Disclaimers: Not mine. Once again, I skipped the beta-part so all inconsistencies and mistakes are mine. But InLoveWithNight read some of this and had helpful suggestions.

References to: AtS S5, "Lineage"

III. "We're all mad here"

Wesley stared down at the silver cross that pressed into his palm. He looked up at his father, braced defensively behind his desk, and Ashoka, getting to his feet as if to attack again. Wesley saw fear in the old men's eyes - and understanding slowly dawned. "Am I meant to be a vampire, then?"

He opened his hand to show the flesh, intact and cool. Then he raised the cross and pressed it against his wrist, met the gaze of both men to make sure they were satisfied that his skin wasn't on fire. Then he tossed the cross toward the table, where it skidded off the lamp and crashed into a pile of parchment scrolls.

Roger scowled and lifted the cross, inspecting it for damage. "You handle sacred things very lightly, son. It frightens me. It always has."

"Really? Because I would have sworn what frightened was when you when thought I was a vampire." Wesley had to lower his eyes as the muscles in his face twitched. He didn't think it was a good idea to let Roger know how amused he was, but he felt actual pain from repressing a smile.

"You may leave us, Ashoka." Roger finished polishing the cross and placed it carefully in his breast pocket. The bodyguard backed toward the door, scowling at Wesley. Stakes banged against each other beneath his coat.

The door closed, and Wesley helped himself to a chair, relaxing into it while Roger still stood. "Father --" Wesley began. He looked intently into the older man's eyes. Saw the heavy lines on his face, sketched there by the worries of more than five years since Wesley had seen him. And of course, back in L.A. he should have spotted the cyborg's ruse for that reason alone. The man he had seen in Los Angeles had not aged a day in the time Wesley was gone. That man was the father he remembered. And feared. This is just an old man, he thought. A scared old man.

"It was a perfectly reasonable inference. Your arriving here in the middle of the night, after all this time. When your mother realized that she had invited you, her nerves could hardly stand the shock. She had to take several Valium tonight before she could even get to bed."

Wes felt the laughter building in his chest and tried to fight it down. "I know you think I grew up blind and deaf, but it hardly requires the prospect of being devoured by her own offspring to send Mother reaching for a happy pill."

"Wesley!" Roger barked. "Show some respect for your family!"

"Yes, I suppose I should show more respect for the family that finds it easier to believe I want to drink their blood . . ." Despite his efforts at deadpan, a laugh broke through. "Than that I would choose to come home for Christmas."

"It is well-documented that a newly-born vampire frequently turns to his parents for his first victims. Especially, I need not add, when the relationship was less than harmonious in life. Combined with extreme changes in dress and grooming -- " He reached over to touch Wesley's jacket. "I've certainly never seen you wear leather before. And when is the last time you shaved? Wesley I'm certain that there's a perfectly good reason for you to be laughing like the Mad Hatter, but I can't begin to see why."

"Can't you?" Wesley caught his breath and managed to wipe his eyes. "I'll tell you what I can see. I see two men with one very important thing in common."

"And what exactly do you suppose that to be?"

That we're both afraid, Wesley thought. "Both of us," he said, "Very much need a drink of your Scotch."

TBC