"Everyone," Wesley said, clearing his throat. "I'd like you to meet my father, Roger Wyndham-Pryce."
"Hello," Roger said, looking around the lobby in awe.
"Daddy, eh?" Spike asked, wandering over to the group. "I always thought Wesley was grown in some sort of greenhouse for dandies."
"Spike." Roger's eyes narrowed slightly.
"You've heard of me?" Spike almost gloated.
"No, we've met," Roger told him. "1963. My colleagues and I fell upon you slaughtering an orphanage in Vienna. Killed two of my men before you escaped."
"Oh," Spike replied awkwardly. "How've you been?"
"I didn't know your father was coming to visit, Wesley." Angel held his hand out to Roger. "I'm Angel. Pleasure to meet you."
Roger stared at Angel's hand. "Do you really expect me to shake that?"
"Well, I'm not real comfortable with hugging." Angel dropped hishand by his side. "No. I realise this may be somewhat of a horror show to you. But I hope you can keep an open mind. We really are doing good work here."
"So I'm told." Roger glanced at Wesley. "Incessantly, in fact."
"I heard we could be of some use," Wesley said, sighing slightly.
"Of course," Fred put in. "Um, we were just going over the autopsy."
"Fred, keep me posted," Angel told her, turning to leave.
"Sure."