There was no one waiting for him in Manchester, and he wasn't sure if that made him sad or relieved. He hailed a taxi and took it to the Wyndham-Pryce house. For a few minutes, he just stood outside, looking. His parent had moved here after he left home, and so it wasn't connected with any childhood memories. Just some holiday celebrations from Hell and those times in university when he had nowhere else to go. That time when he had been found in the library shagging the Dean's son...

The door opened, and he jumped. His mother was standing inside, watching him rather coldly.

"Are you going to stand there all day or come on in?"

Wesley picked up his suitcase and took a few hesitant steps towards the house. He stopped at the foot of the stairs, recognising a strange smell in the air. "Sulphur?"

"Your father has been doing magic again," Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce said, dismissing her husband with a gesture of her hand. "Do come in, it's getting cold in here."

He took the last steps and closed the door behind him. His mother turned her cheek up, expecting him to kiss it, and he obliged, then asked the compulsory question, "I hope you are well, mother?"

"Yes I am, thank you. Did you have a nice trip?"

"I did."

It was all as false as snow in June, but Wesley participated in the act with something resembling nostalgia. Other children had favourite fairy tales told over and over again. This had been his. So very "same procedure as last year", he knew it all by heart.

"So, where is Bess?" he asked.

"Upstairs. Apparently, she isn't feeling well." Her voice was sour. Small talk was over. "Of course, she never is when there's work to be done."

"Then I suppose I should go up there. To congratulate her." He waited for his mother to say something. When she didn't, he put his suitcase down. Catching her scowl, he picked it up again. "Just show me where I can put my luggage."

"Your old room is made up," she replied, walking ahead of him up the stairs. He followed her, a barely audible sigh escaping his lips. His "old room" was actually more of a guest room since he had never slept there more than necessary, and if there were any changes he didn't register them, only dropped his luggage and headed over the hall to Bess. His mother trailed his steps, and he had to restrain himself not to turn around and tell her to get lost.

He stopped in front of Bess's door, knocking on it, but before he got an answer, his mother walked right by him, opened the door and stepped inside.

"Bess, get up. Wesley has arrived."

A tousled, dark head rose from the pillows. "Thank you, mother."

The older woman remained in the doorway, and Bess repeated, with somewhat more force, "*Thank* you, mother."

"There's no need to get rude," Mrs. Wyndham-Pryce snapped. "Dinner is in two hours, I expect you to show up."

With this, she shut the door behind her, and Bess and Wesley both sighed in relief. Wesley finally had the opportunity to take a good look at his sister, and he was startled to find she didn't look well at all. He hadn't doubted his mother's claim that Bess was faking an illness to get out of her duties. It was something she had been known to do before, and he didn't blame her. But as she moved her face into the light, he could see that it was sweaty and pallid, and her dark hair was dull, falling from her messy pony tail to her shoulders in a way she would never allow on a good day.

"Bess?" He walked up to her, frowning in concern. "Are you all right?"

"I am now that you're here," she said with a smile. The moment after, she bent over, a grimace of pain on her face. "Okay, so that was a lie. Force of habit."

He put his arms around her, noticing how cold she felt. "What's wrong with you?"

She shrugged, and then, seeing his expression, she giggled. "Oh, Wesley, you should see yourself! It's nothing, really. I'm just coming down with something. And before you ask, I've been feeling sick for five days, it has *not* gotten any worse, I have *not* developed a fever, and I highly doubt there's any foul play involved. It's probably some sort of virus." She thought about that for a moment, wrinkled her nose and added, "Or something psychosomatic."

"Why, don't you want to get married?"

She looked at him with an odd expression, and then turned her attention to the walls. "I think there are spells on this room."

So she didn't think she could talk openly. That was practically a confirmation he had been right, and it confused him. Of all people he knew, Bess was the one least likely to do anything against her wishes.

She noticed his confusion and smiled at him, her face getting an unmistakable mischievous expression. "Will you be a good big brother and help me get dressed?"

At first he thought she was joking, but as she stepped out of bed he realised how wobbly she was. If this was psychosomatic, she must have some pretty strong stress building up. He held her while she took off her nightgown and then led her into her bathroom. When they with joined efforts got her clothes on, she started to laugh.

"What's funny?"

"You haven't fumbled or stuttered once. Which makes me wonder how often you've been doing this lately."

"Bess, you're my sister!"

"Even assuming that you are past the phase when my naked body was an unbearable sight to you," she said, squinting up at him, "which I'm willing to believe, that still doesn't explain the professional touch."

"Don't you ever breathe between words?" he asked, pulling the dress over her head.

"Brother darling, don't lie to me," she reproached him once her face was visible again. "Who is the girl?"

"There is no girl," he said firmly. It was, after all, the truth. "Not to say there hasn't been before. I told you about Virginia."

"Can I take this opportunity to tell you that I am very glad you didn't decide to marry her? I mean, honestly, Bryce-Wyndham-Pryce?" Bess tilted her head and looked at him intently. "All right. I believe you. But I know you're hiding something from me, and if it's not a girl, I can only conclude..."

"Did you say there were spells on this room?" he interrupted, warning her not to take it any further.

She gave him an odd look and then grinned. So now her suspicions had been confirmed. Bully for her. Wesley had no intention of letting it spread beyond her.

"Are you ready to come out?"

"No," she said, sitting down on top of the toilet. "I still have the face and hair to take care of. But that I can manage on my own. Something tells me you're not quite as familiar with mascara - " her smile was truly radiant now " - although I *could* be mistaken."

Wesley groaned. He suddenly remembered why he had thought Bess and insufferable brat when they were younger.

"Do shut up."

**********

Dinner was very Wyndham-Pryce traditional, which meant it mostly consisted of awkward silences interrupted by short arguments. Fortunately they had guests, which prevented the arguments from going too far. Wesley paid little attention to the three members of the Council, simply noticing that the girl who looked like a librarian in a farce must be Lydia. Stephen was the one who really held his attention. They had played together as children but never been close; now he watched his old friend, trying to find what made Bess love him. It pained him that he hadn't seen this coming, when Bess had found out about Virginia and, as it seemed, partly about Doyle as well. He didn't know her anymore, he wasn't the one she turned to as he had been when she was growing up. And why did she love that man?

He was rather cute, that could be said. Although he had a tendency to talk too much and his foot was positioned in his mouth more often than not, there was no doubt that his boyish face was attractive. If you cared for that sort of thing. He was like a big puppy. Not stupid, not by a long shot, but overenthusiastic and rather annoying in the long run. It wasn't hard to understand why Bess cared for him, but *marrying* him? He had nice eyes, that much was granted. The hair wasn't much to cheer for, but the arse was quite lovely.

This was when Wesley realised that he was actually checking out his baby sister's fiancé. He immediately redirected his gaze to his dinner plate, wondering what Doyle would do if he knew about this. Probably nothing. Possibly even check him out himself and then compare notes. It wasn't that jealousy was beyond him; he just wouldn't waste it on subjects of no importance. Sometimes Wesley wished that he would. Using Gunn to make Doyle jealous wasn't quite fair to either of them - but nothing else worked.

He shook away those thoughts and noticed a bit late that Lydia had asked him a question. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"We were discussing the Slayer," she said. "You worked with her once, didn't you?"

Out of all the things to bring up, it had to be this. "Which one are you referring to?"

Silence fell over the table, but Lydia seemed oblivious. "Buffy Summers."

He let his gaze wander over the people around the table. Bess, disinterested but sympathetic, his mother nervous that this might start another scene, his father smirking in contempt, and the male Watchers trying to pretend this wasn't an embarrassing question. Only Stephen seemed oblivious, more puzzled than anything else. Apparently nobody had told him of Wesley's failure in the Slayer department.

"I did, for a very short period of time. She wouldn't listen to anything I said, and in retrospect I must say she was quite right in that decision."

"Of course, my son is now associating with demons," Edward said, his face crimson but his voice calm. "That's how I raised my children, is it?"

Lydia looked like she regretted ever saying anything. "I understand that this vampire Angel is somewhat..."

"You're a silly girl," he snapped. "He is a demon like any other."

"A demon with a soul," Bess said, entering the discussion. She still looked as if she might throw up any minute, but her voice held a dangerous mildness that belonged less to the girl she had once been than to the man she was facing. "Not such a strange thing, is it? Certainly no stranger than a human without one."

His outburst clearly made his colleagues uncomfortable, and Lydia attempted to return to topic. "So then you agree with her methods? Bringing in civilians?"

Wesley smiled a little, wondering what she would consider Cordelia and Gunn. "It seems to have had a favourable result on her survival rate."

"Well, not technically," one of the male Watchers pointed out. "She is after all the reason we have two Slayers for the time being."

"I thought that problem had been taken care of," Wesley's mother said sharply. She wasn't normally interested in Watcher business, and Wesley suspected her comment had more to do with him than with concern over the Slayer status.

"Faith is in an American prison," the younger Watcher explained. His gaze touched Wesley's for the briefest of moments before he averted it politely. "We consider this a satisfactory solution for the time being."

"Quite a track record for you there," Edward said, raising his glass to Wesley. "One a traitor, one an anarchist."

It finally hit Wesley that his father was deliberately poking around in open wounds, his own as much as Wesley's. The mess he'd gotten into with Buffy no longer troubled him, because when the going got tough, he had found his loyalties. Granted, he hadn't done much good, but there was no shame in how it had ended up. Not for him. There was plenty for his father. And he'd be happy to let Edward nag about that all day long if it hadn't been for the parts about Faith. Because that *did* bother him, and knowing Edward he'd notice that and continue his comments where they hurt the most. He feared that moment with an intensity he rarely knew these days, feared to be humiliated like that in front of so many people. And because he wanted to keep his dignity, he took the plunge himself.

"Well, the best I could do back then was scream like a woman. Dismissed, fired, thrown in the gutter - and coming out on the other side." He didn't say it had made him a better man and a better fighter. Any praising of himself would be nipped in the bud, he was certain.

"Taking orders from a vampire."

He wasn't going to let that get to him. He wasn't. This was a *good* life, and he gave orders to Angel as much as the other way around. His heart pounded much too fast and his eyes burned, but he refused to give in to it. In this house, appearance was everything.

"Don't try to tell me you're not still a snivelling little fairy-boy, who..."

"So, do you think United will beat Leicester?" Stephen interrupted, speaking to no one in particular.

"Oh, without a doubt," the youngest Watcher agreed, relieved by the change of subject. "They have to! I have twenty pounds set on it."

"That's quite enough, Roberts," Edward said. He held no authority with the other Watcher, yet the young man silenced. "Let us finish our meal."

Wesley found he nearly envied Angel for those five hundred years in Hell.

**********

"So, where will the wedding take place?" asked the oldest of the Watchers, whose name Wesley could not remember, when the dinner was over and they were getting ready to go.

"Oh, in the south parlour," Wesley's mother said. "We hardly ever use it, so Edward thought this would be a nice occasion for it."

"Helen has some wonderful ideas for decoration, though," Stephen added. "Would you like to see?"

His enthusiasm was contagious, and so the party proceeded to the south parlour, where he ran from place to place, pointing out what would be where and how it would look. "And then we'll kneel here," he said, pointing to a pair of low footstools. "Come on Bessie, show them!"

Bess had remained outside the room, with half a smile on her face that revealed something bitter underneath. Now she grinned and shook her head, but only at her fiancé's childish behaviour, not at the suggestion. She stepped over the threshold to the parlour.

Immediately, she was thrown back several feet. The air before her shifted and hummed, as if charged with electricity.

For a brief moment, all were silent. Then Edward raised his voice, shivering in anger:

"You *whore*! You utter, despicable, demon whore!"

He charged towards his daughter, but his colleagues quickly grasped one of his arms each to hold him back.

"Easy now, Edward," said the older man, obviously still confused as to what was going on, but not about to let the man attack a woman in pain.

Because Bess was still curled up on the floor in the hall, hugging herself and rocking back and forth. Wesley tried to comprehend the situation, but everything was too chaotic. The only coherent thought he could grasp was that he had to get her out of there.

"Lydia? Do you have a car I can borrow?"

Lydia at first looked as if she wasn't sure what he had asked and why, but then hauled up a keyring and removed the one that belonged to the car, handing it to him. "The blue Ford by the chestnut tree."

"Thanks."

Making Bess stand was easier said than done, but she was almost as tall as he was and he wasn't going to carry her. Fortunately she seemed as eager to get out as he was. The French doors inside the parlour were not an option, and the kitchen door would lead the to the wrong side of the house, so he dragged her with him to the front. She sank down on the steps, and he lifted her up again. "No, no, no, just try to walk as far as the car."

"I'm feeling better now," she said with a new determination in her voice, trying to make her feet steady. She managed almost instantly, and the rest of the way to the car Wesley's arm around her shoulder was more to steady him mentally than her physically.

"What just happened in there?" he asked as they got in and sat down in the car. A force field of some sort, that he was sure of. And the smell of magic suggested there was something like that around the house as well. The questions that still needed to be answered were why it had been done, and why his father had reacted like that.

"I have no idea," Bess said, leaning back with a deep sigh. The moment after she looked up again. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know. Anywhere. I was mostly concerned with getting you out of there."

"How about a coffee shop?" she suggested. "I'm dying for something sweet."

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, still trying to watch the road. Her face had a much healthier hue than before, and she showed no signs of pain. "You really *are* feeling better, aren't you?"

She gave him a wide grin. "Absolutely."

**********

It wasn't until she had started her second cinnamon bun that she was ready to talk at all. She swallowed the bite, took a sip of coffee, and said with a shrug, "I guess things turned out a bit stranger than you expected."

"You don't say." He watched her for a moment without saying anything, and then asked, "And you really don't know what happened, or why father reacted like that?"

"Yes and no." She tore her napkins slowly into shreds as she spoke. "I don't know what happened - but I do know why father reacted like that. You see, I haven't been entirely truthful with you. Or anyone, really."

Interruption seemed like a bad idea at this point, and so he waited.

"A few months ago, I met this guy... this demon guy. And we fell in love."

"What!?"

She gave him a reproaching look, and it struck him that considering his own personal life lately, maybe this was a bit hypocritical. Then again, as far as she knew he had no reason to give her anything else than the traditional Watcher response of "demon bad, human good". The problem was that even if that was an oversimplification, there was more truth in it than she seemed to think. Wesley felt the overprotective brother part of him show its head and growl.

"Well, father found out. Needless to say, he took it very poorly, just like you. I hoped that if I married Stephen, father would give up his suspicions long enough for me to run off to India. I'd either take a plane or go with Raja through magic."

"*India*?"

"He's from India."

The worst part about all this was that it actually made a whole lot more sense than the thought that she would get married to a nice young man she had known since childhood. "And Stephen *knew* about this?"

She suddenly too a large interest in her coffee cup. "Not really. He obviously knows I'm not in love with him, but I think he thought I just wanted to get away from my family. Which I certainly do." Defending herself from his gaze, she went on, "You know he can't keep a secret. I couldn't tell him about Raja."

"Raja?"

"That's his name."

"I figured that much." He shook his head, still dazed by all this. "So you're dating a demon, and father knows, and put some sort of spells on the house. But why did the spells react on you? Have you met Raja lately, so it could sense him on you somehow?" But that wasn't logical, because Wesley had been able to walk in without a problem, and there was *definitely* enough demon lover on him to cause a reaction if that was the aim.

"Not for a month." Her hands went to her waist. "But there's something else you don't know."

Wesley stared at her. Although he didn't have Angel's experience of demonology practice, he wasn't completely naïve. Thoughts of Cordelia's worst aftermath to a date crossed his mind.

"Oh my goodness."

"I'm pregnant," she said, although it was rather obvious that he had already figured it out.

"I see. And what do you plan to do about that?"

She stood up and put her mangled napkin back by the coffee cup. "I plan to get fat, Wesley, as is traditional in these circumstances. I plan to move to India, which isn't much further away than England from where you are living, not that you bother with a phone call all that often anyway. And I plan to make you stop sounding like mum, if I have to smack your head to do it. Now, if you excuse me, it's late, I'm tired, and I don't feel like talking."

She turned to leave, and he hurried to leave a few notes on the table, grab his coat and follow. "Bess, please. I'm on your side, really I am." And that was the truth. He wasn't certain he was on the side of her demon boyfriend, but he hoped for her sake she was right about him. "Listen, you can't go home."

"Wasn't going to."

"I believe you. Hear me out." He stood in front of her, blocking her way. "We'll go to a hotel. Let me call a friend, and then we'll all try to sort this out."

For a moment her eyes narrowed, but then she smiled. "All right."

**********

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