trend setter," Wesley said. "But for now you are too young. You need to build a reputation before others will choose to follow you."

Hieronymus washed his face with a paw. "Ee-ah."

"I'm glad to see you're being mature about this," Wesley ran his fingers through the kitten's soft fur. "Perhaps tomorrow we'll discuss proper posture."

Done with washing, Hieronymus curled up against Wesley's chest. "Ah?"

"I know that it's not the same for your species," Wesley said, adjusting his position so the kitten wouldn't fall out of place, "but these things are important. Why I was about your age in human years when I knew how to sit at a formal dinner."

"Ee?" Hieronymus asked.

"We can try that for you if you'd like," Wesley said, "but that would depend on my Lord. After all, if you were to make a mistake it'd be his china that would be ruined."

Hieronymus reached up to butt his head against Wesley's chin. "Ee-ah."

"You're probably right," Wesley admitted, lowering his voice. "It's very likely he wouldn't get angry at such a thing. But all the same I would rather not risk it."

"Ah?" Hieronymus asked.

"Because he's already been kinder than I've deserved," Wesley explained. He rubbed Hieronymus's neck to take away any sting from his words. "By all rights he should have thrown you back into the storage rooms, or even had you killed. This is to say nothing of all the other liberties he keeps granting me. I've no idea if it's his generosity or ignorance but regardless of the cause I think caution is wise."

Hieronymus crawled higher to sit on his shoulder. "Ee-ah *ah*."

"Yes, he *is* kind," Wesley agreed. He settled further into the couch, sinking in to a spot that Angel had occupied earlier in the day. "But if he is that way to everyone then it means I am no exception." Wesley paused, thinking about that. He looked to Hieronymus for guidance. "Do you think he thinks me exceptional?"

Hieronymus stretched his head up to start licking Wesley's cheek. "Ee-ee-ee-ee."

Wesley smiled, pulling the kitten back down into his lap before the rough tongue could damage his skin. "Yes, I'm aware *you* think I am exceptional. But you are not my husband. It would be nice if my husband thought well of me."

There was a muffled sound from the bedroom. Wesley turned, his heart pounding. But the door did not open, and no other sound followed.

"Ee?" Hieronymus asked.

"Probably nothing," Wesley said, though he lowered his voice anyway. He motioned for Hieronymus to do the same. "We must be quiet. It wouldn't do to wake him."

Hieronymus sneezed. "Ah!"

"I'm well aware of your opinions on the subject," Wesley said. "But mine haven't changed."

Hieronymus glared at him. "*Ah!*"

"This is *exactly* what we've been talking about," Wesley said. "I *can't*. I'm allowed too much as it is. If word were to get out that I took advantage of - "

"Ah!"

Wesley folded his arms. "It *could* get out. You don't understand the Council. They have ways."

Hieronymus twisted around and began to lick his shoulder.

"I don't disagree with your assessment of them," Wesley said. "But the truth remains. They *are* powerful, they *do* have ways, and *any* failure on my part… It wouldn't do, all right?"

Hieronymus looked at him assessingly. After a moment he climbed up onto Wesley's hand. He turned around in circles before settling into a ball with his head resting on Wesley's wrist. "Ee. Ah."

Wesley stroked Hieronymus's fur. The kitten began to purr. "Thank you. I'd like *not* to be a failure. But doing and wishing are two entirely separate things."

"Ah."

"He's an important man," Wesley said. He wondered just when he'd grown comfortable thinking of Angel as a man, and not a vampire. "He deserves a spouse who gives his best. His best is *not* someone who - who wakes up thanks to things which aren't even nightmares."

Hieronymus opened one eye, looking at him balefully.

"It wasn't even a second!" Wesley defended himself. "It was barely a thought. Not even a half-thought at that. I hardly see why I should bother him over something so minor."

"*Ah*," Hieronymus said, closing his eye again.

Wesley sighed. "All right, yes… it *would* have been nice."

Hieronymus curled up tighter. "Ee," he said, as though that settled the matter.

"You don't understand," Wesley said. "I'm a *spouse*. We don't *do* these things. We serve. We live to make our wives or husbands happy. I have spent my *entire life* learning how to do that. If I were to ask *Angel* to in any way serve *me* - "

"That would, actually, make me happy."

Wesley jumped. Sheer instinct allowed him to catch Hieronymus before he tumbled to the floor. "My Lord."

"Sit," Angel told him. He limped over to the couch, tightening his bathrobe around him. He sat down with visible effort. "You should know that I was able to hear you."

Wesley's heart was thundering again. "I'm sorry, my Lord."

"No," Angel said, "*I* am. It's rude to eavesdrop."

"My Lord may do whatever he likes," Wesley said.

"I want you to have your privacy," Angel said. "You *should* have your privacy. I pretty much just violated that. I'm sorry."

Wesley shrugged. "My Lord, it doesn't matter. Whatever I have is yours."

"It matters to me," Angel said. "Why doesn't it matter to you?"

"I'm your spouse," Wesley said.

"So what?" Angel made a gesture of dismissal. "Connor's my son, but I'd be pissed at him if he spied on me."

"Fathers and sons are not husbands and spouses, my Lord," Wesley said, quietly.

Angel rubbed his eyes. "Well, I'm sorry. For whatever it's worth."

Wesley busied his hands by petting Hieronymus. "Thank you, my Lord."

"So you had a nightmare?" Angel asked.

Wesley shook his head. "No, my Lord."

Angel frowned. "I thought you weren't allowed to lie to me."

"I'm not," Wesley said, then corrected the ambiguity. "I'm not allowed to lie, nor am I lying to you. I didn't have a nightmare."

"Half a nightmare then?" Angel asked. "I heard you. Something was wrong."

Wesley chastised himself for not thinking of a vampire's hearing… then wondered if perhaps he *had* thought of it, and that's why he'd been talking to his cat in the first place. "It's nothing, my Lord. A flash memory. Sometimes I wake, thinking I see shadows in the room."

Angel looked around. "Nobody here but us."

Wesley nodded. "I know, my Lord."

"I'd protect you," Angel said. "If somebody was trying to hurt you, I'd protect you."

"I didn't want to wake you, my Lord," Wesley said.

"Vampire, Wes," the left side of Angel's mouth curled in a smile. "Not exactly against being up at night."

Wesley chuckled at that. "All right… true."

Angel held out a hand. "Come here."

Wesley immediately settled into Angel's arms. He sighed, feeling the strength of Angel around him. "Thank you."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Angel asked. "I could meow, if it'd help."

"Spouses are allowed more freedom of speech with their servants," Wesley said, answering Angel's unasked question. "I'm merely treating Hieronymus as if he were my bodyman."

Angel considered that. "Must be hard, with the lack of thumbs."

"He's not very good at picking out outfits for me either," Wesley said. "But small steps."

Angel petted Hieronymus with a clumsy hand. The kitten didn't seem to mind it. "So do you? Want to talk?"

"Some panic attacks don't last as long as others," Wesley said.

"You called it a memory."

Wesley was quiet for a moment. "Figure of speech, my Lord."

"For the record," Angel said, "I *do* think you're exceptional. So much so that I was jealous of a cat."

Wesley sat up, his eyebrows beetling together. "My Lord?"

"This would be something I'd rather not give a lot of details on," Angel said. "But… yeah. I was. Kind of."

"Why on earth would you be jealous of a cat?" Wesley asked, too surprised to remember to be polite about it.

"Because you talk to him," Angel said, "and not to me."

Wesley considered that. He ran his hand up and down the front of Angel's bathrobe, as though he could find answers by smoothing out the cloth.

Angel tilted his head to make eye contact with him. "Wes?"

"Sometimes when I'm sleeping I feel like I'm about to be grabbed by death," Wesley said, his voice quiet. "It's not a panic attack, and as I've never actually been grabbed by death it isn't a memory either. But… it is an emotion which reminds me of things that have happened to me."

Angel was the odd kind of calm that he became whenever he and Wesley had these conversations. "Can you tell me what those things were?"

Wesley felt as though he were about to do something horrible. Something which might not break the rules, but would certainly stretch them past a point of no return. "Not everyone has been as kind to me as you have, my Lord."

If anything, Angel grew calmer. "Are you happy here?"

"Yes," Wesley nodded, his hand clutching Angel's robe for emphasis. "Very much so. My - Angel, I'm very happy here, with you." Feeling daring, or perhaps as though the serious nature of his confession had gone on too long, he added, "Even if you aren't a kitten."

Angel caressed Wesley's cheek. "I *like* you. I'll protect you, promise."

Wesley leaned into the touch with all of his being. "Thank you, my Lord."

Apparently satisfied with that, Angel pulled Wesley close.

Wesley let his head rest against Angel's chest, closed his eyes, and savored the feeling of safety that lately only came when he was curled up in a vampire's arms.