A/N: There's evil, and then there's evil. Mr. Wyndham-Price insisted on wriggling out of the bounds I wanted to put on him; it took me all day to pin him down, but I think in the end, this will work better than what I originally had in mind. =)
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Chapter Twenty-Four
Wesley hadn't been sure what to expect when he showed the others the birthmark, although his friends' reactions weren't exactly a surprise. Shock, disbelief, and even a little humor; at least none of them sounded angry or upset. But none of the voices were the one he was waiting to hear.
It mattered, of course, what his friends thought of all this; but in the end, it would not fundamentally change his relationship with any of them. A shift from that sort of relationship to father/son, however ...
"Connor ...?" Angel finally spoke, barely loud enough for Wes to hear him.
What did that mean? Was it a sign of acceptance, or rejection? Wes dropped the hem of his shirt, then slowly turned back around. He needed to see Angel's face. He needed to know.
"Yes," he answered.
"*Wesley*."
Nothing as simple as acceptance in that strained voice. Wes barely had time to wonder what it meant before Angel suddenly moved, and cool arms clasped Wes tightly against a solid chest.
Possessive. Fierce. A corner of Wes' brain that wasn't swamped with emotion remarked that it was probably as much vampiric Sire instinct as it was actual fatherly caring, but the rest of him just stood there and soaked it up. Everything was going to be all right now. It no longer mattered what they thought of him in England. He belonged *here*.
Wesley would have been content to continue standing like that, enjoying his first positive parental embrace in the last thirty years, but the sound of the front doors opening broke through his comforting mental fog.
"Four of them?" he heard Rupert say. "I'd swear no one left before I did. They must have taken the bloody Concorde." There was a pause, and then, "Bugger. It's Charles Wyndham-Price."
Wes stiffened. There could be only one reason for the man to be here. Travers must have summoned him in an effort to exercise some measure of control over Wesley, since yesterday's attempts had obviously failed.
Angel cautiously unfolded his arms, stepping back far enough so that he could look into Wes' face. "He was your father?" he said quietly, with an intense, concerned expression.
Wes shook his head. "Not anymore."
That got a smile out of Angel, a quick flash of teeth and a suspicious mistiness at the corners of the vampire's eyes.
"Are we interrupting something?" Quentin Travers said coolly, breaking the mood.
The four Watchers had ranged themselves just inside the lobby doors. The others had started to gather closer to Angel and Wes in response, as if circling the wagons. Giles and Gunn were standing nearest the front, with the others ranged behind them, all in defensive postures.
"We're here to speak with my son." Charles Wyndham-Price was dressed impeccably as always, not a thread out of place. He wore that familiar expression of aloof disdain, with a slightly disapproving curl to his upper lip. Despite everything that had changed, Wes still felt a twinge of nervousness at that look.
"You don't have a son," Angel announced, with a hint of growl in the back of his throat.
Wesley's erstwhile father raised his eyebrows at that. "Ah, but I do," he said, "and I believe I see him standing there right next to you. We have some questions for him about information he has been withholding from the Council."
"He owes the Council nothing," Giles said, as belligerent as Angel, in a quieter, more British way. "You fired him, or have you forgotten?"
"Ah, hello, Rupert. We fired you once too, as I recall. Sometimes I wonder why you are still on the payroll. You cannot be doing your Slayer much good from your flat in Bath." Such a reasonable voice. Calm. Insinuatingly superior.
Wesley shook his head. If he didn't intervene, they would probably waste hours in pointless male posturing. "Travers, I did ask you to come back today, to answer your questions. And I will. There's no need to be unpleasant. The short version is that you do not need to worry about the prophecies you mentioned any longer."
"What?" Travers blinked at him, incredulous.
Wes continued. "However, the tale more properly begins with a portal, and a child left on your parents' doorstep thirty years ago."
"I see." The elder Wyndham-Price sighed heavily, interrupting his story. "I had suspected something of the sort. And you say the prophecies have been, or are being, averted?"
Well. That was an unexpected reaction. "I believe so," Wes said, carefully. "In the sense that Buffy was prophesied to die at the Master's hands, and still prevented the Hellmouth from opening."
The older man shook his head in reaction, and smiled a little. "I saw it happen, you know; I was on my way to visit with Quentin's father. I knew from the beginning that no child who came to this world as you did would have a normal destiny. However, it always seemed that no matter how thoroughly I tried to prepare you for what might come, you never quite measured up. I'm pleased to find that you have managed to break that nasty habit."
What? How was Wesley supposed to react to that? Was his father -- former father -- really saying what it sounded like he was saying? Wes stared, horrified, unable to frame an appropriate reaction.
Luckily, Charles Wyndham-Price did not seem to be waiting for one. "Come then, Quentin. You've dragged me all the way to America for nothing; we had best get moving, if we are going to find some other way to justify this trip to the Council."
TBC
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Chapter Twenty-Four
Wesley hadn't been sure what to expect when he showed the others the birthmark, although his friends' reactions weren't exactly a surprise. Shock, disbelief, and even a little humor; at least none of them sounded angry or upset. But none of the voices were the one he was waiting to hear.
It mattered, of course, what his friends thought of all this; but in the end, it would not fundamentally change his relationship with any of them. A shift from that sort of relationship to father/son, however ...
"Connor ...?" Angel finally spoke, barely loud enough for Wes to hear him.
What did that mean? Was it a sign of acceptance, or rejection? Wes dropped the hem of his shirt, then slowly turned back around. He needed to see Angel's face. He needed to know.
"Yes," he answered.
"*Wesley*."
Nothing as simple as acceptance in that strained voice. Wes barely had time to wonder what it meant before Angel suddenly moved, and cool arms clasped Wes tightly against a solid chest.
Possessive. Fierce. A corner of Wes' brain that wasn't swamped with emotion remarked that it was probably as much vampiric Sire instinct as it was actual fatherly caring, but the rest of him just stood there and soaked it up. Everything was going to be all right now. It no longer mattered what they thought of him in England. He belonged *here*.
Wesley would have been content to continue standing like that, enjoying his first positive parental embrace in the last thirty years, but the sound of the front doors opening broke through his comforting mental fog.
"Four of them?" he heard Rupert say. "I'd swear no one left before I did. They must have taken the bloody Concorde." There was a pause, and then, "Bugger. It's Charles Wyndham-Price."
Wes stiffened. There could be only one reason for the man to be here. Travers must have summoned him in an effort to exercise some measure of control over Wesley, since yesterday's attempts had obviously failed.
Angel cautiously unfolded his arms, stepping back far enough so that he could look into Wes' face. "He was your father?" he said quietly, with an intense, concerned expression.
Wes shook his head. "Not anymore."
That got a smile out of Angel, a quick flash of teeth and a suspicious mistiness at the corners of the vampire's eyes.
"Are we interrupting something?" Quentin Travers said coolly, breaking the mood.
The four Watchers had ranged themselves just inside the lobby doors. The others had started to gather closer to Angel and Wes in response, as if circling the wagons. Giles and Gunn were standing nearest the front, with the others ranged behind them, all in defensive postures.
"We're here to speak with my son." Charles Wyndham-Price was dressed impeccably as always, not a thread out of place. He wore that familiar expression of aloof disdain, with a slightly disapproving curl to his upper lip. Despite everything that had changed, Wes still felt a twinge of nervousness at that look.
"You don't have a son," Angel announced, with a hint of growl in the back of his throat.
Wesley's erstwhile father raised his eyebrows at that. "Ah, but I do," he said, "and I believe I see him standing there right next to you. We have some questions for him about information he has been withholding from the Council."
"He owes the Council nothing," Giles said, as belligerent as Angel, in a quieter, more British way. "You fired him, or have you forgotten?"
"Ah, hello, Rupert. We fired you once too, as I recall. Sometimes I wonder why you are still on the payroll. You cannot be doing your Slayer much good from your flat in Bath." Such a reasonable voice. Calm. Insinuatingly superior.
Wesley shook his head. If he didn't intervene, they would probably waste hours in pointless male posturing. "Travers, I did ask you to come back today, to answer your questions. And I will. There's no need to be unpleasant. The short version is that you do not need to worry about the prophecies you mentioned any longer."
"What?" Travers blinked at him, incredulous.
Wes continued. "However, the tale more properly begins with a portal, and a child left on your parents' doorstep thirty years ago."
"I see." The elder Wyndham-Price sighed heavily, interrupting his story. "I had suspected something of the sort. And you say the prophecies have been, or are being, averted?"
Well. That was an unexpected reaction. "I believe so," Wes said, carefully. "In the sense that Buffy was prophesied to die at the Master's hands, and still prevented the Hellmouth from opening."
The older man shook his head in reaction, and smiled a little. "I saw it happen, you know; I was on my way to visit with Quentin's father. I knew from the beginning that no child who came to this world as you did would have a normal destiny. However, it always seemed that no matter how thoroughly I tried to prepare you for what might come, you never quite measured up. I'm pleased to find that you have managed to break that nasty habit."
What? How was Wesley supposed to react to that? Was his father -- former father -- really saying what it sounded like he was saying? Wes stared, horrified, unable to frame an appropriate reaction.
Luckily, Charles Wyndham-Price did not seem to be waiting for one. "Come then, Quentin. You've dragged me all the way to America for nothing; we had best get moving, if we are going to find some other way to justify this trip to the Council."
TBC