Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Angel or Buffy characters. They all belong to Joss Whedon.

Shifting slightly in his leather chair, Wesley flipped another page of the thick book on his desk, and sighed. He was getting no where with finding information as to why Spike has returned, much less why he hadn't returned as bodified as he had left this earth.

At least that's how Fred has put it, 'bodified'. It was probably one of Knoxy's words. Knoxy. That was his problem. For two years he had pined after Fred, and it only took one joke from Knox and she was practically falling into his arms.

"Whats wrong, sugar lumps," a voice from his doorway startled him.

Looking up, he let loose another sigh.

"That bad," Lorne asked, taking a seat in front his desk.

"No," Wesley replied, trying to hide his true emotions, "everything is wonderful, splendid, in fact."

"Uh-huh, and when did you start using the word splendid in a non-sarcastic context," the demon prodded.

"I. . .," Wesley began but was relieved when Lorne's cellphone began ringing.

"You'd think Hell could take a break," he said answering the phone. "Yeah, Marty, I told you, candy dimples, I'll take care of the band. I don't know if we can get U2. You know Bono's on vacation this week." Rolling his eyes, Lorne stood and walked towards the office door, "we'll catch up later. Don't go anywhere."

"I highly doubt I will," Wesley replied to no one in particular burying his head in the book again.

"Mr. Wyndam Pryce," sighing and looking up again, Wesley found Lily Macavoy, one the ladies from transcription, at his door. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt, I was just sent to tell you that those manuscripts you wanted translated are done."

Standing, he met her halfway across the room, taking the manuscripts as she handed them to him, "um, thank you, Mrs. Machovoy."

Grinning she shook her head, "actually, it's miss. I'm not married, sir."

"Oh, I. . .sorry, I didn't know, but now I d. . .Mother," he interrupted himself, looking over his assistant's shoulder.

"Mother," she asked, but looked over his shoulder, "oh, I should get back to work."

With a blush, and a nod to Wesley's mother, Lily was gone.

"Mum," Wesley exclaimed, not believing his eyes as he approached her.

"You've said that, dear," she said, coming forward and giving her only child a hug.

"I'm sorry, I just don't believe it," he backed away, and looked her up and down, "what are you doing here?"

"No 'hello, it's wonderful to see you'," she asked sarcastically.

"Of course, it's wonderful to see you, but what are you doing here," he asked again, then thought better and continued, "I mean, you didn't tell me you were coming, this is a surprise."

"A nice one, I hope," she smiled, steering him towards the couch in the corner of his office, "I've been wanting to come and see this new office you've been telling me about. It's quite lovely, dear, as well as your assistants."

Blushing, he took a seat next to her, "yes, well, I suppose evil does have some upsides. How have you been? How's father?"

"We're both well. It's been quite awhile since I've seen you though. How are things here? How's that Winifred girl you were talking so much about last year?"

Busying himself with a paper he'd left near the couch, Wesley felt embarrassment coming over him, "she's alright. Running the science department. We're friends."

"Just friends," she asked, seeming somewhat disappointed, but not so much that it concerned him.

"Mum," he whined, standing and walking towards his desk, "we're just friends, yes. Now, how about you and I go to lunch, or would you like to meet my friends?"

"Actually, lunch would be wonderful. Do you have some time," she asked, seeming like she had been waiting for him to mention this very thing.

"I'm the head of occult, Mum, I have all the time I want," he stated, hoping to see the same spark in her eye as the day he told her he was going to be watcher to not one but two slayers. There wasn't one however.

"Of course, dear, shall we go then," she asked, standing, and not waiting for his reply.

A little unnerved, Wesley grabbed his jacket all the same and made to follow her. Once in the hallway though, he was thrown into complete confusion once more when he saw her taking the hand of a boy no more than six-years-old.

"Um. . .," he began, but she cut him off, "I think it'd be best if I explained this in private, dear."

Pulling on her hand a little bit, the small boy looked up to her, "is this my dad," he asked.

Looking from his mother to the child, Wesley shook his head in confusion, "actually, I think I'd like you to explain this now, Mum."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Next chapter, the answer to this mystery and a little bit of a Wesley history lesson.