† The Brat Queen †

Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit, amateur effort not intended to infringe of the rights of Joss Whedon, the WB, Mutant Enemy or any other copyright holders of Angel.

Trust Me
by The Brat Queen

Summary: Angel, Wes, and a story title which is very, very meta.

Author Notes: Originally posted to my Livejournal earlier this year, this is the final, cleaned-up version. Much thanks to Wolfling for her mad beta skillz.

Spoilers: Up to Destiny, at which point Joss and I go separate ways.

PROLOGUE

The room was dark. Not pitch black, but shadowed. Swathes of grey draped over the furniture, lending it a rather funereal feel.

He observed this and thought to himself that it was rather apt, all things considered.

"It's a bad idea," she said, her habit of speaking rather plain and painful truths never having left her, even under the circumstances.

"It is not," he replied, because truth could be painful but it could also, in his opinion, be mutable. Or perhaps not truth but the future. The future could be quite mutable. Subject to change and far too enamored of throwing in wrenches and cutting your legs out from under you and not giving a damn for anyone's carefully laid plans and -

He stood up, walking away from his chair as though he could dismiss it and all the thoughts which were tormenting him. "I can't accept this."

She gave him a sympathetic grimace. "I don't think you get a choice."

He faced her down. "I refuse to accept this."

Now her eyes held hints of a smile, though the expression failed to reach her lips. "You always were a fighter."

"It's not right," he told her, wanting this point to be stressed, wanting her to agree to it if nothing else.

She shrugged, unmoved. "What's that got to do with anything?"

He wanted to embrace her, but lacked the nerve to admit it. "How? How can you say this, when you - "

"I knew what I was getting into," she reminded him.

"You can't have predicted this. No one could."

"I don't predict," she said. "I act. I do. I look out for number one."

"Is that what you're doing now?" he asked, meeting her eyes. "Looking out for number one?"

"And you?" she asked. "What exactly are you doing right now?"

"Fighting to make things better," he said, confident of this.

"For who?" she asked.

"Everyone."

She reached out, brushing her fingertips over his cheek. He knew in his heart this would be her final, parting gesture. "There's just one catch."

"What?"

"Some things can't be changed."

PART ONE

It was nighttime, and the diner had finally, finally given way to quiet. The last of the late-dinner crowd had left and, after a round of batted eyelashes and pleading, so had the rest of the staff.

Angel sat in the middle of all this, a king in a very chrome and vinyl covered domain, and smiled.

"Damn," Gunn said, slapping his hands together as he came through the front doors. A whoosh of cold air accompanied him, making Angel's skin break out in a quickly vanishing flush of goosebumps. "When the fuck did we move to the North Pole?"

"Still snowing?" Angel asked.

Gunn pulled his gloves off, throwing them down onto the counter. "No, all this white stuff all over me is an invasion of tiny little demons intent on taking over the planet by attacking the smartest and best-looking humans first. Unfortunately for them I am this town's version of Will Smith and quickly figured out I could stop 'em by going anyplace that wasn't fifty below zero and melting 'em like they were the Wicked Witch of the West. Now all I gotta do is sit back, collect my residual checks and wait for the offers of sequels to roll in."

"You could have just said 'yes'," Angel pointed out.

"You could've not asked me a dumb-ass question."

"Doesn't Will Smith fight aliens?"

"My ability to care got left somewhere back at the office with my ability to find my balls," Gunn replied. "And before you ask let me remind you that it is fifty God damned degrees below."

"Weatherman said twenty above," Angel said. "'Least last I heard. Guess there might be wind chill."

Gunn gave him a look. "Yeah, there might be wind chill. He say anything about it still being fall?"

"Predicted at least four more inches by the weekend," Angel said, then pretended to think about it. "Or was that four more inches by tomorrow? You know, I seem to remember something about a blizzard warning."

"You can shut up now," Gunn said, heading towards the back. "I'm hitting the bathroom and when I come out it had better be sunny."

"Awh, c'mon," Angel called after him. "Don't you just love it? Doesn't all this snow just fill your heart with joy and the peace of the Christmas spirit?"

"The Christmas spirit and you can both go suck my - "

Angel laughed as the slam of the men's room door drowned out the rest of Gunn's reply. He got up, going behind the counter to warm up a few things. A light from outside caught his attention and he watched as an SUV tried to navigate into a spot whose lines had long since been snowed over.

"I'm moving to Florida," Gunn announced, still wiping his hands on a paper towel as he came back. "And you're low on soap."

"I'll get it tomorrow," Angel said, getting a Caesar salad out of the fridge. "And you say that every year."

"This year I mean it," Gunn told him. "Screw this New England shit. I want palm trees, I want old people, and I want to spend my time bitching about huge ass spiders and alligators living in my pool."

"I assume you want the usual?" Angel asked, adding forks and napkins into a paper sack.

"Yeah," Gunn said, helping himself to a few lemon squares out of the display. "Throw a few sodas in there too."

Angel grabbed the Pepsis, putting them in with the salad so they wouldn't cool down Gunn's pot roast. "What does Gwen want?"

Gunn snorted. "My black ass to have been home about an hour ago."

Angel checked the time. "You are working late. Senior partners?"

"Yeah," Gunn said. "End of year, performance reviews, let's do everything to make it work with tax time, blah blah blah."

Angel grinned. "You love it."

"I maybe love it," Gunn admitted. "You should've seen me this morning on my teleconference. Made some guy in Tokyo choke on his sake."

"They drink alcohol during meetings?" Angel asked. "And since when do you teleconference with Tokyo?"

"I could teleconference with Tokyo," Gunn said.

"Yeah, but when you dial the numbers does anyone actually answer?" Angel asked.

"Rain on my parade all you like," Gunn said. "But I did have a kick ass call today."

"With...?"

"New York."

"Go you," Angel said, giving Gunn an indulgent pat on the arm.

"I just want my props is all," Gunn said. "And toss in a ziti for Gwen if you made it."

"You got it," Angel said, totaling up the order.

"Hey, speaking of cash," Gunn said, giving him the eye. "Should I be worried about you know what?"

Angel frowned. "Should you be worried about - oh that. Nah, it's gonna be a massacre. Might even go home early."

"You can't lie a little?" Gunn asked. "Act a little less confident? Some of us are trying to get a bet on."

Angel's eyebrows quirked up. "You're betting on this?"

"Some of us thought that - "

"You're betting on this?"

"Now before you get all riled up - "

"You're betting on this and you didn't let me throw a few bucks in?" Angel asked. "Nice. What are the odds?"

"Two to one," Gunn said.

"For or against?"

"Against."

Angel gave a low whistle. "Okay, maybe I could lie a little."

"This is all I'm asking," Gunn said. He started to button up his coat again. "You know how it is. You talk, people listen. Is it that hard to maybe spread a rumor or two?"

Angel thought about it. "I hear flu's going around."

"Flu could work," Gunn agreed. He shook snow off his hat. "How much you want me to put you down for?"

"Twenty," Angel said. The bell on the outside door jingled. Angel glanced over to see a man standing in the vestibule, trying to read the announcements that were posted over the fifty cent vending machines. "Thirty if the odds change."

"You got it," Gunn said. He gathered up his things. "We still on for Saturday?"

"Lunch, right?" Angel said. He kept his eye on the newcomer. He was clearly holding something, but a chair by the door blocked Angel's view of what. "Yeah, if I can get enough people here to cover."

Gunn followed Angel's gaze. "Something up?"

A thought niggled at the back of Angel's head. He kept looking at the guy, staring while trying not to be obvious, until it finally clicked. He relaxed, then shook his head at Gunn. "Nah. Just figuring something out."

Gunn motioned towards one of the booths. "Want me to stay?"

Angel smiled. The diner had been robbed once in all the years Angel had owned it, and the one time had mostly been his own fault. "I got it, but thanks. Get on home before your aliens get you."

"Demons," Gunn corrected him.

"Whatever."

"I am moving to Flor-i-da," Gunn sing-songed on his way out the door. He side-stepped to avoid bumping into the new guy, giving Angel one last look before he went. "Call me if you need anything."

"Will do," Angel promised, then busied himself with cleanup.

It was a few moments before goosebumps hit his flesh again.

"I'm sorry," a quiet, accented voice said. "Are you - the sign said 'open' and I thought - "

"Come on in," Angel said, waving his hand in welcome. "Mi diner es su diner."

The man hesitated, seemingly trapped by his own desire for politeness, but then came forward. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," Angel said. He gestured to the menus. "It's kind of the job description."

"Even still," the man replied. His eyes darted around, taking in the sight of the empty tables. "I don't mean to keep you late."

"I'm cleaning up," Angel promised. "You're not keeping me at all. Besides - " he nodded his head in the direction of the baby carrier dangling from the man's hand " - in my experience people that size wait for nobody's schedule."

That earned him a smile. "No. They really don't, do they?"

"Not outside of fairy tales," Angel agreed. "So what can I get you?"

"I - " the man laughed, the sound coming out somewhat dry and raspy. It culminated in a cough that he attempted to cover by putting the carrier up onto the counter and fussing with the baby's blanket. "Silly, really, but all I need is some warm water, if you have it? I'm all out of formula. The ready kind, I mean."

"Sure," Angel said, grabbing filtered water out of the fridge. "If you've got the powder and all. Been a while since I've kept the ingredients on hand."

"I do," the man said. He reached into a satchel that hung over his shoulder, producing baby bottles and a can with a picture of a teddy bear on the side. He looked up, catching Angel's eye on him. "I - I'll pay. I don't mean to - "

"Don't worry about it," Angel said, handing him the pitcher. "Here, mix it up. Microwave's over there if you want to heat it. I'll be back in a sec."

The man nodded, then got to work.

Angel pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Once there he made busywork of tidying pots and pans, stacking plates and glasses into neater piles. Anything that would make some noise and sound like something normal.

In his head he pictured the man outside.

He hadn't meant to stare, not ever, but there were certain things that stood out to him - artist's eye aside - and remained stuck in his brain, demanding to be noticed.

Things like a stranger in town, when it sure as Hell wasn't tourist season.

Things like a stranger in town with a kid who couldn't be more than sixth months old.

Things like a stranger in town with a kid who, though the kid was bundled up properly for Gunn's alien weather, was himself wearing only a thin windbreaker for a coat, no hat, no scarf, no gloves, and a pair of pants that were clearly worn around the edges.

Angel walked back to the doors and looked out through the porthole windows.

He was thin. Lean frame, certainly, but with a hollow to his stubbled cheeks that suggested there had once been a bit of meat there. His hands shook, and every so often his breathing stammered up into a cough.

Angel watched him carefully, unnoticed as the man himself had eyes only for his child, who quickly devoured the newly warm bottle then settled against his shoulder to be burped. Angel studied the movement of those trembling hands, looking for a trace of familiarity. When all he saw was hunger, and cold, he pushed his way back into the dining room.

"Here," he said, placing a hot cup of coffee in front of him.

The man looked up. "I - " Angel recognized the hesitation now. It was the one that came whenever you had to stop yourself and recalculate every single penny in your pocket. He'd had that look himself, back in the day. "No, thank you, I - "

"You asked for warm water," Angel said. He pushed the cup forward. "That's warm water with stuff in it."

The man shook his head, returning the now-sleeping baby back to the carrier. "I'm sorry, I - "

"A dollar," Angel said, knowing how sometimes pride really did come before practicality. "For the both of you. For coffee and using my microwave and keeping me up late."

This was apparently acceptable. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Angel said. He then turned around and produced a bowl of soup.

The man looked pained. "I - Actually, I'm not - I ate just - "

"I'm throwing it away," Angel lied. He made a bowl for himself as though that would finish off the last of it. "Might as well use it up, right?"

Another cough rattled out. "Thank you."

Angel shrugged, as though getting rid of perfectly good turkey soup was part of his everyday routine. He sat up on the counter, stirring his spoon through the broth to help cool it down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man wrap his hands around the hot coffee cup, then slowly move to take up his own spoon and eat. Angel then drew his attention back to his own meal, knowing that no man liked being watched when he had to carefully place food inside of an obviously empty stomach. There were few things worse than having to throw up because you'd gone without for so long you'd forgotten how to digest. "So, not from around here, huh?"

He'd meant it as small talk, but the question earned him a glance. "No. England."

"Figured," Angel said, trying to project an attitude of calm. "That's why I gave you coffee."

That got him a quizzical look.

"Gotta friend who's English," Angel said. "Told me never to try serving that dirt that comes in bags and calls itself tea. Didn't want to insult your tastebuds too so - coffee."

"Anything would have been fine," the man told him. Reminded, he took a sip of his drink. "As long as it was warm. Tell me, is it always this cold here?"

"Pretty much," Angel said. "Gunn - my friend who just left? - likes to complain about it but it's this way every year. We like to say spring, summer and fall are a really nice week in the middle of all those blizzards."

"It's pretty," the man said, spooning up more soup. "A bit difficult to drive in but, still, it's rather like living inside of a snow globe."

Angel smiled. "Yeah. I always thought so. Part of why I like living here."

The bowl was almost empty now. "Do you like living here? I - I was thinking of perhaps staying a while, seeing what it's like."

Angel hopped off of the counter, getting a glass of juice for himself so it wouldn't be obvious that he'd been able to translate all that into things like "I have no more money" or "My car's out of gas". Reminded of the SUV that he'd seen outside, Angel wondered if that had been serving as home for the two of them. "Yeah, I like it. Quiet, friendly. Nice place to raise kids, if you're into that sort of thing."

"It's currently a hobby I thought I might try, yes," the man said, managing a joking smile before another cough destroyed it. "Is there - I don't suppose there's a hotel nearby? I don't need anything fancy, just a room will do."

Angel turned around, leaning against the countertop. "Hotel could get expensive after a while."

The man became very occupied with smoothing out his napkin. "Places to rent require money up front. I - I don't have access to my bank accounts, back home."

Which was a load of bull but Angel figured he could play along with it. "How about a job? I know a place that might take you if you've got a steady job."

"Is anyone hiring?" the man asked, a note of hope creeping into his tone. "I'm not particular."

"What can you do?"

And then, suddenly, nobody was bothering to pretend anymore. "Whatever I have to."

Angel nodded, accepting that. "I might know a few people. Heck, I'd hire you myself except I just took on somebody as a favor for a friend. But lemme ask around. I think I can find you something."

Gratitude flooded the other man's eyes. He reached over to touch the baby as though to comfort himself. "That would be - thank you."

"As for a place," Angel continued, "there's one but it's not too fancy. Two bedrooms by which I mean one bedroom and a really big walk in closet. Living room, dining room and kitchen are all one thing and the kitchen's not really working right now either. But it'd be private, for the most part, and you'd have your own bathroom. As for food you could always come down here. Figure maybe a discount on rent and meals both until I get the apartment fixed? After which we could renegotiate but for now say - two hundred a month? Utilities included? You can pay me whenever your paychecks start coming in."

The man gaped at him. "You - you would do that?"

"I would," Angel said, already making a mental list of all the chores that would need to be done to get the guest apartment up to code.

"Why?"

Angel reached out to brush a gentle finger over the baby's fingertips. "Let's just say I know what it's like. What's his name, anyway?"

"Her," the man corrected. "Alissa. Her name is Alissa."

"Pretty," Angel said, thinking to himself he wouldn't have pegged the Brit for favoring Hebrew. "And you?"

"Wesley Wy - Johnson," there was another cough, and blue eyes looked apologetic. "Wesley Johnson."

"Nice to meet you, Wes," Angel said, holding out his hand to shake. "My name's Angel."

PART TWO

The man - Angel, Wesley reminded himself. His name was Angel - busied himself with what Wesley guessed were the final late-night tasks of the diner. The remains of the soup were put away, dishes were cleaned, counters wiped down, the neon 'Open' sign turned off and, finally, the front door locked.

Wesley watched all of this, wondering if he should offer to help, but Angel's movements were brisk and efficient and didn't seem to suggest the need for assistance. Wesley remained sitting at the counter, watching Alissa sleep and thinking over the events of the day. His mind lingered over the one sharp turn where he'd almost lost control of his vehicle, forcing him to admit he was too sick and too tired to go on.

"Cripes, I forgot," Angel said, standing by the now-locked door. "Did you need anything? From your truck?"

Wesley smiled to himself. As though he possessed anything by way of luggage. "No," he said, slipping into this falsehood with greater ease than his near misstep with his name. "I'm all right for now. I can get the rest of my things in the morning."

Angel, who apparently lived up to his name with an effort as easy as breathing, accepted this without question. "Okay then, lemme show you upstairs."

Keys were fetched from inside of a broom closet. Lights were switched off as Wesley picked up Alissa's carrier, then followed Angel past the restrooms and to a door marked "Private".

"The big key opens this one," Angel explained, holding up the item in question before using it to open the door. A small alcove greeted them, lit dimly from above and decorated only by a narrow staircase. "I wouldn't try getting a stroller past any of this. You can leave it down here if you've got one. It won't bother anybody."

"Thank you," Wesley said. He moved aside so Angel could close the door, then transferred Alissa's weight in front of him so he could fit the both of them up the staircase.

"My place is over here," Angel said, as they paused on a landing. Wesley saw a metal door, still sporting a picture of a turkey from what he presumed was leftover Thanksgiving celebrations. "You need anything feel free to knock. If I'm not downstairs I'm usually in here."

"Thank you," Wesley said again, then cursed himself for his inane ramblings. Had he said anything but that since his arrival? He found himself possessed of the urge to prove that he had a working brain. "It's an interesting name."

"What?" Angel asked, unlocking another door and revealing another set of stairs.

"Hyperion," Wesley explained. He covered his mouth as he coughed, watching carefully to make sure he didn't jostle Alissa. "That's an interesting name for a diner. Did you choose it yourself?"

"Yeah," Angel said. He seemed pleased to be asked. Or perhaps he was still being polite. "Read it in a book. Liked it."

"It's a lovely place," Wesley said, hoping this was the thing to say. He wished he had more experience with this sort of thing. Were the compliments only coming across as attempts to ferret out information for later theft? It was so difficult knowing what one did in order to build trust in these instances. He decided to try for a joke. "The food was exceptional. Alissa was quite pleased with it."

Angel gave a half-chuckle at that. "Yeah, I'm real big with the under ones. They love what I do with pureed vegetables."

Wesley relaxed by a hair, glad he hadn't made things worse. "I'm sure she's looking forward to your expertise with rice cereal as well."

Angel unlocked the final door, then aborted an attempt to hand the keys over when he saw that Wesley's hands were still full. "Okay, here we are," Angel said, turning on some lights. "And let me just say I did not decorate the place."

Wesley stepped inside, coughing once more as stale air hit him.

The flat was old, that much was obvious. Wesley knew nothing of décor but something about the place felt as though whatever decorating had been done had been done two decades ago or more. Wood paneling covered the walls. Orange curtains hung from what windows he could spy. Some form of green tiling intersected with thick, chocolate brown carpeting to create the illusion that the small stove, museum-appropriate refrigerator, white porcelain sink and scant foot of counterspace was a kitchen.

There were pieces of furniture scattered about. A card table was folded against a door Wesley assumed lead to a pantry, or closet space. A chair sat in a corner, looking as though most of its weight came from multiple coats of paint, the last of which was a pale grey blue. A worn red couch sat in the middle of the carpet as though someone had decided they couldn't be bothered with moving it any further. Or, Wesley realized, that it would be too difficult to try to bring it back down the narrow stairs. He wondered how on earth it had gotten up there in the first place.

"I'm sorry I don't have more," Angel said, twisting a dial on the wall that Wesley realized was connected to the heat. "The place has been empty for so long I kinda got lazy about fixing it."

"It's all right," Wesley told him. To his right was a kind of hallway. Three open doors revealed the bedroom, the bathroom, and the closet that truly did have enough size to make an acceptable nursery. The quick inspection also revealed spiderwebs and possible evidence of a mouse problem. It was, frankly, a hovel compared to where he'd been living a scant year ago. However, circumstances being what they were - "It's perfect, thank you."

"I've got some spare stuff in the attic," Angel said. "We could try to wrestle it down tomorrow if you want. In the meanwhile if you need anything just grab it from downstairs. Paper towels, soap, you know, whatever."

Wesley knew that 'whatever' meant more food if he needed it, but he was determined not to take shameless advantage of this charity. "Thank you. I'll have to go shopping tomorrow."

"Microwave too," Angel continued. "Feel free to use it whenever you want. The filtered water is always in the blue pitcher. What else? Oh yeah, there's a washer and dryer in the garage. Not enough room for your car though, sorry."

"That's all right," Wesley said. "It's supposedly an outdoor vehicle."

"Park wherever you want," Angel said. "I'll tell 'em not to give you a ticket if you stay in any of the private spaces."

"Thank you," Wesley said. A cough rasped its way through his throat, leaving him with a slight wince as he swallowed. He felt as though his words were hopelessly inadequate. "For everything."

For a moment it seemed as though Angel himself was at a loss for what to say. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

"I'll knock," Wesley promised, since that seemed to be what was being asked of him.

Angel nodded, accepting that. He tossed the keys onto the tiny countertop. "Okay. Night, Wes."

"Good night," Wesley said, smiling to himself as he thought only an American would assume that he preferred to go by some kind of nickname.

Still, he supposed there were worse names in life than "Wes".

The building, far from being quiet, held too much noise, in Wesley's opinion. As he stood there in his new home he could hear the creaking of floorboards, the hiss of steam radiators, the unfamiliar hum of the refrigerator. On top of that he could actually taste all of the dust in the air.

Still, it was indoors. And blessedly warm. That alone was worth every penny he'd just placed himself into debt for.

"Are you all right?" Wesley asked, gently placing Alissa's carrier down onto the floor, then kneeling beside her. Fortunately she was young enough that he didn't have to worry about her crawling off and getting her hands on the multiple things in the flat that no one should touch, let alone a small child. Wesley resolved to make housecleaning one of his first priorities.

Alissa, for her part, remained fast asleep, curling her fist around her lips and nose. Wesley knew that one day she would have co-ordination enough to purposefully put her thumb into her mouth, as he knew that she wanted to.

"This is our home now," Wesley told her. He kept his voice low, so as not to wake her. It hardly mattered since the words would be meaningless to her no matter what, but Wesley felt a need to include her. In his mind it made up for the times when he hadn't. When nine months had gone by with him somehow managing to avoid doing anything which brought the two of them in contact with one another. Though he'd never planned on it, it had been startlingly easy to treat her merely as a thing. "The baby". As in "What shall we do about the baby?" which had invariably meant "When are you going to get around to telling me about the abortion?" but of course that had never happened. Not because Wesley wanted it, but because he had assumed it was inevitable and entirely out of his ability to control.

Then the day came when she was born, and a bright-red squirming creature had been thrust into his unprepared arms and Wesley, now a father, had felt deeply ashamed of himself.

"It's a bit messy," Wesley continued, adjusting her knit cap. "And rather empty. But there's enough space for the both of us, and you shall have your own room."

Alissa shifted, her feet kicking out and tenting her blanket.

"If we happen to stay here that long," Wesley conceded. For months now they had drifted from place to place. The longest stay had been in New York, for all of three weeks. Wesley didn't know why he even bothered to hope this time might be different, but he thought perhaps eventually they would find a place to settle down. Someplace nice, where he could actually make enough money to provide a real life for his daughter.

Almost of its own accord, Wesley's hand drifted down to his back pocket, touching his wallet which still contained a signed dollar bill.

"I'll get it right," Wesley promised, both to Alissa and to himself. He took in their situation - the flat, the wallet which didn't contain much else besides the carefully hidden dollar, the feelings of fever which hadn't left him in the past few days, the hunger that even his free dinner hadn't been able to vanquish - and thought that if he wanted to make this particular goal especially difficult to reach, he wouldn't have to try much harder.

"I will," Wesley said again, and decided that was enough of morbidity. He got up, reaching into his satchel for his toilet kit. He would wash up, make a bed of sorts on the thankfully large couch, and then set about trying to fix things first thing in the morning.

He fell asleep to the sound of his daughter's contented breaths.

Rocking around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop. Mistletoe hung where -

"Oh they are not playing Christmas carols," someone - Gunn, Wesley recognized - announced as Wesley finally braved the staircase with Alissa in one arm and a handful of baby supplies in the other. Gunn sat up, shaking a fist at the radio. "It's not for weeks yet. Chill already!"

"It is December, Charles," a young woman beside Gunn pointed out. She was sitting at the counter with him, her hands busy with the buttering of toast. "It's not like they're playing Silent Night during Halloween, though a few stations did that too."

Wesley stayed back from all of this, momentarily overwhelmed.

The diner, which had been all but abandoned the night before, had exploded into a mass of life. In spite of the heavy storm of the previous day - and some flakes were still falling - all the booths and chairs were filled, and the restaurant itself was constantly in motion as orders were taken, things hissed and popped on griddles, the kitchen doors banged back and forth and all around were people eating, talking, arriving, departing, and generally making the most of the breakfast hour.

"Coming through," someone said, and Wesley stepped aside to allow a waitress to pass, ducking to avoid knocking over her tray of food.

"I - " Wesley stepped forward, wondering who he was supposed to talk to in the midst of all this. Alissa was starting to give a few gasping cries, and he knew it wouldn't be long before she was hungry enough to start screaming. He tried to make eye contact with someone wearing a uniform, hoping to get permission to go behind the counter. "Angel said I could use the microwave?"

He felt someone tug at his shirtsleeve. He looked down to see the woman beside Gunn smiling up at him. "Hey. Microwave's over there. You can help yourself. Everybody else does."

Wesley relaxed. "Thank you."

"Cute baby," she said.

"Hungry baby," Wesley replied, by way of apology. He dodged his way around cooks and waitresses, then managed to mix up the formula one-handed. A few moments later and Alissa was happily suckling on her warm meal.

"Hey," another waitress appeared, frowning at him. "You allowed back here?"

Wesley flushed, keenly aware of how shabby he must appear. "I - Angel - "

"You're up," Angel said, suddenly appearing through the swinging doors. He took Wesley by the shoulder and guided him to an empty seat at the counter. "Great. Make yourself comfy. Cordy, give Wes here a number one and the house discount, okay? I'll be back in a - "

"Give him a what?" the waitress asked, and now Wesley could see her nametag which read "Cordelia".

"Number one," Angel said, rummaging in a closet and appearing again with a wrench in hand. "Or whatever he wants. Plus house discount."

Cordelia frowned. "What the heck is a - "

Angel gave her a look. "It's the discount he gets for renting out part of my house, remember?"

"Since when do - " Cordelia started, then immediately stopped herself when Angel's look became sterner. "Oh, right. The house discount. Which is how much again?"

"Fifty percent," Angel said. "Now don't you have people you could be serving or something?"

"Apparently I'm getting him a number one," Cordy retorted, jerking her thumb in Wesley's direction. She then looked at him, notepad in hand. "Okay, hit me. Scrambled or fried, toast or muffin, coffee or tea?"

Normally Wesley would have forced himself to refuse, but after dinner last night it was harder to deny himself. "Fried, toast, tea. Please."

"You got it," Cordy said, then disappeared through the doors.

"I'll pay you back," Wesley told Angel, quietly.

"Don't worry about it," Angel told him. He flashed a smile at Alissa before going back into the kitchen as well.

"You're renting out Angel's place?" the young woman by Gunn said. "That's great. He's been saying it'd be nice for somebody to do that."

"He's been kind enough to allow me to stay there, yes," Wesley said. He lifted Alissa to his shoulder, stroking her back to ease some of the air bubbles out of her system.

"Then it's good to meet you," she said. She stretched out over the counter, offering a hand. "Winifred Burkle. But everybody calls me Fred."

"Wesley Johnson," he replied, pleased that he managed not to stumble over it this time. He shook her hand, then decided he might as well try to fit in. "Everyone calls me Wes."

"This is Gunn," she said, pointing at her countermate. "Charles Gunn if you want to be exact but - "

"People who call me 'Charlie' better be my moms or better be ready to face a lawsuit," Gunn finished for her. "I saw you last night, right?"

"Yes," Wesley said. "I was coming, you were going."

"Thought that was you," Gunn said. His look was studious, and not a little suspicious, but Wesley honestly couldn't blame him. He probably wouldn't trust himself right now either. The gaze softened as his eyes moved down to the baby. "So is that a parasite you got there on your arm or - "

"Oh, my God," another waitress appeared, her eyes wide with delight. "Is that the cutest baby ever or what?"

"Erm - this is Alissa," Wesley said. He glanced at Fred and Gunn for help, not certain what to make of this. "My daughter."

"Well she is just a sweetheart," the new waitress cooed. "Yes you are!"

Her enthusiasm was enough that it was starting to make Alissa tense. Wesley rubbed his hand in circles, hoping to avoid a full on crying jag. "Yes, er - "

"Harmony," Angel said, putting a cup of tea down in front of Wesley. "Don't you have something to do?"

Harmony shook her head. "Not really. I mean all those people over there want food but somebody needs to take their orders and - " the light dawned as Angel stared at her. "Oh, right! I guess I could do that, huh?"

"It might stave off the boredom, yeah," Angel agreed. He made an encouraging motion towards the tables. "Go on. I'm sure they'd love to talk to you."

"You got it, boss!" Harmony said, giving a jaunty salute before wandering back over to the tables.

"Why did I agree to this again?" Angel asked Cordelia, who presented Wesley with his food.

"Because you're a sweetheart and a generous soul and you trust me when I say she'll be great at this," Cordy replied, refilling empty coffee cups without missing a beat.

"And it had nothing to do with me maybe losing my mind?" Angel asked.

"I'm not saying it wasn't a factor," Cordy said, pushing her way back into the kitchen.

"Right," Angel sighed. He grinned at Wesley, then leaned against the counter. "Okay, so in about a week I might have an opening here for a new waiter, but in the meanwhile are you free today?"

Wesley paused as he tried to cut up his eggs one-handed. "I didn't have plans besides the shopping. Why?"

"I gotta friend who's hiring," Angel said. "Name's Lorne. It's nothing glamorous. We're talking filing, answering phones, that kind of thing. But if you're interested I can get you an interview with him in a couple of hours."

Two hours. Wesley tried to calculate if that would be enough time for him to try to make himself look presentable. He had an outfit in the car which was cleaner than the rest. He supposed it would have to do. "Of course. That's very kind of him. Only - what shall I do about Alissa?"

"Could bring her with," Angel said.

"Angel," Fred scolded, "you can't bring a baby on a job interview."

"Why not?" Angel asked.

"Can you picture Lorne being able to listen over the sound of a baby crying?" Fred replied.

"Good point," Angel said.

"Drop her off at Anne's," Gunn suggested. Off of Wesley's quizzical look he said, "Friend of mine. Does a daycare/afterschool kind of thing. She's good people, promise. Could drop her off during the interview and pick her up on the way back."

Wesley thought about it. "I suppose that could be an interview for her as well. If I'm working full time I'll need someone to watch Alissa."

"There you go," Gunn said, finishing off his coffee and motioning for Cordy to give him a refill. "Win/win for everyone."

"How much does she - " Wesley started to ask, but stopped when Angel touched his arm.

"Don't worry about it," Angel said, keeping his voice low.

"I - " Wesley started to protest, but Angel shook his head, refusing to hear it. Wesley tried to cover the frustration of his pride by attempting to make light of the whole thing. "You know one day you're going to have to tell me why - "

"Car keys."

Angel looked over at the teenaged boy that had just thrust his hand into their midst. "Why good morning, son. It's nice to see you too."

The boy sighed. "Dad, keys."

"Good to hear," Angel continued, refusing to be swayed from his amiable tone. "I slept pretty well myself, thanks for asking."

"Dad," the boy said, shaking his hand for emphasis. "I have practice. Come on."

"Not before you eat something," Angel said. "Now what's it going to be, oatmeal or pancakes? And since when am I giving you my car today anyway?"

"Since last Thursday when I asked you?"

"Refresh my memory," Angel said, then gestured at Wesley. "And mind your manners. Say hi to Wes. He's renting out the guest apartment."

"Hey," the boy said, barely looking over. "Dad, you said that I could - "

Angel put a bowl of oatmeal down in front of his son. "Okay, let's pretend that when I say mind your manners it means act like a human being and actually introduce yourself. You know, prove to the world I taught you skills besides grunting."

The boy rolled his eyes, then turned to Wesley in a perfect imitation of courtesy. "Hi, it's nice to meet you. My name's Connor, what's yours?"

Wesley smiled, actually finding himself charmed by the pantomime. "Wesley. Er - Wes. This is my daughter, Alissa."

Connor's act was dropped as he actually smiled and touched Alissa with genuine greeting. Then, catching his father's eye on him, he resumed his former tone. "Hi, Alissa. It's nice to meet you too. I'm glad you and your dad are renting our place, because that means that maybe I can come visit you sometimes and you can tell me what it's like having a dad who isn't senile and forgets when he promised to lend you his car."

"Siddown, eat, shut up," Angel said, no trace of anger in his tone. "And not necessarily in that order."

Connor slumped into a stool beside Wesley, adding enough sugar to his cereal that Wesley's teeth began to ache. "You know, Dad, maybe we should talk about this memory thing. Because I'm worried about you."

"Why am I lending you my car, Connor?" Angel asked.

"The thing is," Connor continued, putting milk into the mix, "you shouldn't be ashamed. Age happens to everybody and so do the consequences. You should never be afraid to ask for help."

"Any year now with the car thing," Angel told him.

"And I want you to know," Connor continued, sitting forward, "that I am here for you. I'll stay by your side, even as you go on this rapid path towards completely dead braincells. I will love and support you, and put you into the best old folks' home money can buy."

"Funny," Angel said.

"I mean it," Connor replied. He grinned, and Wesley could see an echo of Angel's smile on the boy's face. "I'll even visit you on holidays. Or some of them. Or near them since it's not like you'd be able to tell the difference anyway."

"You know I hear jokes about me being over the hill are actually humorous if you wait until I'm over the hill," Angel said, moving his hand through the air to indicate the bump in question. "But since I'm not even near middle age yet - "

Connor laughed. "You're almost forty!"

"I'm thirty-ei - five," Angel quickly corrected himself mid-statement. He looked at Wesley, as though gauging his success. "I'm only thirty five!"

"Oh God, you're not still trying that one, are you?" Cordelia asked, clearing away plates and silverware.

"Go stop Harmony from breaking all my cups," Angel told her.

Cordy frowned. "How do you know she's - "

"It's a gut instinct," Angel replied, and sure enough there was a sound of a crash from the kitchen.

"You are thirty eight," Connor said, stabbing his spoon in the air accusingly, "which is almost forty which is almost middle aged which means - "

"Which means I've got a kid who's old enough to be a pain in my ass," Angel finished. He put a glass of orange juice down in front of Connor, then automatically gave Wesley one as well. Wesley drank, hoping the vitamin C would help him get past his cold. "Now once more from the top: why am I lending you my car?"

"Because I've got practice," Connor said, "and then school and then I gotta hit the library and then it's more practice and then me and Tracy - "

"Aha!" Angel said.

" - have to study for finals which I told you about last Thursday," Connor kept going, ignoring his father's response. "And I can't do all that if I'm taking the bus because then I've got no way of coming home. You do want me to come home, right?"

"It's a fifty-fifty thing at any given moment," Angel replied. "So you and Tracy are studying where again?"

Now Connor looked shifty. "Tracy's place."

"And Tracy's mother is going to be right there helping you, right?" Angel said, pointedly.

"Did I say Tracy's place?" Connor asked. "Because I meant the library."

"As my dearest son just helpfully pointed out, I wasn't born yesterday," Angel reminded him.

"Dad," Connor pleaded, making the word stretch out over two syllables.

"Connor," Angel said, leaning forward and taking his son by the hand. "I think we need to talk man to man."

"Oh God, Dad, ew," Connor said, trying to pull away.

Angel held fast, his voice dripping with sincerity. "Because you know boys your age get certain urges - "

"Dad, come on."

"And it's okay," Angel continued, "I know. Because I've been there. You know when I was your age -"

"I'm going to kill myself right now," Connor warned him, "I swear to God."

"Look, I just want to know," Angel said, meeting his son's eyes. "Are you using condoms?"

"Dad!"

Angel grinned and produced his car keys. "Here you go. Ah - not so fast - " he held them out of Connor's reach. "I want you to remember me forcing you to have this conversation the next time you bring it back without refilling the tank. Got it?"

"You are so weird, do you know that?" Connor asked. He reached up to snatch the keys out of Angel's hand, then gathered up his stuff. "This is why I tell everybody I'm not related to you."

"Do it a third time and I'm putting my CDs into the player and making sure Tracy knows they actually belong to you," Angel retorted.

"I'm late for practice," Connor said, buttoning up his coat. "Is there anything else you want me to remember?"

"Oh yeah, Gunn wants you to tell people you've got the - " Angel turned to Gunn " - what was that again? The flu?"

"Yeah," Gunn agreed, wiping off his mouth. "Or maybe a limp. Think you could fake your way to a limp?"

"I cannot wait for college," Connor announced, dismissing them all with a shake of his head.

"And to think," Angel told Wesley as the outside doors swung closed after Connor left, "I used to long for the days when he would talk."

PART THREE

The snow had settled down into a random flake or two which still fell belatedly from the sky. The day itself was cold, and grey, and not for the first time Angel wondered if he shouldn't have insisted that he keep the car, or agree to take Wes's.

Anne's place wasn't far from the diner, so dropping Alissa off hadn't been much of a problem, once they got past the usual round of introductions and arrangement-making. Lorne's was a bit further but with the day being what it was Angel thought walking might be a good idea, especially since it allowed him to give Wes the lay of the land.

Only catch was Wes didn't have anything by way of real winter clothes.

Angel was feeling really damned stupid.

"The streets are surprisingly clear," Wes remarked as they waited for a car to pass.

"We're experts with winter," Angel told him, stepping past a mound of plowed snow that he knew someone's kids would be turning into a fort later. "Could hit us with three Nor'easters in a row and we'd still be up and running by the next day. Around here pretty much everyone knows how to man a shovel."

Wes looked stricken. "I'm sorry - it only just occurred to me I should have offered to help you clear the walk out front."

Angel waved it off. "Don't worry about it. I've got a snowblower and a teenager, which means this morning it was me and the snowblower. But Connor knows he's gotta lend a hand when the real storms hit."

To his credit, Wes only looked slightly intimidated. "Last night wasn't a real storm?"

Angel grinned at him. "We're not even in winter yet."

They took a turn down Bank street. Angel pointed out the grocery store, and the town's only ATM. He thought about pointing out a few clothing stores as well but wrote that off as too obvious a nudge. Plus he didn't want to come off as insulting the effort Wes had obviously made to get himself looking presentable. He wasn't totally dressed up by a long shot, but he'd somehow managed to shower and trim the stubble into a respectable shave. There was a different outfit too but at that point Angel reminded himself to stop staring.

"The two of you seem to have a remarkable relationship," Wes offered, pulling Angel out of his thoughts. "I can only hope to one day have the same with Alissa."

"Give it time," Angel told him. "These things come in stages. Connor'n me are still getting past that whole 'every teenager hates his dad' thing. And the rebellious thing. And the thing where he does stuff just to see if he can turn my hair grey. Actually I'm not sure we're past any of that yet but he's a good kid."

"You and your wife must be very proud," Wesley observed.

"I am," Angel replied, looking at Wes to show there were no hard feelings. "And she was. Darla passed away ten years ago. It's just me and Connor now."

"I'm sorry," Wesley said.

Inside the privacy of his coat pocket, Angel ran his thumb along his empty ring finger. It had been years since he'd stopped wearing it but sometimes he still felt the weight of the band. "Thanks."

"Alissa's mother - " Wes hesitated, then said. "There were complications with the birth. It's only her and I as well, now."

"Sorry to hear that," Angel said.

Wes seemed uncomfortable with the sympathy. "Thank you."

They turned one last corner, and the sign for Caritas Travel Agency came into view.

"Come on," Angel said, happy to change the subject for the both of them. "I'm sure Lorne's gonna love you."

"Angelcakes, I don't know."

Angel blinked. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know," Lorne said. He looked through the window of his private office, watching Wesley as he waited patiently out front. "I mean he's nice and all - "

"He needs a job."

"Cute as a button too," Lorne added. He glanced at Angel. "Is he single?"

Angel gave him a look. "He's got a kid."

Lorne scoffed. "Oh yeah. Like that means anything."

Angel sat down on Lorne's desk. "Can you hire him?"

"Can I? Yes," Lorne said. "But will I is the question. Angel, money's tight. It's not exactly the tourist season. There's only so many folks in this town I can send on fabulous tropical vacations before I've run out of people to deal with. Other than the Hendersons and their annual trip to gay Paree I'm tapped out until Valentine's."

"But you said you could use more help," Angel reminded him. "Somebody to answer the phones, do all the paperwork."

"Yeah, and I'd love a personal masseuse too," Lorne said, helping himself to a glass of water out of the cooler. "Doesn't mean I can afford it."

"He can work cheap," Angel said. "Off the books. Pay him in cash. At least until things get busy again."

Lorne went back to the window. His lips pursed in a frown. "I just have a bad feeling about this."

Angel stood up, trying to see what Lorne saw. "What? Why?"

"Who can say why?" Lorne shrugged. "You know me. I see people, I get feelings. I see your pal here and my feeling is I have a bad feeling. I can't tell you more than that."

Angel shook his head, refusing to believe it. "He's a good guy. He'll be great for you - Hell, for the business. Can't you at least give him a shot?"

Lorne studied him. "Boy, you're really working full time on helping this hopeless case, huh?"

"He's got a kid," Angel said again.

"Looks like somebody had a bowl of overidentification for breakfast," Lorne shot back, then waved off Angel's protest. "Okay, okay. I'll do it. But you owe me."

"Anything, name it," Angel promised.

"Yeah, right," Lorne replied, opening the office door again. "I wouldn't write blank checks like that if you're not totally back on the dating scene, but thanks anyway. Wesley? Congratulations! When can you start?"

Wesley's first day of work started right then and there. Wesley rather suspected that this was due to some sort of intervention on Angel's behalf, but he didn't protest it. His wallet was down to almost nothing, and Alissa needed a great deal of supplies.

Angel left to return to the diner. He offered to stop by Anne's to let her know about the new schedule but Wesley declined. He wanted to speak to the woman himself and hear her voice when she promised him that Alissa was fine. It wasn't the first time that he'd needed to place his daughter into daycare, but even so he preferred keeping close tabs on her. A phone call in the morning was enough to last him until afternoon.

Lorne gave him a tour of the office, such as it was. It was quiet, which allowed them time for a quick lesson on using the computer, or more specifically the software specific to the business as Wesley already knew how to use a computer in general.

He also knew a great deal of information about many of the travel destinations that Lorne sent people to, having been there himself, and could speak the native language of each and every one. But he had no idea if this knowledge would be perceived as useful or as pretentious arrogance, so he kept it to himself.

His job was to answer phones and to assist Lorne in whatever he might need, the latter of which covered everything from making coffee to sorting through the mail.

With things being as slow as they were, Wesley decided to find work to do, even if Lorne couldn't assign it. He dusted, swept, and then dedicated himself to the Herculean task of going through the enormous metal filing cabinets and making certain that everything inside was in proper alphabetical order. Doing anything had to be better than sitting around appearing useless.

"Oh, sheesh, Wes, you don't have to worry about that," Lorne assured him, once he realized what Wesley was doing. "Those things have been a mess for ages. Why give yourself the headache?"

"I don't mind," Wesley replied, even though by then his eyes did hurt. "That is - unless you'd rather I not touch anything?"

"No, no, have fun if you wanna," Lorne replied. "Better you than me, I guess. I'm breaking for lunch, do you want anything?"

"No, thank you," Wesley lied, determined to discipline himself after the extravagance of eating two meals in a row. Besides, he assumed any time taking off for lunch would be stricken from his hourly wages. "I'm still full from breakfast. I can mind the store if you like."

"Okay," Lorne said, pulling on an overcoat that seemed far too garish for anyone's tastes, yet looked perfectly fine when contrasted with the man's highlighted blond hair. "I'll be back in a jiff."

The day moved on. Wesley continued his quest to reorganize the filing cabinets. Lorne returned with a bag of something which smelled spicy, and made Wesley's mouth water at the same time his stomach twisted and turned. Perhaps guessing Wesley's hunger, Lorne offered to split part of the meal with him but Wesley politely refused. He wouldn't be known as the town charity case. He'd already relied on others far too much.

He kept working. The faint light of day disappeared and turned into the black of evening, even though it was barely past three. His eyes were hot, and tired, and his muscles ached from the constant kneeling and standing that he'd had to do to move things around from each and every drawer. His throat was dry, and there didn't seem to be enough water in the cooler to make his coughing go away.

"Need me to get you a lozenge?" Lorne asked at one point

Wesley chastised himself. It wasn't as though he didn't know how unprofessional all this was. "No, thank you. It's just a dry spot," he said, and resolved to clamp down harder on his lungs.

Finally it came time to go home. The cold air of outside slapped against Wesley's face, a relief after being locked indoors for hours. He let the wind buffet him for a moment, savoring the cool sensation.

"Need a ride?" Lorne asked.

"No, thank you," Wesley said, priding himself in how self-sufficient he was able to be now, particularly with his first day's pay now sitting in his pocket. "I remember the way, and I need to stop by the store regardless."

"Okay then," Lorne said, getting into his own car. "See you tomorrow. Ten to nine if you can make it."

"I will," Wesley promised, then retraced his steps home.

As he walked he allowed himself to cough a bit louder, trying to clear out whatever it was inside of him. His throat hurt, and his eyes watered, and he still felt overwarm from Lorne's office. He undid his jacket, then unbuttoned his top few shirt buttons as well.

The grocery store was bright, but small and blessedly easy to navigate. Wesley filled a basket with extra formula, wipes, toiletries, and used his other hand to carry a large bundle of diapers. His eyes lingered on the shelves dedicated to medicine, but he forced himself to look away. He had just enough for Alissa and no more.

Alissa herself was happy to see him. He indulged himself with hugs and kisses, cradling her close before putting her back into the carrier to take her home.

"She was really sweet," Anne told him. "Ate like a good girl and everything."

Wesley reached for his wallet again. "How much do I - "

Anne shook her head. "Don't worry about it."

Angel again, Wesley remembered. He wanted to argue it but he didn't have the energy. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he would arrive early and discuss a proper agreement. Perhaps a weekly or monthly payment system. Anything to show he could handle it. For now he had enough on his hands with Alissa on one side and the bulky groceries on the other.

"Thank you," Wesley said.

"See you in the morning," Anne smiled.

The Hyperion diner looked even more welcoming than it had the night before. Wesley walked towards its light as though drawn to it, putting one foot in front of the other by instinct more than anything else. It was late, or at least it seemed so. He was tired, and trembling. Alissa felt as though she weighed easily five times her usual mass and the diapers refused to keep still. He felt the constant bumping of the plastic packaging against his leg as though it were a slap.

He was hungry, he knew, but even so he refused to meet Angel's eyes when the other man greeted him upon his return. He didn't want to argue about meals, and supposed house discounts. He wanted to go upstairs, to bed, and sleep until Alissa woke him, even though the very idea of getting up again made his head hurt even more, and his stomach rolled, and his arms and hands felt so damned heavy and -

"Wes? Wes!" Angel's voice came at him from a thousand miles away.

"I - " Wesley tried to speak, but words failed him, and the world itself filled with cotton.

"Okay, hang on, Wes," Angel said, and Wesley was dimly aware of a pair of strong hands around him. "It's okay. I've got you."

But what about Alissa? Wesley wanted to ask, but he'd already passed out.

Wesley dreamt.

It's not a secret.

What's not a secret?

He felt dizzy, unable to keep still. The universe spun around him, coming at him in snatches of sight and sound and touch.

Us.

Touch. Lilah's touch. The two of them together in a kaleidoscope of memories, all of which felt real and surreal at the same time.

I told you, I couldn't care less about what he thinks.

You faker!

Lilah's laugh. He remembered Lilah's laugh, and the first time he'd realized that she was actually capable of feeling something like joy.

So my father knows about our relationship, big deal.

A dollar! You owe me a dollar!

Oh damn.

Wesley remembered the first time he'd realized that he himself had actually felt joy around her.

Sign it first. As proof.

Proof of what?

Of now. Of this.

He wanted to grab onto her, onto everything. To make it all stay still. To stop spinning and let him hold it. Let him feel it. Let it not slip away one more time.

What are we going to do about the baby?

Not a damned thing, Wes.

Failure. Months upon months of failure.

Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I'm sorry but -

His failure. His inability to do the right thing, to even recognize it when he'd seen it. there's been complications.

He'd been so bloody certain.

I can't accept this.

I don't think you get a choice.

There had to have been a way.

This wasn't a relationship.

There's a signed dollar bill in your wallet that says different.

There had to be a way, still.

I'm sorry.

Oh, Wes, we don't have that word in our vocabulary.

A way for him to fix it.

Still, if you're that into the whole tilting at windmills thing -

A way to make it better. - I'll tell you what. When the time comes?

A way to make it better for everyone.

And you can admit to yourself what this was? What all of it is? Then I want you to give that dollar to our daughter.

Not just himself, but everyone.

Then we'll see if you still recognize what really matters.

Wesley woke up.

Wesley sat up on the couch, feeling the sweat that drenched his body. The livingroom was dark and quiet. He surged up, feeling panic hit his system. He had to find -

"Hey, you're up," Angel said, appearing from out of the shadows. Alissa was cradled in his arms, fast asleep. "Sit down. Take it easy. She just got fed."

"What - " Wesley started to ask, but couldn't take his eyes off his child. "Please, I need to - "

"Here you go," Angel said, anticipating the request. He knelt down, carefully handing the baby over. "Watch it, you're about as weak as a kitten. Put her against your chest."

Wesley held his daughter close, feeling tears prick his eyes as relief coursed through him. "Thank you."

"She's fine," Angel promised him. "We pulled shifts on babysitting. Plus Anne did most of the work. Either way don't worry about it. Brought back memories for me."

Wesley frowned. "How long was I - "

"About three days," Angel said. He stood up again, gesturing to a small collection of prescription bottles on the table. "You were pretty bad. Fred said it was flu. Personally - well we don't need to get into personally right now. Point is you were down for the count."

"Oh God," Wesley said, as he realized the implications of this. "Lorne."

Angel waved it off. "You were sick. He knows. You can come back to work whenever you're up and ready."

"Tomorrow," Wesley said, looking at the clock. "Ten to nine. I can make it."

Annoyance flickered over Angel's face, but it quickly vanished. Instead he walked a circuit of the apartment, pointing out things as he went. "We pulled a collection together. Hauled some stuff down from the attic, plus everybody else had extras of things. Alissa's got a crib now, and a changing table. There's also pots and pans and dishes and stuff. Fridge's got some food in it. The bedroom has - "

"I'm sorry," Wesley interrupted him. "But what?"

Angel shrugged. "It's nothing."

Wesley sighed, then indicated the pill bottles. "And those? Are those nothing too?"

"No," Angel replied, "those are actually things you still need to be taking every couple of hours, but if you're asking about cost - "

"I can't accept this," Wesley said. "Angel, I - you know how little I have."

"Nobody's asking you to pay them back, Wes," Angel told him. He pulled one of the new chairs over, turning it around so he could straddle it. "I wouldn't let you get into debt like that, promise."

"I'm already in debt like that," Wesley said, feeling overwhelmed. "To you, to Anne, to Lorne. Alissa alone takes up so much of what I earn. There's no possible way - "

"You really aren't from around here, are you?" Angel asked, his voice gentle.

Wesley thought of England, and home. Of enormous family mansions and the lavish dinner parties given inside where one plate alone could cost three times as much as the entire building he now sat in. Of what his family might think of a man like Angel, who took pride in owning what they would have cheerfully condemned in every sense of the word. "My world is quite different from yours," Wesley finally said.

"I'm getting that," Angel replied. "Look, Wes, things are different here. It's not like some big, indifferent city. If somebody needs something, we give it. That's how we are."

Wesley suspected that more than anything that was how Angel was, but he supposed the end result was the same. "Even still, I couldn't possibly - "

"Wes," Angel said, his tone a bit stronger. "I'm trying not to do the big nagging thing because I know what that's like. But the thing is what you're doing right now? It's not just about you. It's about her. You want to do what's best for her and believe me I'm behind that. But what's best for her also involves taking care of her daddy. That means sleeping, and eating, and not driving yourself to exhaustion."

"I'm trying," Wesley said. He wrapped his hand around Alissa's fist, feeling her wrap her fingers around his thumb in turn. "You have no idea. I want to do all of those things but - "

"No 'but'," Angel told him. His eyes met Wesley's. "And I do have an idea. I might not know the whole story - and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to - but I know what it's like. Ten years ago I was where you are now. And lemme tell you this: if it wasn't for my friends, I would have never survived it."

"I don't have any friends," Wesley confessed.

Angel shook his head. "You do now, okay? At least if you'd like some. Look, I know all this is weird to you and probably nothing like what you're used to, but give us a chance. Who knows, you might even like it."

"I will pay you back," Wesley promised, refusing to be swayed. "No matter what, I will return these favors."

"If you want to," Angel said, unconcerned. He offered his hand out to shake. "In the meanwhile, do we have a deal? You stop killing yourself and actually take advantage of what we're offering you?"

Wesley freed a hand to shake Angel's in turn. "All right. But for her sake, not mine."

"I can accept that," Angel said, flashing him a grin that was nothing but confidence.

PART FOUR

The diner was surprisingly empty by the time Wesley felt well enough to attempt to rejoin the world. Wesley looked around, wondering where the patrons were.

"Did you have to quarantine the place just for me?" he asked Angel, trying to stay out of the other man's way as he gave Alissa her formula.

"Nah," Angel said. He was in the midst of packing things into coolers. Wesley watched him as he placed one foil-covered tray after another into the plastic bin. "It's Sunday."

"You go to church?" Wesley guessed.

"Sometimes," Angel said, closing one cooler and moving on to another one. He tossed a slip of paper down onto the counter so Wesley could see it. "And sometimes there's a game on."

"Hockey?" Wesley asked, looking up from the ticket Angel had placed in front of him.

"You got it," Angel told him. He put a breakfast sandwich into the microwave, setting the timer for ten seconds. "Tigers versus Bobcats."

Spying one of the pennants over the cash register, Wesley said, "You're a Tiger fan."

The microwave beeped. Angel opened it up and handed the heated sandwich over to Wesley. "Big Tiger fan. The biggest. Now eat that because you're coming with."

Wesley paused as he attempted to juggle both Alissa and the food. "I am? But I don't know a thing about hockey."

Angel helped him by taking Alissa out of his arms, rubbing her back as he held her. "You know the star player. What more is there?"

Wesley frowned, mid-bite. "The star - "

"Dad, would you finish up already?" Connor said, swiping a muffin off of one of the plates as he jogged through the diner and out the front door.

"They say all the great ones are impatient before a game," Angel said, not missing a beat. "Come on, we'll take my car."

Angel's SUV navigated the icy early morning streets with ease. Wesley watched the scenery go by as they left the center of town and headed out into the countryside. Barns and houses occasionally dotted the landscape, sometimes barely visible under their blankets of snow.

"We're playing an away game," Angel explained, adjusting the heat as the car warmed up. "The Bobcat arena's good, though. It shouldn't be too cold. And if it feels like too much there's a room you can take Alissa to and watch from there. All the parents end up in there eventually"

"That's because you're all wimps," Connor said, leaning forward from his position in the back seat. "Comes with age."

"Hey," Angel protested, "I have never done the side room. It's too far for me to yell at the refs."

"Right, right," Connor said, dismissing it. "Hey, Dad? If it's okay with Cordy can I switch shifts with her tomorrow?"

"How come?" Angel asked.

"I wanted to do stuff with the guys," Connor replied.

"Try that again," Angel suggested, "except narrow 'stuff' down to names, times, places and activities I can approve of."

Connor heaved a put-upon sigh. "After school I'm meeting up with Brenda, Jake and Robin to cram for French, then we were all going to grab dinner with Rick and Tracy, then we were maybe going to try to get some work done on that thing for Social Studies and then Rick and me thought we'd hang out by the elementary school and deal drugs."

"Rick and I thought we'd hang out by the elementary school and deal drugs," Angel corrected.

Connor made a face at him. "So can I?"

"Scratch off the last bit, be home by eleven and then it's fine by me if it's fine with Cordy," Angel said.

"But Dad," Connor said, stretching the name out over several syllables.

"You heard me," Angel told him, refusing to be baited. "No drug dealing."

"All the other guys get to come home by midnight!" Connor protested.

"All the other guys have parents who aren't evil and bent on making your life a living Hell," Angel replied.

"Did your dad always think he was funny?" Connor asked Wesley.

"I can't say my father ever labored under that delusion," Wesley replied, trying not to smile in face of the boy's adolescent plight.

"It could maybe be 11:30," Angel allowed.

Connor gave his father a hopeful look. "11:45?"

Angel turned to Wes. "Does your kid ever labor under the delusion that she's funny?"

"This is so lame!" Connor said.

"Hey!" Angel said, looking at Connor in the rearview mirror. "Keep that attitude up and it's going to be a brand-new curfew of 10, got it?"

Connor slumped back in his seat. "11:30?"

"Hey look, we're in agreement," Angel said.

Whatever Connor might have replied was lost as Alissa gave a few tentative cries.

Wesley turned around, trying to assess her. "She might be hungry. Connor, if you could get me my bag, please?"

"I got it," Connor said, grabbing the satchel. "What's she need?"

"Let's try the juice," Wesley said. "It's the bottle with the flowers on it."

Connor rummaged in the bag, pulled out the bottle, and offered it to the baby. "Here you go. Drink up."

Wesley watched the two of them together, surprised at the rapid disappearance of Connor's sulk.

"Connor's great with kids," Angel said, perhaps reading Wesley's mind. "When he was thirteen - "

"Dad," Connor tried to interrupt, clearly embarrassed by any trips down memory lane.

Angel ignored him. "He started up his own company. Did everything from snow shoveling to babysitting. Even had some of his friends working for him. Drew up a sign for it that he put in the window of the diner and everything. Made good money too."

"Nobody needs to hear about that," Connor said.

"What?" Angel asked. "You were a kid and you had your own business! I can't be proud? You know I still think you should've put that on your college applications."

"No college cares about what I did when I was thirteen," Connor told him. "Nobody does. Not even Wes."

"Well, I, er - " Wesley faltered, wondering what he was supposed to say.

"I care," Angel replied, saving Wesley the trouble. "And I guess if I'm not allowed to be proud of what you do then I can't tell Wes you made MVP two years running?"

"No, you can tell him that," Connor said. He wiped Alissa's chin as she finished with her drink, then amused her by dangling a stuffed toy in front of her. Alissa gurgled happily, trying to reach up for it.

"Connor made MVP two years running," Angel said, slowing the truck down so a deer could pass by.

"So I've heard," Wesley said, grinning. "You must be very proud."

"I am during those pre-approved times when my son allows me to be," Angel replied.

"Hey," Connor said, sitting forward again. "Are you really English?"

Wesley blinked at the non-sequitur. "Er - yes?"

"Like you've lived there and everything?" Connor asked.

"I have lived there and everything," Wesley confirmed, wondering how much he could get away with not telling. He decided the best course of action would be to keep the ball in Connor's court. "Why?"

"Is it nice?" Connor asked.

"I suppose it is," Wesley said. "Though that greatly depends upon what one likes."

"What about the schools?" Connor asked, then clarified. "I was thinking of maybe going to Oxford, if they take me."

"Oxford's quite nice," Wesley replied, then immediately stopped himself from warming up to the subject more than he had to. "I - I had friends who went there. They seemed to enjoy it. What in particular appealed to you about it?"

"The fact that it would tear his daddy's heart out and rip it into a million pieces if he was at a school that was that far away," Angel replied. "Not that I'm trying to influence his decision or anything."

Connor paid no attention to him. "I dunno. I mean there's so much there, you know? I've been thinking Literature, but then there's Religious Studies too, or maybe I'll go for a Psych program or something. My guidance counselor says I should pick something that's got a real career to it, though."

"Pick whatever you want, Connor," Angel assured him. "No matter what you decide, I'm behind you a hundred percent."

"Unless I pick Oxford," Connor said.

"Unless you pick Oxford," Angel agreed, though the twinkle in his eyes belied any attempt at pretending to be stern. "In which case I have no child."

"Fine by me," Connor said, helping to gather things up as Angel pulled into a parking space. "I've been telling people for years that I'm not related to you either."

Angel turned the engine off, then faced his son. "Have I told you lately that you're my favorite kid?"

Connor grinned, clearly having heard this before. "I'm your only kid."

Angel grinned back. "Oh yeah. Funny how that works out."

The emptiness of the diner was rapidly explained as Angel and Wesley hauled Alissa, the baby supplies, and the two coolers down into the arena. Gunn, Fred, Cordelia and some people Wesley didn't recognize were all gathered around in a comfortable sprawl that spanned several rows and included blankets and thermoses that no one seemed to mind sharing. The air felt cool but Angel promised it would warm up as more people arrived.

"We're here early because Connor has to be," Angel explained.

Faces turned as Wesley and Angel were spotted, and Gunn and a few others climbed over the benches to help pull everything into position.

"All right," Gunn said, immediately commandeering one of the coolers. "Ladies and gentlemen, breakfast is served."

Angel's carefully prepared meals were pulled out and unwrapped, their steam escaping into the air in white plumes of vapor. Plastic plates and cutlery were produced and it wasn't long before everyone had something to fill themselves up with.

"Hey, Wes," Fred said, making herself comfortable on the bench just above his. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you," Wesley told her. He sipped at a cup of hot cocoa, savoring the warmth as it spread through his body. "I'm given to understand I have you to thank for that?"

Fred blushed, adjusting her glasses. "It was nothing. All part of the job."

"I had no idea you were a doctor," Wesley said. He fixed Alissa's hat as it threatened to slip off of her head. "If I'd known perhaps I would've asked you for advice about my cough sooner."

"The flu's a hard one to peg," Fred reassured him. "One minute you're fine and the next, bam! Dead on your feet."

"Luckily Angel was there to catch me," Wesley said.

"It's what I do," Angel said, reaching between them to pour himself a drink out of the coffee-filled thermos. "Hey, do you know Gwen and Knox? Actually, where is Knox? Wasn't he just here?"

"Potty break," Fred replied, helping herself to another serving of everything. "He'll be back in a sec."

Wesley turned to the woman sitting beside Gunn. "I assume you're Gwen?"

"Yeah," the young woman replied. She seemed to be about Gunn's age, and was dressed in tight black slacks and a bright red sweater. "And you're the guy I babysat for two nights ago. Nice to meetcha."

"Gwen owns the boutique on Spring Street," Angel explained.

"I don't know if I'm familiar with that one," Wesley said.

"Can't see how you would be," Gwen smiled. "Considering it's a lingerie shop and all. Unless Alissa there is much more advanced than we all gave her credit for."

"I don't think she's quite ready for that yet," Wesley agreed.

"So what's the stats for today's game?" Angel asked.

"Oh God," Cordy groaned. "Are you guys betting again?"

"It makes things interesting," Gunn told her.

"Not that I don't agree that hockey could use all the help it can get in that area," Cordy said, "But still. You two should save up that money and buy yourselves a life the rest of us won't make fun of."

"Actually," Fred cleared her throat, making room for the gentleman who came up and sat beside her. "Knox and I have some money on this too."

"In favor of the Tigers, right?" Angel asked, giving them a pointed look.

"Oh yes," Fred promised, bobbing her head in agreement.

"Wouldn't dream of betting on anybody else," the newcomer said. He held out a hand to Wesley. "Hey, I'm Knox."

"Wes," Wesley replied, finding himself fascinated with the easy way all of them had happily accommodated him into what was obviously a regular routine. Noticing the varying bonds of friendship between them all, he realized they were perhaps missing a person. "Where's Lorne?"

Cordy snorted. "He does not get up before noon on a Sunday. And especially not for sports."

"He'll catch up with us later at the diner," Angel added.

"Wait," Wesley said, as another missing piece caught his attention. "If everyone here has placed bets in favor of the Tigers, who bets on the Bobcats?"

"Morning, Angel," a female voice called over.

"Speak of the devil," Angel murmured, then he sat up to face the woman who'd joined them. "Morning, Kate. Catch any new criminals today?"

The blonde woman, who appeared to be in her thirties, folded her arms and gave Angel a dry look. "You tell me. You planning in disrupting the game again like you did last time?"

"I dunno," Angel replied. "Your cousin planning on breaking my kid's arm like last time?"

Kate smirked. "He didn't break Connor's arm and you know it."

"It was still a foul!"

"The ref thought otherwise."

"The ref was blind."

"Angel and Kate used to go out," Cordy whispered to Wesley, by way of explanation. "Until she broke up with him."

"I broke up with her," Angel retorted, clearly possessed of better hearing than Cordelia gave him credit for.

"That's not the way I remember it," Cordy replied.

"You know one of these years you're going to act like I'm actually the guy who signs your paychecks," Angel told her. "I'm really looking forward to that day."

"Glad to see you guys are having fun," Kate said, smiling with what seemed to be genuine friendship. She frowned as she spotted Wesley sitting amongst them. "Have we met?"

"Wes is a friend of mine," Angel told her, supplying the information with an ease Wesley didn't know if he himself would've possessed at an impromptu interrogation by a police officer. "He's staying with me for a while."

"Oh, okay," Kate said, unconcerned. She pointed out a spot on the other side of the arena. "Anyway, I'm over there with the gang if you want to stop by."

"We might," Gunn said. "Especially if you guys brought the good donuts."

"Don't we always?" Kate replied. She gave everyone a wave as she climbed back up the stairs again. "Catch you later."

"She did not break up with me," Angel muttered, turning back to his food.

Cordelia patted him on the back. "You keep telling yourself that."

To all appearances the game was a good one. Wesley gave up hope of understanding all of the rules, but he quickly determined which player was Connor and the general goal of cheering when he seemed to do something clever, or when the incredibly impossible to see puck made its way into the proper net. When all else failed he cheered when everyone else in his group did, and that seemed to carry him through.

The game itself took hours. Whatever boredom might have come from this was alleviated from the random moments of excitement during the game and, when those moments were few and far between, by eating.

Angel's picnic breakfast was torn through, then put away. Then snacks were brought out that everyone else had supplied. Then it was forays to the concession stands for hot dogs, sodas, and more. After a while Wesley gave up on protesting any attempts for people to give him things, and instead settled down to comfortably share the large tub of popcorn that Angel bought and set on the bench between them.

"My treat," Angel assured him, munching on a handful of buttered kernels. "Besides, I can't finish all this by myself anyway."

Wesley suspected that Angel could have also bought a smaller tub to begin with, but decided that by Angel's way of thinking this sort of thing was common courtesy. He ate, both because he was hungry and because it was the polite thing to do, and promised himself he'd pay Angel back eventually.

Alissa, for her part, was never bored. Young enough to be aware of new faces while not being old enough to be frightened of them, she was passed from lap to lap as everyone played with her and attempted to make her smile. Fred and Gunn both took turns feeding her when the time came, though of course Wesley took it upon himself to take care of any diaper changes.

As promised, the arena warmed up as more people arrived, but as the game wore on something started to bother her and she began to cry without stopping. Deciding that it would rule out both cold and the potential that he was annoying those around him, he took Alissa out to the warmer waiting room to pass the rest of the game there with the two mothers (one of a newborn, the other a toddler) who'd been in there since the game had started. Wesley hung back at first, not wanting to intrude upon the women's company, but then he recalled Angel's advice to at least try to see what living here could be like, and he introduced himself and engaged them in conversation.

After a half hour of talking about their three children, and the various joys and sorrows of parenthood, Wesley found that there honestly were far more horrible ways that he could have spent a Sunday morning.

"Did you see him?" Angel asked, when he rejoined Wesley at the end of the game.

"I did," Wesley said, having watched the outcome on a conveniently provided monitor. Of course he'd had no idea of the specifics of what he was watching, but he felt comfortable in adding, "Connor did wonderfully."

"He did, didn't he?" Angel said, a proud father to the core. "C'mon. We're heading back to the diner."

Wesley slung his satchel over his shoulder, waved goodbye to his two companions, then followed Angel. He looked around. "Is Connor catching up with us?"

"You kidding?" Angel asked, holding the door open for Wesley as they reached the parking lot. "He and his friends go out for pizza. It's not cool to do the post-game celebration with his dad."

"I suppose he's at that age," Wesley said. He pressed a kiss to Alissa's forehead glad, at least, that the two of them hadn't reached that stage yet.

"Oh yeah," Angel said. He unlocked the car and began lifting the coolers into the back of it. "But that's okay. We adults just celebrate without him."

"Thank you for including me," Wesley said. He reached into the truck to strap Alissa into her car seat. "That was quite kind of you."

"Don't mention it," Angel said. He turned the car on to warm it up. "Sunday morning games are a tradition around here."

Wesley double checked Alissa's belts, then moved forward into the passenger seat. "Even so, you didn't have to issue the invitation."

"You know eventually you're going to believe me when I tell you that around here you've got friends," Angel said.

Wesley smiled at him. "I'm starting to."

Angel began to smile back, then his face grew more serious. "I - look, just so you know I didn't put Connor up to asking you about England or anything. He did that on his own."

"I know," Wesley said.

"I'm not trying to fish information out of you," Angel said. "Whatever you wanna tell me or don't wanna tell me is fine with me. I - Let's just say I'm a big believer in judging people in the now. And everything I've seen about you so far says that you're a guy I can trust."

"You're someone I can trust too, Angel," Wesley told him.

Angel gave him a curious look at that. "You sound surprised."

Wesley watched the other cars line up to leave the lot, wondering yet again how much he dared to tell anyone. "Let's just say it's been a while since I've felt that about anyone I've met."

"Okay then," Angel said, and blessedly didn't press for anything else.

PART FIVE

Wesley returned to the diner on a quiet Wednesday evening and found Angel perched atop a ladder, attempting to do something to the Christmas lights which decorated the awning and windows.

"Isn't that dangerous?" Wesley asked, wondering how Angel could even see what he was doing when the only light came from inside the diner and from the fairy lights themselves.

"Guys like me don't worry about danger," Angel replied. He frowned, poking an ungloved finger underneath a wire. "We just - ow! Shut up, that was a splinter."

"I wasn't going to say a word," Wesley said. "Though if I were to say a word or two I might point out that splinters would be one of the dangers to be found up there."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Angel said. He slid down the ladder, his mouth spreading into a large smile as he spied Alissa in Wesley's arms. "Hey there, princess. Did you have a good day today?"

"To all reports, yes," Wesley answered. "While at Anne's she played with stuffed toys and blocks, and she also joined me at lunch for a walk through the park."

"Did she now?" Angel asked, tickling Alissa's chest and making faces at her. She squirmed with delight, making hiccuping sounds which would one day be proper laughter. "How'd she like the park?"

"Well enough," Wesley said. "There wasn't much by way of animal life, though I do believe she managed to terrorize a squirrel."

"Crying jag?" Angel guessed.

"Indeed," Wesley nodded. "Apparently your local rodent population isn't equipped to handle the verbal demands of a hungry baby."

"I keep trying to tell the town council that but they never listen," Angel replied. He stepped back, spreading his arms out to show off his handiwork. "So? What do you think?"

Wesley studied the view in front of him, trying to determine what had changed since morning. "You added more lights?"

"And the glowing Santa," Angel pointed out.

"It's very... festive," Wesley observed.

"I thought so," Angel said. "Do you think I should add some reindeer? I was torn on the reindeer."

"Do they glow?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps one wouldn't wish to overwhelm the Santa," Wesley suggested.

Angel grinned at him. "You're sitting there thinking I couldn't have made this more gaudy and American if I added some cowboy hats, right?"

"Nonsense," Wesley said, with false innocence. "I was thinking neon. Cowboy hats would have been a step towards the somber, comparatively speaking."

"Just for that you get to help me take this all down when the time comes," Angel told him. "So what about you? Got any decorations up in the apartment yet?"

"Oh no," Wesley said. He fished his keys out of his pocket and dangled them in front of Alissa as she began to grow restless. "It's only the two of us. It hardly seemed worth the effort."

"You should," Angel said. "I know she's young but if you like it she'll like it. Besides, why not do the effort for yourself if nothing else?"

"We'll see," Wesley said, not feeling strongly about it one way or another.

Angel bent down and began to put his tools away. "Made any plans yet?"

"For the holidays?" Wesley asked. "No. I believe Alissa and I shall enjoy a quiet evening alone."

"You're welcome to join me and Connor if you want," Angel said.

"Thank you," Wesley said, "but I wouldn't want to intrude. I'm sure you and Connor have your own traditions and moments of family time."

Angel shut his toolbox and stood up again. "You're welcome to join me and Connor if you want."

"Do you ever listen to a word I say?" Wesley asked.

"I find if I tune you out the first three times it's easier to skip to the part where you agree with me," Angel replied.

"Angel - "

"Look," Angel said, holding his hand up to forestall the protest. "You're not interrupting anything. Christmas morning I've got the diner open for anybody who wants a big pancake breakfast after church, then I lock up and it's me, Connor, a tree, presents and, this year, lasagna. Yeah, it's some nice father/son time but when you get right down to it it's not that much different then any other night we do dinner. It's been years since he's woken up in the morning all bright-eyed and dying to see what Santa brought, so why shouldn't you and Alissa join in? Heck, it'd be nice to have an actual kid around to enjoy the day with. We could even give her a little stocking or something."

"If I say 'no' you're just going to come knocking on my door on Christmas day and insist that I join you anyway, right?" Wesley asked.

Angel pretended to think about it. "Pretty much."

"Then I'd be delighted," Wesley said. "But only if you let me help in some fashion."

"Come over Christmas Eve and help me get the food ready," Angel said. "We'll call it even."

"It's a deal," Wesley agreed. He stepped inside as Angel held the door open for him, blinking as his eyes watered from the change in temperature.

"Hey guys," Gunn called over from his position by the counter. He barely looked up as he scribbled on a legal pad. "Angel, you ask Wes about New Year's Eve?"

"Oh yeah," Angel said, putting his tools away in the broom closet. "Wes, you're joining us for New Year's Eve."

"Good to know," Wesley said, wondering if it really would be simpler to give up all hope of ever trying to decline these invitations out of a sense of courtesy. "What's involved?"

"A big ol' party," Cordelia said. She came over, bending down to coo at Alissa. "Hi there! Can I hold her? No, wait - is she ready to drip from any end?"

"She's been burped and changed," Wesley promised. "Though she needs to get out of her snowsuit before she gets too warm."

"Fashion emergencies I can handle," Cordy said, scooping the baby into her arms. "In fact, maybe Aunt Cordy will even give her a makeover."

Wesley smiled. It seemed that everyone amongst Angel's friends had dubbed themselves 'Aunt' or 'Uncle' to his child. No, he thought. His friends. They were all becoming his friends, which was actually quite nice, for all that it was unexpected. "So - New Year's?"

"Par-tay," Gunn said. He held up his pad, showing Wesley the list he was working on. "Music, food, drinks, good times."

"Just so long as Angel doesn't try to dance or sing," Cordy added.

"I never try to dance," Angel said. "And I sing just fine."

"Make sure you cross off karaoke," Cordy told Gunn.

Gunn made a show of erasing something off of his list.

"Can I help?" Wesley asked.

"You tell me," Gunn replied. "You any good with party stuff?"

"Oo!" Cordy said, brightening as an idea came to her. "We should do something British-y. You know, now that Wesley's here."

"We could do that," Gunn said. "So what do British people do for New Year's?"

Wesley thought back to all the family parties he'd been forced to go to in his time. "Generally we stand about, sip from drinks which are horribly expensive yet still manage to taste like swill, and then spend the entire time making small talk while suppressing any hint of truly expressing our emotions. I suppose we could give that a go but I can't see how it would be any fun for you Americans."

"Don't put Wesley on the entertainment committee," Cordy suggested.

"You can help Angel with the food," Gunn told him.

"I'll do my best," Wesley said.

"It'll be fun," Angel told him.

"Would this be a time to point out that other than formula I'm not much of a cook?" Wesley asked.

"Then you can clean," Angel replied, tossing a dishrag at him.

Wesley hesitated, wondering if Angel meant for him to start now, but was then saved from the dilemma as Alissa began to cry.

"Okay, back to Daddy," Cordy announced, handing her over. "I don't do volume."

"Want me to heat up a bottle for her?" Angel asked.

"Please," Wesley said, trying to distract her from her sobbing.

The front door jingled as Connor walked in. A girl about his age trailed behind him, her features almost lost in an oversize coat and a mop of curly hair. "Hey, Dad."

"Hey son, hey Tracy," Angel said

"Hi, Mr. Angel," Tracy said. She shrugged her coat off, placing it onto one of the empty stools by the counter.

"Here's your car keys," Connor said, trying to hand them over to his father.

Angel didn't even turn around. "Did you put the radio back to the way you found it?"

"I didn't even - "

Angel gave him a look.

"How did you know?" Connor asked.

Angel made a waving motion by his ears. "Magical daddy hearing. Now take it off that junk you listen to and then give me my keys."

"Radio station W-FOGEY coming up," Connor muttered, heading back out the door.

"And fix the bass too!" Angel called after him. He handed the warm bottle over to Wesley. "Last time he had that set so high I nearly lost the floor of the car from all the vibrations."

"He didn't mess it up too much," Tracy said.

"I know," Angel told her. "But it's my job to give him a hard time. Are you hungry? Help yourself to whatever, on me."

Tracy gave him a crooked smile, reaching over the counter for a diet iced tea. "Thanks, Mr. Angel."

"'Mr. Angel'?" Wesley asked, sotto voice.

Angel simply quirked his eyebrows at him, "Problem, Mr. Johnson?"

"Can't think of one," Wesley replied. He turned his attention back to Alissa, trying to make sure she didn't swallow too much air.

"Keys," Connor said, tossing them back at Angel as he returned once again.

Angel caught them effortlessly, putting them into his pocket. "Thanks. You want anything?"

"Yeah," Connor said, straddling one of the stools. "Can Tracy stay over tonight?"

"No," Angel said.

"Why not?" Connor demanded.

"Because my body's not dead enough for that to be over it," Angel replied. "Now what do you want for dinner?"

"We're not going to do anything," Connor said. "She can sleep on the couch. I'll sleep on the couch."

"You can sleep on the moon if you want," Angel said. "Tracy's not staying over. End of discussion."

"Dad!"

"End of discussion."

"But Dad - "

"It's okay, Connor," Tracy said, looking as though she wanted to disappear behind her glass. "Don't worry about it."

Something about the children's tone caught Angel's attention. He dropped his scolding demeanor. "What's up?"

Tracy shook her head. "Nothing."

Angel clearly knew the right person to interrogate. "Connor?"

"Her mom's boyfriend's back in town," Connor explained.

Angel's jaw tightened. "Trace, is he bothering you again?"

Tracy shook her head. "No. He's - it's just a couple of nights. It's okay."

"No, it's not," Connor said. Wesley wagered he had no idea how much he sounded like his father just then.

Tracy picked up her coat. "It is. It's fine. I'll just lock my door and - "

"Cordy?" Angel asked.

Cordelia was already on it. "Why don't you stay with me tonight, sweetie? I've got a nice big pull-out sofa and everything."

Tracy looked uncertain. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," Cordy said, putting her own coat on. She gave Tracy a reassuring smile. "Harmony and I were planning on doing a Russell Crowe festival anyway. You can help us make the popcorn."

"I'll come with," Connor said.

Angel took him by the shoulder and pushed him back onto the stool. "You'll stay here. In fact, go upstairs. Trace? Where's Jim hanging out tonight, do you know?"

"I think he's at the Clover," Tracy said, naming a bar Wesley knew was not far from the Bobcat arena.

"Dad, I - " Connor protested.

"Upstairs," Angel told him, pointing the way.

Connor did as he was told, stomping his feet all the way up to the second floor.

"C'mon," Cordy said, tugging at Tracy's coatsleeve. "We've got a date with a gladiator."

Tracy followed along. "Thanks for the iced tea, Mr. Angel."

Angel was busy locking up the register for the evening. "No problem, Tracy."

"Angel," Gunn said, once the girls had left, "don't."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Angel said. He put his coat on, zipping it up with more force than was probably necessary.

"Like Hell you don't and I'm telling you not to," Gunn said.

"I'm not doing anything," Angel replied, taking out his car keys. "Just going for a ride."

"Don't be stupid," Gunn said. "As your friend I - Hell, as your lawyer I'm telling you this is a bad idea."

Angel shouldered his way through the front doors. "Then as your client it's probably a good idea I don't tell you what I'm doing."

Gunn sighed as the doors swung shut. "Fool."

Wesley watched all of this, trying to make heads or tails of it. "What's he going to do?"

Gunn tossed his pen down onto the counter in frustration. "Get himself arrested. Again."

It was midnight when Wesley dared to try using the baby monitor to leave Alissa sleeping in her crib while he crept downstairs. Though he could never hear anything going on in Angel and Connor's apartment, he could usually hear them going up and down the stairs and hours had gone by without any signs of activity.

The diner was empty, and had been since Gunn had left hours ago to see if he could track Angel down. Wesley turned on some lights for company and wondered if he should drive out and do the same.

The need was thwarted as Angel walked through the door, limping, and favoring one side.

"Bloody Hell," Wesley said, coming over to him. He quickly assessed the damage, noting that Angel was also sporting a black eye. "What happened?"

"This is definitely one of those times when I gotta say you should see the other guy," Angel replied. He went behind the counter and tried to fish out the first-aid kit one-handed.

Wesley shooed him out of the way, motioning him towards a stool. He pulled out antiseptic and bandages. "You beat him up."

"Beat up is such a strong phrase," Angel said. "Morelike my fists may have accidentally connected with his face and body a few thousand times."

Wesley pursed his lips, glaring at him. "Oh, very clever."

"Didn't say it was clever, said it was effective," Angel replied. He tried to stretch his left hand out, wincing as he unbent his fingers. "Or I was implying it anyway. Damn. It did not use to hurt like this. I'm telling ya, I am not getting any younger."

Wesley made an impromptu cold pack, pouring ice into a Ziploc bag and then wrapping it in a towel. "Here, put that on your eye. And let me see your hand. We might have to call Fred."

Angel sighed with pleasure as the cool towel touched his bruised skin. "We do not have to call Fred. It's just some scrapes. I'll be fine."

"You could have broken something," Wesley said, trying to examine Angel's fingers without jostling them too much.

"I didn't break anything," Angel said. "Believe me, I'd know."

"So you're a doctor in your spare time now?" Wesley asked. He pulled Angel's hand into the light and began to clean the wounds.

"No, but apparently you, are," Angel said, watching him. "Since when do you know first aid?"

"Since I was nine, now sit still," Wesley told him.

"Yes, sir," Angel muttered. "Is Connor still here?"

"As far as I'm aware," Wesley said. "I didn't hear him leave. Gunn's out looking for you, though."

"I'll call him," Angel said. "Tell him I'm back. Hell, probably need to talk to him anyway come morning."

"Angel, that was a phenomenally stupid thing to do," Wesley told him.

"Never said I was a Mensa scholar," Angel replied.

"You could have been hurt."

Angel indicated his situation. "What's with the 'could have'?"

Wesley refused to let himself smile at that. "You know what I meant."

"Speaking of which," Angel said, side-stepping the real issue, "if anybody asks I never admitted that any of this was painful. Don't want to ruin my reputation."

"What, for being a moron?"

"For being a macho moron," Angel corrected.

"I'm not certain there's a difference," Wesley told him. He put the antiseptic aside, then rubbed in a healing cream. "If you won't go to hospital at least let me wrap this up and try to keep down the swelling."

"Whatever," Angel said, leaning into the towel. "Right now me and this ice are having a real good relationship."

"Don't tell Lorne or he might get jealous," Wesley warned.

"Let him," Angel said. "I've found the love of my life."

"You are an exceedingly strange man," Wesley said.

"Annoying too," Kate interjected, as she walked through the front doors.

"Damn," Angel said. "Could've sworn I locked those."

Kate walked over to the counter, leaning against it. "Tell me something, Angel: Why? Why do you need to make my life so difficult?"

"Everybody needs hobbies?" Angel said.

"You know," Kate said. "Contrary to what you might think I do like to do my job. If something's going wrong in my neighborhood, I want to know about it. I want to fix it."

"Admirable goal," Angel said.

"What I don't want," Kate continued. "Is people trying to do my job for me."

"I can see how that would be annoying," Angel agreed.

Kate sighed. "Don't do this to me. I've got Jim Mason down at the hospital bitching up a storm to anybody who'll listen that you just beat the crap out of him. That's assault, Angel. As in something I have to arrest people for?"

"So that's what that means," Angel drawled. "Here I was thinking it had something to do with pepper and the other seasonings."

"Do you think this is funny?" Kate asked. "Do you think I like having to come here and - "

"He was going to go after Tracy," Angel snapped.

For a moment Kate's eyes blazed with anger, then she forcibly calmed herself. "I know he's an asshole, Angel. I'm the one who arrested him last time. But I can't arrest him now when - "

"What? I'm supposed to sit back and wait until he gets her pregnant?"

" - when right now the only guy who's committed a crime anybody can prove around here is you!" Kate shouted over him.

"You wanna arrest me, here you go," Angel said, putting the ice pack down then offering his wrist up to her. "Slap the handcuffs on. Get the real criminals behind bars."

"I don't want to arrest you, Angel," Kate said. "I want to arrest him. Hell, I want to go kick the crap out of him like you did! But it's not about what I want. It's about the law."

"Here we go with that again," Angel muttered.

Kate rubbed her eyes, tiredly. "Help me out here, Angel. Throw me a damned bone. Give me something so I can at least go back to this guy and rub it in his face that you're not spending tonight in jail either."

"Maybe it was self defense," Angel said.

"When?" Kate asked. "When you punched him the first time or when you broke his arm?"

"I broke his arm?" Angel asked, a note of pride in his voice.

"Way to go with the plausible deniability," Kate retorted.

"He was with me," Wesley said.

Two sets of eyes swiveled towards him.

"What?" Angel asked.

"Come again?" Kate added.

"You asked for something," Wesley said. "Something to beat what Jim was giving you. Fine. I'm giving him an alibi. Now it's no longer his word against Angel's. It's mine as well."

"He was with you," Kate repeated. Her gaze traveled down to Angel's hurt hand, still cradled in Wesley's palm, then back over to Angel again. "So this would be your 'friend' Wesley?"

"I have a private life outside of you now," Angel said, his poker face impeccable.

"Right," Kate said, rolling her eyes. "And the reason why this private night for the both of you resulted in you sporting a black eye and a sore hand but no marks is because....?"

"I like it rough," Wesley said, proving Angel wasn't the only poker player amongst them.

Kate motioned for him to give her more. "And you have no marks because - "

"I'm the one who's a sadist," Wesley replied, smoothly.

"Not sure I'd buy that after his idea of a good Valentine's but whatever," Kate said. "It's enough. You know, I honestly can't say if this excuse is lamer than the time you tried to convince me you spent a night out at a quilting bee."

"I did!" Angel said. "Gunn was looking for a gift for his sister."

"Of course," Kate turned back to Wesley. "You'd swear to this bullshit and everything?"

"If I had to," Wesley said.

"Fine," Kate said. "I'll go back, file the report, see if I can use it to convince Jim to shove his complaint up his ass. Angel, don't look smug. I want to see you acting like a model citizen for at least a week or else I might not be able to sway this in your favor. And Wes?"

"Yes?" Wesley asked.

She gave him a look of sympathy. "If you're actually dating this guy, you might try keeping him on a leash."

"Well that was coming next, obviously," Wesley said.

She actually seemed to smile at that. "I'll call in the morning if there's any problems."

"I am so sorry," Wesley said, as soon as she left. "I had no idea she would think that I meant that you were - "

"Don't worry about it," Angel told him. "That - that's actually not news for Kate."

Wesley frowned. "What? That you were - oh."

"Yeah," Angel said, nonchalantly. "Oh."

Wesley wondered what the best way of dealing with this sort of social awkwardness was. He decided to try for humor. "Is that why she broke up with you?"

"Shut up and finish up with my hand if you're gonna," Angel told him, his tone in no way serious.

Wesley resumed his work, wrapping a bandage carefully around Angel's knuckles. "I don't mind, you know. About you being - "

"Oh?" Angel suggested, when Wesley faltered for the correct wording.

"Yes," Wesley said, giving him a look of gratitude for the help. "Oh. I'm a bit oh myself, actually."

Wesley saw a keen look of curiosity shape Angel's face, and admired him for not following through on it with further questions. "Good to know."

"It only seemed fair," Wesley said. "To tell you, I mean."

"You didn't have to," Angel said. "Not if you didn't want to. And the same goes for what you did just now with Kate. I'd never ask you to lie for me just to haul my ass out of the fire. I did the crime, I'll do the time. If you want I'll go down in the morning and clear things up."

Wesley looked up at him. "Don't be stupid. I told you I'd pay you back someday."

Angel met his eyes. "Is that why you did it? To pay me back?"

"No," Wesley said. "I did it because it felt like the right thing to do."

Angel smiled at him. "See? I told you you'd fit in here eventually."

Wesley ducked his head, busying himself with the fastening of the bandage. "Yes, well... thank you."

Angel gave Wesley's hand a light squeeze. "Same to you, Wes. Thanks."

Wesley kept his head down, not knowing what to say to that.

PART SIX

"Wes, let me in."

"No."

"Wes."

"I said no."

Angel leaned against the door to Wesley's apartment, letting it take his weight. "You know, I am your landlord. Legally speaking I could walk in any time I liked."

"Good thing I changed the locks then."

Angel actually checked the locks before he realized Wes was pulling his leg. "I could break the door down."

"Wouldn't this result in yet another macho injury that you would be requiring first aid for?"

"The door's not that strong," Angel pointed out.

"Fine, then lower my rent. I refuse to pay for shoddy workmanship."

"Let me break the door down and you can live here for free," Angel countered.

The door opened up. Wes poked his head out. "Have you never heard of patience?"

"Why be patient?" Angel asked. "Way I see it that only encourages people not to give me things when I ask for them. Lose/lose if you ask me."

"Eventually someone is going to teach you that you can't always have your way," Wes said.

"But I like my way," Angel said.

"Tough," Wesley replied, and closed the door again.

Angel sighed, loudly.

"I've dealt with all the demands a non-verbal child can throw at me," Wesley reminded him, his voice muffled from behind the door. "If you think your sighs have any power to persuade me, you are sadly mistaken."

"I gotta take lessons from Connor," Angel said. "That kid can hit you with a sulk at fifty paces."

"I believe that's a talent unique to teenagers."

"Sure, burst my bubble," Angel said. "Okay, how long?"

"Just five more minutes."

"If I have to," Angel said. He sat down on the stairs to wait. After a moment, he decided to sing.

He made it down to fifty bottles of beer on the wall by the time Wesley opened the door. "Kate's right. You are a sadist."

"Never say the first two words in her hearing," Angel said. "It'll make her impossible to live with. Can I come in now?"

Wes stepped aside, making a grand gesture of welcome.

Angel walked into the apartment.

It was different. Not phenomenally different, sure, but still different from the last time he'd been up. Wes had rearranged the furniture, and various surfaces were covered with his own things - books, baby supplies, notes to himself and such.

But, more importantly, he'd decorated.

Strings of white lights had been taped up along the ceiling. Cardboard cutouts of reindeer had been placed along the walls. A tree - no bigger than four feet - sat on a table, overladen with a riot of ornaments, garland, and lights all its own.

Angel looked at it all and felt the advice right on the tip of his tongue - use a staple gun for the lights instead of tape, get a bigger tree, do not cluster all the ornaments together like that - but he saw Wes looking at him expectantly and he shoved all that aside.

"It's great, Wes," he told him.

Wes rewarded him with a brilliant smile. "Is it really? I've honestly never done this before. But I thought about what you said and you're right. I should do it for her, if nothing else."

"You did fine," Angel assured him. "Where is she anyway?"

"Fast asleep," Wes replied, "Apparently the ins and outs of decorating only appeal to babies for about half an hour, then they become bored senseless."

"Shame," Angel said.

"Actually I find it quite useful," Wes said. "I plan on breaking out the decorations the next time she gets colic, see if that doesn't do the trick towards curing her."

Angel laughed. "Hate to tell you, it doesn't stick as they get older. Pretty soon she'll be up to her nose in the garland and trying to help, probably by flushing it down the toilet or feeding it to the dog."

"I don't have a dog," Wes said.

"Oh she'll find one," Angel promised, still having no idea how Connor had managed all that at five. Then again at seven.

"Duly noted," Wesley said. He made motions towards the small dining table and chairs. "Come in. I'd like to do this properly, if you have time for it. Would you like coffee? Tea?"

"Tea'd be great," Angel said. He sat down, offering Wes the gift-wrapped box he'd brought with him. "Here. This is for Sleeping Beauty."

Wes made a noise of disapproval as he filled a kettle with water. "Angel, you - "

" - shouldn't have," Angel finished. "Yeah, I know. I did it anyway. And trust me with this. This is one you want."

"I'm agreeing only because I've learned it's pointless to argue with you," Wesley said. He turned the gas on, then used a match to spark the flame.

Angel reminded himself yet again that he needed to get the stove fixed. Aloud, he said, "See? I always get my way eventually."

"I've been meaning to ask you how successful you are with that teenager of yours," Wesley said. He pulled a pair of mugs out of the cupboard.

"It's a work in progress," Angel said, as though such battles of wills with him and Connor were all part of his plan. "I know I'll get my way in the end."

Wes glanced at him, his lips curling in a smile. "In the end?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "Like my deathbed. I've got high hopes on getting the last word in with that one."

Wes laughed, turning back to his preparations. "Good luck."

"You think I'll need it?" Angel asked.

"Are you joking?" Wesley replied. "He's exactly like you. I've honestly no clue which one of you is the more stubborn."

"I keep holding out hope that I've at least got the advantage of age," Angel said, then rolled his eyes. "As he so kindly reminds me of again and again...."

Wes put the mugs down on the table, then added teabags, sugar and milk. "It could be worse, I suppose. I keep doing the math on how old I'll be once Alissa is Connor's age. It's not a pretty picture."

"It evens out," Angel said. "Sure it looks attractive now with me at thirty-eig - I mean, thirty-five, but imagine how stupid you feel when you're - "

"Seventeen?" Wes supplied, smirking.

"Twenty," Angel admitted. "Twenty and a father. Trust me, if you felt dumb as a teenager you don't get any smarter by turning twenty and adding a kid."

The kettle whistled. Wes turned the gas off, then poured the water into the mugs. "Did you? Feel dumb as a teenager?"

Angel thought about it. "No more than any other kid that age does, I guess. Actually I think my biggest problem was being too cocky. Which I guess would make sense considering the eventual outcome."

That earned him another laugh, though Wes tried to hide it as he took a box of cookies out of the cupboard, then carefully arranged some on a plate. "We all go through that stage, I suppose."

Angel hesitated, trying to cover it by stirring sugar into his drink. Normally he didn't like to pry into Wes's private life, but on the other hand Wes didn't seem to mind sharing right now. And considering the last nugget of information Angel had learned about him he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious. "You too?"

"I would say arrogant, not cocky," Wes replied. He sat down, placing the plate of cookies between them. "Too confident that I knew who I was, what I was doing, and what everyone else should be doing accordingly."

"Having a kid will definitely cure you of that," Angel said.

"You're not wrong," Wesley agreed.

"Speaking of which," Angel said, pushing the present over. "Here. Merry Christmas."

Wes picked it up. "Should I put it under the tree?"

"Nah, this is a pre-Christmas present," Angel said. He sat forward, watching the play of emotions on Wes's face. "Open it now."

"This would be more of your impatience, yes?" Wesley said.

"Also practicality," Angel replied.

Wes tore open the wrapping paper, then lifted the cover of the box to reveal the red velvet dress inside. He quirked an eyebrow at Angel. "'Practicality'?"

Angel smiled. "Okay, that is not practical. But that's the point. It's silly and frilly and something she's probably going to have on for five seconds before she spits up and drools all over it. But it's also her first Christmas, and your first Christmas with her. Trust me. you're going to want to dress her up and take pictures. It's going to be way too soon before she won't want to anymore, but you'll both be glad that you did."

Wes ran his fingertips down the fabric, lingering on the white lace collar. "It is pretty."

"Comes with a complimentary side-gift too," Angel said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a disposable camera. "Here you go. For you. I didn't know if you had one or not. Figured this could last you for now."

Wes accepted it, surprisingly without his usual protest. "Thank you."

Angel watched him. Wes's eyes had gone unfocused, shadowed, and Angel knew the look of a man deep in memories when he saw one. He gave Wes the silence to lose himself for a bit, sipping his hot tea and nibbling on a cookie.

It was an awkward situation, make no mistake. Alissa's first Christmas, but also Wes's first Christmas without Alissa's mom, whoever that was. Hell, truth be told it should've been her on the other side of this table, either buying the stupid girly gift or scolding Wes for doing it. But she wasn't there and Angel was, and overidentification issues aside Angel knew it wasn't right to leave Wes alone in this.

"I remember Connor's first," Angel said, speaking quietly so as not to startle Wesley. "He was so small. Just over a month old. I don't think Darla and I had more than an hour's worth of sleep between us."

A faint smile touched Wesley's face. "I remember that. I can't imagine any parent sleeps much during those first few weeks. Not without a nanny."

"No way," Angel agreed. "You're too busy feeding and changing and changing and feeding and wondering why they're crying and asking yourself did you do it right? Did he get enough food? Did he get too much? Is the diaper on wrong? Is he too hot? Too cold?"

"Are you holding her correctly?" Wesley added.

"Oh yeah," Angel said. He mimed holding a newborn. "The neck. I was obsessed with his neck. I was convinced one wrong move and his head would snap right off."

"They're so fragile," Wes said, his eyes back on memories again. "When I held her for the first time it was like nothing. Air. No heavier than the blanket she came in."

"But still able to pull right at your heart," Angel said.

Wes looked up. "Yes," he said, softly. "I - I'd had no idea."

"Before Connor - let's just say Darla and I weren't in the running to win couple of the year," Angel said. "And before I met her I wasn't in line for man of the year either. Or child of the year, I guess. I was a waste of a life, no doubt about it. But when I held my son in my hands and it was like everything on earth changed. This little guy needed me for everything and there was no way I could let him down."

"Yes," Wesley said, speaking now in no more than a whisper. "Exactly."

Angel knew the pain in Wes's voice like it was his own. Hell it had been his own, once. He wanted to reach out, grasp Wes by the shoulder or something and say it was okay. But Wes had never given the appearance of being comfortable with the physical, so Angel stuck with words. "Darla was my friend. High school sweetheart, if you want to call it that, but there was nothing sweet about it. We didn't do flowers or candy or any of that. I wasn't head over heels in love with her. I just loved her."

Wes watched him, showing no signs of interruption.

Angel took that as a cue to keep going. "We both hated our families. My dad and I had a hate/hate relationship going back to when I was a little kid. And Darla's dad... well let's just say her dad and our pal Jim would've had a lot in common.

"Darla understood me," Angel continued. "Like nobody else did. And my family hated hers and hers hated mine and in the end we ran off to get married to piss 'em all off more than anything else. But the funny thing was we kind of meant it. The partnership anyway. Us against the world. Do whatever we wanted and to Hell with the rest of it. No matter how destructive it was."

"Destructive?" Wesley asked.

Angel watched him carefully, bracing himself for Wes's possible reactions. "Self destructive. I was a drunk. Darla too. From sixteen to twenty I don't think we passed a single day sober."

Wes nodded, simply taking that in.

Angel relaxed, glad to have gotten past that hurdle. "Connor was unexpected. I never told him that but he's a smart kid. He's pretty much figured out that he was a surprise. Moreso since Darla was on the pill. Then she starts getting morning sickness and there we are."

Angel sat back, remembering the look on Darla's face when she'd figured out that maybe it hadn't been a case of the flu. "You have to picture this, Wes. Because when I'm telling you I was a waste of a life I'm not kidding. Darla and I did whatever the Hell we wanted, whatever time we weren't drinking we were spending getting into bar fights and stealing. And screwing but I'm guessing you know that."

"I did figure it out, yes," Wes said. He stirred his tea absently, otherwise giving Angel his full attention.

"Fatherhood was not on the menu," Angel said. "In fact I'd made a point of avoiding it thanks to what me and my dad went through."

"Is he still alive?" Wes asked.

Angel shook his head. "Died before Connor was born. Which only encouraged my drinking habit in the end."

"I can imagine," Wesley said.

"Darla didn't want kids either," Angel said. "In fact she hated them. Not saying she actually stole candy from babies but she wasn't far off. Definitely the last woman you'd ever expect to embrace motherhood."

"But she did," Wesley guessed.

Angel nodded. "She did. She took the pregnancy test, got so pissed off that she spent a whole day tearing up the cheap motel room we were staying in, then just collapses. Starts sobbing her guts out. I'm totally useless. So drunk I'm barely standing myself. But she's hurting and I hate that so I'm holding her tight as anything against my chest. Stroking her hair and saying don't worry, it'll be okay, we'll take care of it.

"She looks up at me and she's a mess. Hair ragged, mascara running in streaks down her face, and she's so hoarse she can barely talk but she says, 'We made this.'"

Angel paused, trying to speak around the lump that had formed in his throat. "'We made this,' she says to me. 'We've never done anything good in our lives but we made this.'"

"An innocent child," Wesley said.

"Exactly," Angel said. He clenched his hand into a fist, remembering when Darla had placed it over her stomach and the tiny life inside. "She and I - we'd both figured out we were bastards. Everybody else gave up on us, why fly in the face