Protocol, Part Thirty-Seven

[thebratqueen]

Previous parts can be found here.

PART THIRTY-SEVEN

Wes's demeanor immediately became a brittle façade of non-emotion. "No, my Lord."

Angel decided lunch could wait. He tore the envelope open, then unfolded the paper inside. "Dear Sire, Lordship, and Most Respectful... Eminence?" Angel looked up. "Okay, I know I'm selling this king thing on a strong handshake and a lot of innate charisma, but did I become a cardinal and nobody told me?"

"That's not a Council letter," Wesley said.

Angel checked the envelope. "Looks like their seal."

"It's *not* - " Wes started, then corrected himself. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I do not question your powers of observation, only the provenance of the item you are holding. No proper member of the Council would fail to know the correct way to address someone of your standing."

"I'm guessing they'd know the right way to address a cardinal too," Angel said, "since respect*ful* isn't the word they're looking for."

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

"Of course me being a cardinal - could get interesting," Angel said. "Funny too, if you've got that kind of sense of humor."

Wes pressed his lips together, his expression too ambiguous for Angel to figure out. "As you say, my Lord."

Angel tilted his head. "Just out of curiosity, what *is* the - "

"Your majesty."

"Take your time, think about it," Angel sank his weight back down into his chair. "You know, I don't think *anybody* around here calls me that."

"They should," Wesley said, and Angel wondered if this was the brisk, commanding tone of someone who'd actually been raised to know what being royalty meant. "My Lord, if I could see the letter it would be possible for me to tell you - "

Angel handed it over. "You don't need to think up some spouse lie about it, Wes. If you want to see it, you can see it."

"It's my job, my Lord," Wes said, the words mostly lost to a mutter as his attention was drawn to the page. His blue eyes quickly scanned the front, then just as quickly turned to the back. Once there, a look of recognition flashed across his face.

"Somebody we know?" Angel asked.

Wes had turned back to the front of the letter, this time reading it in earnest.

Angel sat forward. "Wes?"

"I… " Wes blinked, focusing on Angel again. "I'm sorry, my Lord. This… this isn't from a *proper* member of the Council, but it is a Council member."

"I'm sure that's a fine line of difference that would make tons of sense to me if I was, I dunno, you," Angel said. "No offense."

"None taken, my Lord," Wesley perched on the edge of Angel's desk. Hieronymus moved down from his spot on Wesley's shoulder to sit on Wesley's lap. "A proper Council member is someone who has been raised within the Council environment. Someone who has been trained to know the etiquette and the - "

"Protocols," Angel guessed.

"Something like that, yes, my Lord," Wesley said. "They are someone with a history, and an education."

"And this," Angel gestured towards the letter, "is not one of those people."

Wesley shook his head. "No, my Lord. It is from someone who is connected to the Council through other means. Much like you, my Lord."

It took Angel a minute to fit Wesley's words into his mental picture of himself. "Oh, because I'm married to you, right?"

"Correct, my Lord," Wesley said.

"Never thought of myself as being part of the Council," Angel said.

"I'm sure the Council finds a bit of culture shock at that as well," Wesley said. "My Lord being - "

"A nasty, evil, undead, sadistic murderer?"

"- unique," Wesley finished.

"It's because I'm Irish, right?"

That actually earned him a slight smile from Wes. "You're the kindest nasty, evil, undead, sadistic Irishman I've ever known."

"You need to meet more Irishmen," Angel replied. "So what's the letter about?"

Wes folded the letter back down into his lap. Hieronymus batted at it, and attempted to eat one of the corners. "My Lord is being asked…. There is a *minor* lord. Sir Randolph Gregory. He is calling upon you to do your duty."

Angel frowned. "He wants me to enlist?"

"What?" Angel was treated to the sight of Wesley being utterly perplexed. "Oh. No, my Lord. He is calling upon you to fulfill your obligations as my husband. He will be passing through California, and is requesting that you grant him safety and lodging for the duration of his stay."

"That it?" Angel asked. "Hell, I can make sure he's got safety all the way through Nevada if he likes. Not sure what the big - "

"He is affiliated with the Council, my Lord," Wes said.

Angel studied him, trying to catch every hint of meaning from the shuttered expression on Wes's face. "That's not good?"

"That's… something which could be problematic," Wesley said.

Angel zeroed in on something that was hidden in the back of Wes's eyes. "Do you know this guy?"

"My Lord would be served well to remember that he outranks his guest," Wesley said. "Protocols must be observed, but in the end you *are* greater than he."

Angel decided to take whatever help Wes was offering. "I don't know the protocols."

"I can guide you," Wesley said. He stood up, scooping Hieronymus into one hand so the kitten did not fall. "It would be my pleasure to do so, my Lord."

"Is there something I should know about?" Angel asked.

"Yes," Wesley said, though Angel wasn't sure if this was really an answer, "he's also bringing his wife."

***

"Lied right to your face, did he?"

Angel shook his head. "No. Not exactly."

"Just didn't tell the truth either," Spike guessed. They were in the suite again, alone except for the light from the living room fireplace.

"I think he did," Angel said. He ran the conversation with Wesley over and over in his mind. He'd read the letter eight times already. It said what Wesley said it did, only with poor handwriting and a lot of words misspelled. "I think he said as much as he *could* say."

"Thought it was against the rules, him lying to you," Spike said.

"It is," Angel said. "He's got to tell me the truth about everything, except…"

Spike glanced at him when Angel trailed off. "Except?"

Angel pondered this new nugget of thought. It didn't sit well in his stomach. "Except when something's bothering him."

"Ah," Spike said.

***

Protocol for not-really-Council-but-still-Council guests apparently involved a lot of prep work. Or at least that was the way that Wesley handled it. There were rooms to set up, special meals to order to be prepared, schedules to organize.

Wes attacked it all like a general readying for war. Which made Angel wonder if this was going to *be* a war, but he tried to comfort himself by believing that if it was going to be that bad, Wes would say something.

Angel figured he'd stay in the background, and wait for whatever Wes needed. Not that he thought Wes would ask, but Angel liked to think he was getting good at reading the signs. Or some of the signs, at least.

No panic attacks came, which surprised the Hell out of Angel. He didn't know why he thought Wes would have some, but gut instinct said that one was probably rolling up its sleeves and preparing to grab hold. Angel found himself wide awake at night, watching Wes carefully and waiting for the moment when Wes's lungs seized.

They didn't. Which made Angel wonder if he'd been incorrect on guessing what might cause an attack, or if Wesley was just very good at being able to clamp one down during a time of crisis.

Which naturally made Angel wonder why this was a time of crisis.

***

"Make the cat talk."

"Angel," Willow said, her scolding voice managing to turn his name into something that sounded not unlike a song. "I told you, no talking kitties. It's sick and wrong. Also I don't know how to do it."

"He talks to the cat," Angel said. "I want the cat to talk to me."

"I could try to find a spell that translates meows," Willow said, "except Hieronymus doesn't really meow like a normal cat, and even if he did I don't think you'd get a lot of insight out of 'pet me, feed me, skritch behind my ears'."

"Skritch?" Angel asked.

"It's a cat thing, you wouldn't understand," Willow told him.

"I want to know what's wrong with Wesley," Angel said.

"I'm afraid you're stuck with asking him," Willow said.

"He won't tell me," Angel said.

"Then it sounds like you're just stuck," Willow said, but she patted his hand in a comforting manner.

***

Angel brooded on it.

He was used to brooding, so it was with emotional muscles strengthened from years of practice that he swung his thoughts away from himself and onto his husband.

Wes wouldn't tell him. Wes would rather *die* before telling him. But Wes left hints sometimes, and Angel knew now that not every hint was dropped on purpose.

In the end Angel thought that maybe he could guess his way near to the problem, if not to the actual problem himself.

Then he thought that maybe he didn't need to know what the problem was as long as he knew the solution to it.

"I'd kill anyone who hurt you," Angel told Wes, announcing this with no segue whatsoever as they got ready for bed one night.

Wes paused in the unbuttoning of a shirt. "My Lord?"

"Anybody," Angel said. "Even if they just made you unhappy. You're mine. I'd protect you."

Various emotions flickered over Wesley's face. The one that triumphed over all of them was a dark-eyed smile. "Thank you, my Lord."

Angel didn't know if he could totally translate that version of the title, but he liked how it sounded all the same.

***

Sir Randolph Gregory turned out to be a man who looked pretty much like his handwriting suggested.

Angel didn't know what he expected, but the man who showed up to take his hospitality was definitely not it. There were a lot of things that got in the way of him and any mental picture of what a Lord, even a minor one, would look like.

Out of all of them Angel decided the thing that really did it was the ponytail. The slumped shoulders, the too-sharp nose, the wet/limp handshake, and - here Angel tried not to be too prejudiced but he just couldn't *help* himself - the fact that the guy was all of five-foot-four and maybe *maybe* a hundred pounds soaking wet really undercut Angel's anticipation that he was going to be meeting someone who would stare him down, rattle off something formal and very probably British, and make Angel feel as though the only way to reclaim any kind of hold over the room or his own masculinity was by hauling out the fangs and punching the guy right in the face.

Instead there was the wet/limp handshake. And an introduction of "Call me Randy."

Also the ponytail. Angel really couldn't get past the ponytail.

To his credit, Wes managed to deal with this a lot better than Angel did.

"A pleasure to see you, sir," Wesley said

"Your Lordship," Randy corrected.

Wes didn't even blink. "As my Lord's spouse, I will make sure that the staff here remembers that."

Curiosity got the better of Angel. "You don't have to call him - "

Wes's blue eyes met his. "I have only *one* Lord, my Lord."

Angel felt stupid. "Oh, yeah. Right."

"Whatever his Highness *wishes* to call me," Randy said, and Angel noted that Randy managed to get Wes's title right. "It's an honor and a joy to be here, and with *family*."

Angel thought to himself that he *had* family, and that he'd personally rank Xander higher on the list of members than he would Randy. But this was a Council thing, and Angel didn't want to damage something that was better left unbroken. "Glad I could help."

Randy attacked him with another one of those handshakes. "It's an especial honor to meet you, your royalness - "

"Majesty," Angel said, not really expecting it to make a difference.

"Of course," Randy said. His hand kept pumping Angel's up and down. "Forgive me. I meant no insult to you, who is certainly the most… shall we say *interesting* of the Council's new members?"

Angel finally took his hand back. He also gave in to the urge to wipe his own off on his pant leg. "Yeah, well, the whole Council's interesting if you ask me."

Randy laughed in the too-vigorous manner that Angel immediately pegged as the identifying cry of sycophants everywhere. "Too true, your majestic sire. Too true."

Angel decided he'd had enough of being the center of attention. He held his hand out to the woman standing behind Randy. "And this must be - "

"Zhanna, my wife," Randy said. He put his arm around her. She was taller than him, and had long blonde hair and dove-white skin. She wore dark red silks and satins that managed to echo the cut of Wesley's clothes in such a way that, even though she was in a dress and Wes was in a shirt and slacks, made it clear that yes, spouses did have a uniform.

"Nice to meet you," Angel said, still holding out his hand.

Randy laughed, gently guiding Angel's hand away in a gesture that, if it wasn't for his connection to the Council, would have easily resulted in Randy's fingers being broken off because even with the soul there were *some* things that Angel just didn't tolerate. "You'll have to forgive her, your royalness. Zhanna speaks no English."

"Oh," Angel said. "Well what *does* she speak?" Angel ducked his head, trying to meet the woman's downcast eyes. He offered her a friendly smile. "Does she understand that she's welcome?"

Zhanna's eyes flickered, but never looked up to his. She murmured something that was too soft for even a vampire to hear, but Angel thought he could peg the accent.

"No problem, I know Russian," Angel said. He switched over to it, his own accent slightly rusty after years of neglect. "Dear lady, it's a pleasure to -"

Randy laughed again, this time gently guiding his wife to stand behind him once more. "Your grace is too kind, but the effort is not necessary. I can translate, for anyone who needs to speak to her."

Angel frowned. "But I'm perfectly fluent in - "

"My Lord asked me to remind him about his meeting?" Wesley prompted.

There was no meeting, but the shock of Wes stepping into the conversation overpowered Angel's confusion about the lie. "What?"

Wesley gave what for Wes was a significant look, though not an obvious one. "My Lord asked me to remind him of such things, and to make sure that while he is unable to do so, that I take care of the protocols."

Angel caught the necessary keywords on the first try. "Yeah, that, right."

"You have to go?" Randy asked.

"My Lord has many things which he must attend to," Wesley said, "though of course he is loath to leave your company. He shall see you again tonight over dinner. In the meanwhile I can have a servant help to make you comfortable, while Zhanna and I take care of the final preparations in your suite."

Angel couldn't peg the keywords that time, but apparently Randy could and he wasn't too happy about them. "Actually, that's not necessary as - "

*Now* Wes had the prince voice on. "You are too kind to say so, sir, but of course here in my Lord's home we follow the protocols as the Council demands. I shall be happy to take Zhanna to your suite."

Randy flailed a bit. "Yeah, but - "

"Truly," Wes said, and if his expression wasn't the one his ancestors used when about to tell somebody that their heads were going to be cut off, Angel would eat a stake, "it's no trouble."

Randy deflated. "Great, thanks."

Wes waved a hand, gesturing for a servant to step forward. Angel noticed that Wes had picked one of the human ones. Anyone with a trace of demonic appearance was not to be seen. "Peter will be happy to assist you."

"Thanks," Randy said again, this time allowing himself to be lead off.

"Catch you later," Angel said, wishing Wes hadn't committed him to dinner but figuring there was no way to get out of it either.

Once Randy was gone, they were left with Zhanna standing there, her eyes still downcast.

Angel took a chance. "Okay, what in the Hell - "

"I'm sorry, my Lord," Wesley said, "but my Lord did ask for my assistance with observing the proper protocols."

"I'm not asking about that," Angel said. "I'm asking about - "

"My Lord," Wes said, his voice quiet but firm, "your meeting."

Angel shook his head. "I don't have - "

"My Lord," Wes said again, and this time when he met Angel's eyes there was a look of almost desperate pleading.

Angel frowned, liking the entire situation less and less. Then he realized Wes was begging him to shut up, and to trust him. "Okay, my meeting. But *our* meeting is where and when again?"

"Our suite," Wesley said, nodding to show that he understood what Angel was asking as well. "And as soon as I am done, my Lord, I promise."

"I trust you," Angel said, both for an answer and because he felt that needed to be spoken out loud. Then, because public gestures seemed to be the order of the day, he pressed a kiss to Wes's forehead. "I do."

"Thank you, my Lord," Wes sighed.