SquidgeWorld Archive

"Wesley, do please calm down. The plane only landed a short while ago. There's still baggage to collect, isn't there?"

A look bordering on panic greeted that observation. "Rupert, what if he needs assistance gathering his luggage? I should have arranged for someone to help. What if I've brought us to the wrong gate? Lord, I'd never hear the end of..."

"Wesley, this is the right gate, the right time and the right flight. And, if your father requires assistance, he'll secure it from someone allowed in that area - not from anyone we could find. Now, for the love of God, Wesley - relax!"

The younger Brit sighed, nodded his agreement, and dropped his head to his partner's shoulder. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry I'm being so tiresome. It's just not often that my father..." He felt rather than heard the slight chuckle from the other man. "Very well, it's not EVER that my father shows an interest in my work here, and I don't want to do anything foolish that will negate the good we do."

Rupert placed a tender kiss to the side of Wesley's head. "Of course not. I understand - really, I do. But, at some point, perhaps YOU could tell HIM how you're doing, rather than the other way `round?"

As Wesley was about to explain that one simply did not TELL Roger Pryce anything, he spied a well-polished, but obviously well-worn pair of tailored, under-stated wingtips. And wouldn't Cordy just love to know he gave that much thought to a pair of shoes? In truth, he'd not have paid them any attention, except that he quite clearly recognized the tone of the throat-clearing which occurred about 5 ¾ feet above the leather.

Wesley snapped himself upright. "Father! How wonderful to see you. I trust your flight was pleasant?"

The elder Pryce said nothing at first, shifting his eyes from his son to Rupert and back again. "As pleasant as a flight to this place can be, I'm sure. We, apparently, have some matters to discuss. But, as such things are best handled in private..." Another, pointed look at the two men. "...we had best be on our way." And with that, Roger Pryce walked toward the nearest exit, leaving his son to collect the two leather bags and catch up. Rupert relieved Wesley of one of the bags and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. No words, but his look conveyed a level of love and support that very nearly made Wesley relax.

~Back at GP Investigations...~

Cordelia and Gunn heard Wesley's voice and arranged themselves in front of the counter with welcoming smiles on their faces.

"...a room on the third floor. I'll take your bags up straight away."

The lobby door swung open. Rupert looked at the two standing across the room and resisted (barely) the urge to smirk. They looked like the greeting committee on a bloody cruise liner!

Wesley, on the other hand, cringed when he saw the revealing top that Cordy had chosen for this occasion. He knew that the unseen scorecard his father kept was being marked in the negative. "Father, these are our associates. Miss Cordelia Chase and Mr. Charles Gunn."

Roger Pryce smiled and shook first one, then the other hand. "A pleasure to meet you both. Clearly, the two of you are the heart of this little operation." Cordy preened, and Gunn immediately went into "aw shucks" mode. And not many large black men from LA could pull that off as effectively as Charles Gunn.

Wesley stared, watching his father effortlessly charm his two co-workers, his friends. He had often wondered how the man avoided
whiplash in the course of a mood shift like that.

The junior Pryce cleared his throat. "I'll just take your bags upstairs, Father. You'll be alright down here for a few minutes?"

Roger kept his focus on Cordy and Gunn. "I'm sure I can survive a short while without your captivating attentions, Wesley. I'll be quite alright."

With a nod, Wesley hoisted the bags and moved to the stairs. Rupert remained in the lobby, watching both men. It was going to be a challenge, but he had promised Wesley that he would keep a civil tongue where the elder Pryce was concerned.

He moved closer to the three by the front desk. "Cordelia, Charles...I think business is slow enough to afford you some time off. Why don't the both of you take the rest of the day?" When it looked like Gunn was going to protest, he added, "I'll call if anything comes up."

"Cool. Tell Eng...Wesley...I said `bye'." Then he, like Cordy before him, was gone.

Giles smiled at the correction. It was probably a smart one under the circumstances, but he could never figure out why, when the man worked for two Brits, only one was dubbed "English". Not that he minded...he really preferred his own name, and he'd had quite enough of nicknames back in Sunnydale.

Rupert and Roger stood alone in the lobby - a lobby that had, only minutes before, been warm and welcoming, but had since transformed into a barren wasteland, across which the two men simply stared at one another. Remembering his promise, Rupert offered a lukewarm smile. "I'll just fix us some tea, shall I? I won't be long. Make yourself comfortable."

When Wesley returned, Roger was casting a suspicious eye over the odd, round sofa thing in the middle of the lobby, apparently trying to decide if it was safe to sit on. "Your bags are in your room, Father. I think you'll find it satis..."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure I will. Your...Young Mr. Giles is preparing tea. Perhaps you wish to make another escape under the pretense of helping him?"

Wesley lowered his eyes briefly. "I'm sure he can manage, Father. Won't you have a seat?"

The older man looked once more at the odd seat. "Is it possible we can find a more suitable seating arrangement? I fail to see the sense in this...what IS this thing?"

A small smile crossed Wesley's lips. "It's actually funny that you should ask. You see..."

"There you are, young man. I was beginning to think you'd gone to China for the leaves. Is there, I ask you, a seating area appropriate for adults?"

Rupert glanced at Wesley. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, but his face was otherwise blank. "Of course. We can take tea in my office." He turned and made his way in that direction.

Wesley led his father to the research table in the back of the office while Rupert set down the tray he'd been carrying. Roger took a seat and watched quietly as his son arranged cups, cream, sugar, lemon and cookies, while his son's - what, exactly? - poured the tea.

When they each had a cup of tea prepared to their liking, the elder Pryce leaned back in his seat and glared at his son. "I assume, based on what I witnessed at the airport, that you have something to tell me?"

He'd known this moment was coming, but the color, nevertheless, drained from Wesley's face. He looked at Rupert, hoping for... something...perhaps a script to appear by magic on his lover's forehead. He found no script, but was greeted with a warm, loving smile. He felt Rupert's foot move to rest lightly against his own and he relaxed. A little. He could do this.

Wesley looked at his father, who simply sat and waited, his face utterly without _expression. He drew in a breath and straightened his shoulders, raising his chin. "Rupert and I are lovers, Father. We've been together for nearly two years."

Wesley waited for a reaction. He waited a little more. His chin lowered the tiniest bit, and he continued to wait. Finally, as Wesley's shoulders began to slump, Mr. Pryce, the elder stood. "Pack your bags, Wesley; I'll make the appropriate calls. It's clearly time that you come home." Without waiting for a response, Roger began a brisk march to the office door.

Rupert looked at Wesley, carefully and thoroughly concealing his dismay at his lover's failure to respond right away. He would give the man time. Either he would stand up to his father, or he wouldn't. Either way, like it or not, the choice was for Wesley and Wesley alone to make. Rupert would not interfere, beyond offering his unconditional support.

Wesley's jaw had dropped at his father's declaration. He looked at Rupert and saw that, while he had support, it was clearly up to him to put an end to this. He closed his mouth with a snap, stood and ran to catch up with his father. Rupert quietly followed.

"Father! Damnit, Father, STOP!!"

Roger slowly turned to face the younger man, a look of mild surprise on his face. Surely, his son was confused. He would never shout otherwise. "I suggest you lower your voice, Wesley."

It was said quietly, but the threat behind the words was as familiar to Wesley as the man's face. Wesley paused, gathering his composure. "Father, please listen to me. I am not leaving. I have a life here."

Roger released a humorless chuckle. "Yes, quite. Although, I believe the appropriate term these days is `lifestyle', is it not? I've seen enough, Wesley; you're coming home."

"I am home."

Roger looked at his son. "I must say, Wesley, I'd actually worried that something like this would happen. You were always a bit... girlish." He transferred his gaze to Rupert. "But you...I supported your father while you were on your little `adventures'. I heard all the reports. You were crude, degenerate and, apparently, drug-addled. There was, however, no indication whatsoever that you were a... a shirt lifter!"

Wesley bristled. "Now just a damn..."

"Is this what life in LA does to one?" He looked at Rupert, shaking his head while Rupert coolly returned the gaze. "I can't do anything about you, young man, but I will restore my son."

"ENOUGH!!!" Two pairs of eyes focused on Wesley as he stood shaking in fury. "I. have had. ENOUGH!" Wesley turned the full heat of his glare on his father. "For years, I have had to endure your unending picking. I fought so hard for a scrap of your approval, you...you ignorant little man."

Rupert's eyes grew large, and he was forced to hide a snicker with a cough.

Wesley didn't notice. "I was actually worried that you wouldn't approve of my relationship - worried that I would embarrass you yet again. I was so. fucking. STUPID!"

Roger gasped at the profanity. "Now, see here, Wesl..."

"Shut it, Father. You've said quite enough, haven't you?" He began to move toward the older man; Roger backed towards the lobby doors. "For years, you've accused me of bringing shame on the family name. But you can't know shame until you've heard someone whom you've respected and feared for over three decades make a complete and utter ass of himself in front of someone actually worthy of respect!"

Roger stopped moving when the back of his foot struck a step. Wesley took a breath and attempted to calm himself. He spoke again - quietly, this time. "I'm staying here, Father. My life is here. It would probably be best, however, if you were to leave this instant. I'll have your bags shipped to you."

Roger Pryce looked into his son's eyes for a long moment. With a curt nod, he turned and left.

The two men stood staring at the door through which Wesley's father had gone. As one, they turned to look at each other, eyes wide, mouths agape. Realizing how they must look, Wesley gusted a surprised laugh. "Well, that was a lovely visit, wasn't it?"

Rupert grinned and put his arms around Wesley's waist. "Are you alright, love? That was a little...intense."

Wesley chuckled and leaned into his lover, arranging them forehead to forehead, noses bumping playfully. "I can't believe I did that. I'm sure it will sink in soon, and I'll have a nice, healthy panic attack. But for the time being...yes. I'm fine. Bloody marvelous, in fact!"

The two men stood like that for some time, just feeling each other and letting the peace sink into them.

Wesley's head snapped up. "Damn!"

"What is it?" Rupert looked at his lover, trying to determine what had happened.

"We wasted that entire pot of tea."

Rupert gawped. "Tea? Tea?? All of this, and you're worried about...oh for the love of..." With a sharp swat to the other man's rather narrow backside, Rupert steered them both toward the kitchen. "Bugger the tea. I believe our young friends would say that this calls for ice cream."

Prompts: A blast from the past tries to interfere with the boys; barren, charm, endure