**********

Doyle was woken up by an elbow in his side, followed by the sound of the window opening. He opened his eyes and had to blink in the lamplight. For a moment he was disoriented, then he remembered that he was sleeping in Wesley's hotel room. He had actually been more freaked out about that than Wesley. He'd been told that if a hotel was fancy enough, all you needed was enough to pay the bills and a posh name and you could do pretty much whatever you pleased. But since he had neither, that didn't comfort him much.

These thoughts passed through his head for the merest of moments before he registered what was going on around him. Wesley had rushed up from the bed, lit the lamp and was now standing in front of the open window. That couldn't be good. Doyle swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stumbled up to his partner.

Wesley was hyperventilating, leaning on the window sill in an attempt to get more air. He was shaking badly and his fingers were white from trying to hold onto the sill. Seeing this immediately made Doyle more alert, and he lay one hand on Wesley's back and the other on his arm.

"Breathe in - go on in - now out - and out. In - in..."

He continued coaxing until Wesley's breathing was back to normal. It was odd having the tables turned like this, but at least it meant that Doyle knew more or less what Wesley was feeling, and that it would pass soon enough. The reasons behind it were another thing altogether.

"Sit down," he advised. When Wesley let go of the window sill he looked as if he was going to hit the floor any second. "So, what was that all about?"

"Just a bad dream," Wesley said, sitting down.

"Yeah, and a panic attack. I've had enough of those to know one, and I think you'll understand if I say they're damn scary to watch. Particularly not knowing what's causing it."

Wesley nodded slowly, but didn't speak. Doyle waited for a moment, understanding the pain and awkwardness of being questioned but unable to stop himself wanting to know more.

"What did you dream of?"

"I was locked up." His voice was flat and he was staring at his still shaking hands, beads of sweat glistening on his arms.

"Okay. Any idea why?"

"I'd been bad."

Doyle closed his eyes for a second, wishing he had never asked. "I meant why you had the dream - but I'm thinking that just got answered as well."

Wesley gave a laugh that sounded like it could've come from his last breath in life.

"Who did it? Your father?"

He nodded. "Sometimes mother, if she was afraid he'd..."

"What? Hit you? Did he usually?"

"I don't know. I don't think so." Wesley stood up, walking up to the bed and getting back into it. "I'd like to go back to sleep now."

"Yeah, sure, I'll keep the light on, shall I?" Doyle heard the sarcasm in his voice, but he didn't know what to do about it. He was used to feeling helpless about himself, and he hated it, but it was worse when it was about Wesley. He sat down on the edge of the bed. "What do you mean, you don't know if he hit you?"

"You asked 'usually'. Most of the time I got to choose, and I... I really hated getting hurt back then. Sometimes he was just too angry. But not often. No."

By now his voice was down to a whisper, and he seemed much calmer - almost too much. Doyle pushed the blankets aside and lay down beside him, resting his head on Wesley's back, trying to get their heartbeats in sync. The room was getting cold, but he wasn't about to shut the window, any more than he was turning off the light. He wanted Wesley to talk about this, but he was no good at making Wesley talk. It was always the other way around. All Wesley would do was shut down and lower his voice, claiming allergies if there were tears in his eyes. Maybe because there had never been a reason to think anyone would listen. Doyle hated old Ed for doing that, but at the same time he knew that the Wesley he loved was a result of those times as much as anything else. That a happy, comfortable Wesley wouldn't be *Wesley*, just like he, if he no longer lived with the knowledge of spikes ready to emerge from his body, would no longer be Doyle.

"Talk to me," he mumbled to those tense shoulders.

"I can't. I don't know what to say."

"I think you do. And you need to say it, Wes. Maybe not to me, but definitely to someone, and I happen to be here. Plus, I love you."

Wesley let out a shaky breath, and Doyle wondered if they had ever said that before, or if it had just been a silent agreement between them. We both know that we love each other, no need to say it. Except maybe there was a need.

"I love you so much, Wesley," he repeated, trailing his fingers down Wesley's back to add touch to the message.

"I always had to second-guess him. I couldn't learn the rules. Maybe there weren't any rules. Half of the time I didn't know what I had done wrong until he told me... and I could never remember it all. He'd stop talking to me for days if I looked at him the wrong way. Bess never cared about that. She didn't care if he locked her up either. But she didn't want to be humiliated... she didn't want to apologise. So he made her, every time. I apologised right away, before I knew what I had done, just so he would like me again. But he never did. I think he hated us all."

Doyle held Wesley closer, listening to years of silent suffering. He didn't know what to say or do, but he felt that both their lives could depend on him holding onto Wesley right now.

"And I can't hate him back. I just can't. I want to love him. I want him to be proud of me... it's never going to happen. I fail everything, and the harder I try the more I fail."

"You don't fail everything." Doyle was crying now, crying for Wesley when he wouldn't cry himself. "You never failed me."

"I wanted him to love me." So helpless a confession.

"What about your mother?"

"She left the room. We weren't her concern. We belonged to him, and she couldn't stand him. They could never stand each other."

He turned over on his back, meeting Doyle's eyes. "Why couldn't they love me?"

"I don't know. I can't understand it. Loving you is the most natural thing I've done in my life. Anyone who can meet you and know you, and not love you, must be very poor at heart. That's all I know."

He bent down and kissed Wesley's face, his lips and tongue moving over the swelling eye and tasting salt. He licked it away and continued to the other eye, caressing it with his tongue like a mother cat. They were good at speaking this way.

**********

"This person is my person. His life is my life. Facing him is facing me." Doyle grinned at Wesley as he kept his hand on the dull-metal bracelet and continued the chant. "He counts no longer as human but as blood of my blood."

He finally let his hands drop. They looked at each other, and Wesley allowed the silence to stretch, wanting to make the ceremony last longer. It was only a spell to protect humans associated with demons, but it said he belonged with someone. After the nightmare, he needed that - not that he was going to think about the nightmare.

There was a moment's silence that was almost reverent, until Bess interrupted it with a deep sigh.

"Are you ready now? Can we go?"

"Sure," Wesley said, grabbing his crossbow from under the bed. His annoyance at her interruption matched hers at his move.

"You can't bring *weapons*! They don't allow it!"

"Then we'll leave it by the door," Wesley said with all the patience he could muster. "As in churches."

She leaned back against the door, her arms crossed. "You bring weapons to church, do you?"

"No, but historically..."

"Oh, historically!" she teased him, and Doyle joined in with glee.

"See, I've heard about that!"

"Keeping weapons in the church porch?"

"No, history. It happened a long time ago, didn't it?"

Bess giggled, and then had to move from the door she was leaning on to answer the knock from the other side. It was Maureen, meeting their laughter with a questioning glance.

"Are you leaving now?"

"Yeah," Doyle said, stepping up to his mother. "There's some food lying around, mostly in the mini bar, and if you need more, there's always..."

"Room service. I do have some concept of hotels, Frankie."

"Yeah. And there are weapons under the bed, should you need them."

Wesley looked from Doyle to Maureen, and he slowly realised that she was to stay in Bess's hotel room for another reason than that it had more TV channels than the one she was staying in.

"Why is she staying here, exactly?" he asked, then realised what that had sounded like and added, "Not that I don't want you here."

"To keep people out," Bess said, putting on her jacket. "You must admit there's a definite risk of someone showing up while we're away, and I'd prefer it if they weren't there when we come back."

Wesley looked at Maureen with sympathy. He quite liked her. He was even under the impression that she quite liked him. And now she was to wait here in case his father came back.

"Are you sure you wouldn't prefer the demons?"

She laughed at that, but he wasn't sure he had been joking. Unlike Bess, he was a lot more comfortable with the thought of this tiny but tough Irish woman cruising demon bars than of her meeting anyone his father could send out. The demon world she was a part of by association, whether she wanted to be or not. But she'd never be anything but alien to Edward's sort of people. And thank God for that.

He turned to Doyle to see what he'd say about all this, but Doyle shook his head slightly and headed for the door. Wesley reluctantly followed. "Good luck then," he told Maureen.

"Likewise."

Wesley's doubts must have been very evident on his face, because on the way down in the elevator Doyle gave a grin so wide its edges almost met in the back of his head. "Calm down, will you?"

"These are Watchers. You've seen them. Do you really want your mother to meet them?"

"Uhm..." Doyle narrowed his eyes, looking at Bess. "Don't know much about the club we're going to, but if it's attended by people like Freyan Cats, I'm thinking yeah, mum should definitely stay here."

Bess giggled at this, and even Wesley had to admit that it made sense. He hadn't counted embarrassment into the equation.

The club wasn't very far away, and so they walked down the streets, now and then meeting ordinary people getting ready for a night out, including a gang of young boys so rude Wesley started to wonder if demons weren't preferable. But it was only fifteen minutes later that Bess casually led them down some cellar steps at the back of a night club. She gave Doyle a quick nod, and he went demon. There was something vaguely odd about the way he looked, and it took a while for Wesley to realise that he was used to the demon form being naked - although he had certainly seen Doyle change under every kind of circumstances, he connected it in his mind to sex.

As they walked down the stairs and into the cellar, the music from the nightclub became stronger, and by the time it faded again another tune had started further away. Wesley recognised it vaguely but couldn't recall what it was. He was certain, however, that he had never heard it played like this before. He recognised most of the individual sounds as simple human instruments, and yet the whole was greater than the sum of its parts, almost like when he was ten and had been forced to see Swan Lake only to fall in love with the music the instant it started. That time he'd been smacked for blubbering, and he feared he might react the same way now.

"Oh you'll never see my shade," Doyle hummed beside him, "or hear the sound of my feet, while there's a moon over Bourbon Street."

Of course. Wesley remembered the song now, as well as what it was about. "Interesting choice for a demon club."

They reached another door and Bess gave it a series of knocks until a short, rotund, blue-faced demon opened it.

"Table for three," she told him. "How long is Raja playing?"

"He has a break in twenty minutes," the doorman grunted. "Leave your weapons here. I'll take you to your table."

Judging from the look on his face he didn't consider this an honour, and there were derogatory murmurs of "human" as they proceeded into the room. Wesley was the last to step in, and so when Doyle suddenly stopped short they almost bumped into each other.

"Holy mother of Christ!"

"What?" Wesley asked. The second after he saw what Doyle had seen and agreed wholeheartedly, although he fortunately kept his mouth shut - the demons were already looking a bit cross.

There was a demon band on the stage, piano and bass and what not, but that only registered in his mind for a split second, immediately overshadowed in both physical and metaphorical sense by a ten-foot spread of black wings. They belonged, as he knew the moment he saw them, to the saxophone player too caught up in his music to notice how the feathers trembled in rhythm. Wesley tore his gaze away from the wings and let it roam over the tall musician - probably six foot and a half, if not more. He was completely hairless, which drew attention to the fact that he also had no outer ears. Apart from that, his features were human, although the skin was so dark it was hard to see any details of his face. The nose was hard to miss, sharp and curved as it was. And then the song ended, and while Wesley was still wishing it hadn't, Raja looked up, showing a laughing pair of yellow eyes.

"Don't drool over my boyfriend," Bess whispered in Wesley's ear.

"I wasn't," Wesley protested, and he honestly meant it. This wasn't a creature he'd actually think of in a sexual way. "He's just so... stunning."

"Don't you just get the feeling he should have stars around his face and flames under his feet?" Doyle asked, his voice sounding as if he'd only recently remembered to catch his breath.

"He's not really..." Bess started, but the demon doorman interrupted her, waving them over to the middle of the room.

"Here's your table," he said, and turned his back on them as fast as possible.

"Thank you, Ede." She pulled out a chair and motioned for the others to do the same. "As I was saying, he's not really all that awe-inspiring. Not off stage."

Wesley found that hard to believe, and Doyle shook his head as well.

"I don't understand how you could ever dare taking him to bed."

She laughed. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see. Out of his element he's like any other guy. Shall we order something?"

Wesley's eyes caught Doyle's, and it occurred to him that this wasn't the best place to be for a recovering alcoholic. Then his lover gave him a lopsided smile and leaned over towards Bess.

"Do you know if they have Midnight Chocolate here?"

"Whipped cream and all," she replied.

Wesley smiled. Midnight Chocolate was hot chocolate so dark it was practically undrinkable for a human. For demons such as Doyle, with a combination of highly attuned senses and good regenerative ability, it was supposedly a sensation of taste, one Doyle had gone to great lengths trying to explain to him. Suffice to say, many demon bars had it, and it was definitely non-alcoholic.

"I think I'll have one of those, too," he said.

Bess wrinkled her nose at him. "They taste like cleanser."

Doyle looked amused, even though there was also appreciation in his eyes. "Do you really think you're up to it?"

"Of course I am. How bad can it be?"

**********

Ten minutes later, as he tried to get the bitterness out of his scrunched-up mouth, he knew the answer. He didn't think it really tasted like cleanser, but since he had never actually put cleanser in his mouth, he couldn't be sure. Why hadn't he just ordered nectar like Bess?

"Here you go," Doyle said, returning with a glass of water. He sounded very sympathetic, but there was no mistaking the amusement in those eyes, even when they were red and glowy.

Wesley hurriedly swallowed the water. He tried to ignore the laughter coming from the tables around him. "That was positively disgusting."

"You don't have the taste buds for it," Doyle said, taking another sip from his own cup. He definitely seemed to enjoy it.

"Humans rarely do," said another voice, and a furry beauty sat down at their table, taking a chair from one nearby. From the flattened nose to the four fur-lined breasts she was a textbook example of a Freyan Cat. Of course, the books hadn't commented on the fact that Freyan Cats apparently enjoyed walking around naked.

"Boys, this is Sheila."

"Got that part," Doyle said, placing his gaze where Wesley would have preferred he didn't.

"And Sheila, this is my brother Wesley, and his boyfriend Doyle. They're both off limits."

"Of course," Sheila said gracefully. "I would never dream of assaulting a friend."

"That's very fortunate, since we're taken already." Doyle smiled at her. "You know, I had an... experience with a Freyan Cat once. It made quite an impression." He gestured vaguely, and caused Bess to frown rather deeply. Wesley noticed with interest that it was actually quite possible for green people to blush. He felt like blushing himself, and he wasn't the one who used to have one night stands with every species that would have him.

This puzzled her. "You slept with a Freyan Cat, and yet you're alive."

"I heal well."

"You *heal* from a broken neck?"

"In demon form, yeah."

"How very convenient." The interest she showed at this lasted for about ten seconds, then her eyes drifted. "I do believe that young demon is a virgin. Excuse me."

She left the chair and headed for a corner. Wesley was startled by this, and not sure what to do about it. He was quite aware that any man who slept with a Freyan Cat was likely to end up as a slave or a corpse. Now, this was a demon she was after, and there could be no violence inside the club, but he still felt it was his duty to do something. He rose from his chair.

"Sit down, Wesley, I won't let you embarrass me."

"Embarrass you?" Of all the possible reasons to back off, this wasn't one. "She's about to kill someone."

"Of course she is. That's what they do. I wouldn't last long around here if I got narrow-minded about that sort of thing."

"Well, I don't plan to stay long, so I'll be as narrow-minded as I like."

He left his irate sister behind and headed for the table where Sheila was chatting up a chaos demon who didn't seem quite dry behind his ears - not that chaos demons ever were.

"Hello," Wesley said with an ease he didn't feel. "This may be none of my business, but I think you should find a better companion."

"Piss off, groupie," the demon said, not taking his eyes off Sheila. Her tail was halfway up his leg.

It bothered Wesley to be dismissed with the same word he had used to accuse Bess, particularly since he only now understood that his comment could be considered an attempt at flirting. He chose to persist nevertheless. "I just thought it might interest you to know that this woman likes to break the necks of her mates once she is finished with them."

Both the demons looked up at this. Wesley ignored Sheila's irritation and focused on the chaos demon, who apparently hadn't been aware of the danger before.

"Demon mates too?"

"All mates. Then again, maybe you survive that sort of thing."

The demon stood up quickly. "I think I'm getting another drink."

Sheila remained seated, but her pupils had narrowed to mere slits and her tail was whipping the floor. "When did you say you were leaving England?"

"I didn't. Probably within the next few days."

"Good."

With this, she returned to her drink and Wesley to his table, not sure if he had done a good thing or not. The deep red hue of embarrassment on Bess's face told him she had her opinion ready.

"I can't believe you did that. I really can't."

Doyle spoke up in his defence. "He had to do it, Bess. I've slept with a Freyan Cat, it's some pretty amazing sex, but it's not worth dying for."

Although his face was quite serious, his eyes smiled, and Wesley found he could think of certain types of sex that *would* be worth dying for.

"You know, that reminds me. What's a gay man doing with a Freyan Cat?"

Doyle lifted an eyebrow. "Who said I was gay?"

She seemed utterly puzzled at this, and Doyle watched her patiently for a few seconds. Wesley tried hard not to smile, knowing enough of Doyle's past to see where this was heading.

"I don't have a preference," Doyle finally explained, taking mercy on Bess. "Actually, I do, it's brunettes who are taller than me, but I'm not picky."

"So you're bi."

Doyle grimaced at Wesley, who now couldn't hold back the smile. They'd been joking about the fact that although Wesley liked men more than Doyle did, he had far less experience with them, thus apparently making him the straighter one.

"Well, that's a category as useful as 'blunt object', but, yeah. Think about yourself. If I were to call you a demon groupie..."

"I'd smack you," Bess said sweetly. "Shut up."

Doyle obliged, taking a deep sip from his chocolate, and Wesley stared down at his own. He wasn't sure what to do with it. A hand reached past him, grabbed and retreated, and he turned around to see a very inebriated demon licking his spoon.

"You don't mind, do you?" it asked happily. "Hey, Spiny, can I have yours too?"

Doyle took the glass from his lips and handed over the spoon. The demon licked it, and then put both the spoons on the pair of horns protruding from its face.

"Wait until you see what I can do with this!" he declared, taking a condom from his pocket.

Bess knocked on his shoulder, and when he faced her, she smiled widely. "Hello. Go away."

"Huh?" It didn't seem completely familiar with the concept.

"See that table? They would *love* to hear what you can do with a condom."

"Oh, okay." The demon lulled away to the suggested table. "Look at this! I take the human-protecting device and put it in my snout..."

Wesley looked up at the ceiling, trying to avoid meeting the others' eyes. Refraining from laughter wasn't easy, particularly not when Bess quipped,

"This club is just heaven for finding potential dates."

**********

When Raja reached his break and put the saxophone down to go speak to his girlfriend, Wesley found that Bess was only partly right. Even off stage, his wings were astounding. They moved with a grace that clearly showed they were integral body parts, not outer decoration. But if you had enough imagination to picture him without them, he was indeed a rather plain man, with a huge nose and a baldness that didn't become him.

"Hello, darling," he said, kissing Bess's forehead. His voice was pleasant with a vague accent. He gave the rest of them a slightly baffled smile. "Hello."

"Brother, brother's boyfriend," Bess introduced with a vague gesture, more interested in wrapping her arms around Raja's neck.

"I take it your brother is the human one," Raja said, reaching out a hand. "Nice to meet you both. Elizabeth, I thought you were keeping a low profile with your family."

"I was. It didn't work out. They're here to see if you're good enough for me."

"Ah, okay." This didn't seem to help any, and Wesley almost felt sorry for the poor fellow, who had been even less prepared for this bizarre first encounter than they. "So, does this mean we will not elope?"

"Of course we'll elope," she said impatiently. "Father will still hunt you down and kill you if he gets the chance. This is just Wesley. He's as much the black sheep as I am - reference Exhibit A."

Wesley grimaced. There were times when Bess's provocative bluntness was amusing - mostly when it was directed at others. The break with his parents had been easier than he had feared and expected, primarily because he wasn't their main concern for the time being. And yes, he could understand Bess's relief at not being the only pariah, but damn it, did she have to be so smug about it?

"I see. I think." Raja nudged Bess away from her chair so he could sit down with her in his lap, wings folded behind him. He absentmindedly took a sip from Bess's glass of nectar, all the while watching Wesley and Doyle with those yellow eyes. "So, what is it you want to know?"

"We could start with police records. Murder, arson, attempts at destroying the world - done any of that?" Doyle asked, making lightweight of the interrogation.

If Raja had possessed eyebrows they would have flown up, but he smiled all the same. "I have some speeding tickets - a lot of them, actually. Then there's the soma I used to eat as a kid. Of course, that's a long time ago, and everyone did it back then. It's certainly not a habit I've kept. I think that's all. Oh, and back in the seventeenth century there was a suggestion I should be burned as a warlock, but I left that town rather quickly."

Wesley paid immediate attention to the part about speeding tickets. "You pass?"

"Sometimes, yes." His wings shook slightly as he shrugged, and when he continued the explanation he occasionally gestured with them as if they had been arms. "I fold the wings up on my back and into a backpack sewn to my coat. Most people see nothing out of the ordinary. Everything else - well. It's easier for people to think I'm a freak than a demon."

"Amazing."

"Not really. People don't see what they don't expect to see."

Of course, he was remarkably human-looking for a demon, and yet Wesley couldn't seem to place him among the species the Council had marked as hard to detect. There were too many things that didn't add up.

"If you don't mind me asking - what species are you, exactly?"

"Exactly?" Raja frowned. "I'm not sure I could say. I've got Gayatri blood, that's where the wings come from. And my mother was a pure-bred Muse. Then there's Aeno and Yama... I don't think that's all of it, but it's all I can remember. Why? Is it important?"

"They're trying to figure out if you're evil," Bess said.

"By asking about my heritage? How interesting."

"Most demon species have very set tradition," Wesley said to excuse himself. The more he fought, the more he saw evidence that this wasn't entirely true, but it was a guide better than most.

"Yes... it's a pity, really. My love is for music, and so I am Gandharva. If I were obliged to do everything my ancestors did in each species, I'd be torn apart." He grinned. "I've been told that the reason the sanskrit word Asura can mean both god and demon is because we were all one to begin with. Who says we can't be one again?"

"I could think of a few people right in this room," Doyle commented wryly, echoing Wesley's thoughts.

"Long before I was born there were three demons who created a caste with every evil they could find," Raja said, stroking his chin in deep thoughts. "All sorts of rabble, in this dimension and others. But I'm willing to bet that even among them there are people ready for redemption. Maybe I'm just an optimist."

"I'd go for naïve," Doyle went. "But not evil. Or what do you say?"

"No," Wesley said. What Raja was saying might be considered trite and unrealistic by more cynical people, but there was no mistaking his honesty. That took a load off his heart, but whatever Bess may think it wasn't the end of his objections. "You seem nice enough."

"Thank you."

Eyes the colour of whiskey held his, and he knew that he wasn't tricking the demon.

"Do you have any specific plans for the future?"

"I told you," Bess said impatiently. "India."

"It's easier to disappear in India. We could have a house and live almost like humans. I don't want this to be harder on Elizabeth than it has to be."

"What about the child?" Doyle asked. "What do you have in mind for him?"

Wesley had been meaning to ask something similar, but was relieved he didn't have to play Devil's advocate all the time.

"He would have to live like a demon, at least when he's young. When he is old enough to be cautious, he can make his choice, like my other children have."

"You have other children?" Wesley should have expected that. The man was 800 years old and had been married five times, it would have been stranger if he hadn't been a father already.

"Nine living, four dead. Most can pass if they choose, although only two do it habitually." Raja smiled a little. "A cross-breed marriage is tricky, but it isn't a catastrophe."

"Of course it isn't!" Bess stood up, irritated. "What's wrong with everybody? It never occurred to me that I could fall in love with a demon, but I have, and nothing's going to change that. Why do you have to keep focusing on the bad things?"

"Because you refuse to!" Wesley couldn't hide his irritation. "You're giving up life as you know it to live with this man, and that's your right. But what do you say in five years when your child wants to know why he can't fly outside? What if he wants to go swimming - or go to school? What do you do when he wants to know why the demon fullbreeds are calling him names? What happens if he can't pass and you can never tell a human you have him - or if he passes too well and can't afford to be seen with his father? This is a serious question, Bess, it won't go away because you love each other, and I want to know what you would do!"

"I don't know!" she yelled, making everyone around stare at her. "How am I supposed to know, this has never happened to me before!? But this is a real baby, Wesley. It's going to be born no matter what, and I want to have it and love it and be with it for as long as I possibly can. It's a miracle. Why can't people see it's a miracle?"

"It *is* a miracle," Raja soothed her, making her sit down again. He looked straight at Wesley. "You're right, there will be problems. But I'm prepared to face them. And even if Elizabeth isn't, at the very least she's *willing* to face them."

Wesley wanted to protest at that, explain every detail of what was wrong with this pretty picture they were painting, but he had no right to do that. If he wanted to remain a part of Bess's life he'd have to back away. And although his pessimistic self told him to doubt it, they could actually be happy. Their starting point was bad, but it wasn't the worst imaginable.

"Fine," he said slowly. "I don't like this, and I won't pretend I do. But I honestly wish you all happiness."

"Thank you." The smile Bess gave him showed no trace of her previous anger. "That's all I want. The weight of the world we can try on without you."

"There are of course some practical questions," Raja said, leaning forward over the table. "Since I can't go with Elizabeth to India the regular way... oh, blast."

He was looking across Wesley's shoulder at the bar, and Wesley turned around, seeing the bartender point at his watch with a very grim look on his face.

"I'm so sorry." Raja nudged Bess off his lap and stood up. "My break is over. Maybe some other time. Come on up on stage, darling."

"Do you play something?" Doyle asked.

"Good heavens, no!" Bess replied with a laugh. "I don't know a straight tune from an eggplant. I blow soap bubbles."

"But she's an expert on that," Raja said, grinning widely, which had a peculiar effect in his dark face. "Try to avoid the far left tonight, will you? There are Voltar witches at two of the tables."

"No melting the witches."

"Right."

"Hang on," Wesley said as the couple headed for the stage. "Those three demons - what were they called?"

Raja stopped for a second, thinking. "Fenris, Mendes and... ah yes, Actaeon. Why?"

"No reason," Wesley said, knowing he'd look them all up the minute he got back to his book collection.

"Please stop thinking about work," Doyle mumbled to him after the others had left. "It'll give you a headache. I know I have one."

"I'm sorry." Wesley felt a pang of guilt. That speech directed at Bess couldn't have been pleasant for Doyle to hear. "I shouldn't have said all those things. Or taken you here."

"What are you talking about?" Doyle asked, looking at him as if he was expressing himself in some obscure demon dialect rather than English.

"This... nightclub. Drinking. I'm sorry, it never occurred to me..."

The corners of Doyle's mouth tilted up. "Wes. Are you aware of what people here have in their drinks? Blood, squashed animal parts, spells... I bet their martinis come with eyeballs on a stick. I'd rather drink disinfectant."

"I know." Wesley gave the Midnight Chocolate a pointed glance.

"Shut up. Anyway, it's not the drinks. It's not even all this crossbreeding talk. I've just had seven hours of sleep over the past two nights, and I'm tired as hell."

"Oh. Should we go back to the hotel?"

"We can't leave until she does. Besides, I want to listen."

He looked so cute at that moment, even in demon form - no, *particularly* in demon form - that Wesley had to kiss him.

"Kiss and make it better?" Doyle asked with a wink.

"Yes."

"Okay." There was a moment's pause, and then Doyle said, "I can't help feeling for the poor fellow your sister was supposed to marry. I mean, I've been jilted after the altar and all, but never before."

Wesley groaned. He felt a bit guilty over Stephen, and he wasn't even the one who had deserted him. "I know. It was really disgraceful of her to lie to him so she could elope."

"Yeah... no offence, but she's quite the brat, isn't she?"

"You think? I mean, all she has done is lie to her boyfriend, cheat on him with a demon - or cheat on the demon, depending how you look at it - hang out in demon bars with murderers, run away from people in need, be rude to everyone around her, all in all basically acting like the world revolves around her... and that's just her record for these past few days. Yes. She is a brat. But she's the only member of my family I can actually stand."

"She's got her charms," Doyle admitted. "And I think she really loves you, in spite of what she may say."

Wesley's throat suddenly felt thick, and he hurried to take a sip of the nectar Bess had left behind. "Yes. And that... changes things."

"Love covers a multitude of sins," Doyle quoted.

"It really does." There was no need to specify. Every relationship had its share of problems, and Wesley was sure Doyle remembered their own just as vividly as he did. Their eyes met, and Doyle bit his lip.

"God help us otherwise, right?"

**********