The sight they make together, anxious parents waiting for the news on their unborn, first child, it too painful for me to watch. I have to look away before the picture is permanently etched into my minds eyes. Instead I focus on the machinery that's all around us and getting the job done. Just act professional and forget that this is my lover who's about to become a father. With another.
I take a deep breath, this time ignoring both Darla and Angel as I continue with my job. Though Angel gets a small smile when he makes room for me to spread the gel, then put the instrument on it and move it around on her swollen abdomen. My eyes focus on the screen, trying not to listen to the regular tiny heartbeat coming from the speakers.
Whatever it is, it's alive. Which doesn't come as a complete surprise but does complicate things. Quite a lot.
Angel gets a small look at his impatient, eager question, the look in my eyes briefly flashing with that same pain again. I quickly burry it though as I fiddle with the buttons. Doesn’t take me long to get a clear picture and I'm somewhat disappointed to find there's a shape inside her that looks remarkably human.
Disappointed and excited. A dead body carrying the life she created with another of the living dead. It's not possible, but the truth, the proof, is staring at us right there. On that small screen.
"It appears to be human," I tell them in a detached, professional voice. "Here's the head, there's a hand and a foot. From the looks of it I'd say you were... "
"Nine fucking months," Darla whispers, eyes wide as she looks at the screen. Her hand somehow found it's way into Angel's. "Our-- Our child. Angelus, look. Our Child."
My eyes are bouncing from Wes to the screen, and I don't know what that look is when I ask if he sees anything. He hides it too quickly, and there's too much filling my head to figure out what's going on in his head. He continues on, clinically, professionally, and I feel the cool pressure of a dead hand slipping into mine.
My eyes swerve to that hand, even as her eyes are glued on the monitor. She's holding my hand. Like a normal expecting mother. It baffles me, and I almost miss what Wes says, my eyes finding his belatedly and looking at him in confusion. Why is she holding my hand?
I see the screen though, and- and- there it is. Only it's not an it, it's a- a- little person. Why is she holding my hand? That's almost more perplexing than the fact that the impossible is staring all three of us in the face. "I- I see," I mumble, staring at the screen and swallowing hard. This isn't like becoming a father. There aren't nine months to get used to the idea. This is like... I don't know what it's like, but it's, as Cordelia would say, freaking me out. I want Wes holding my hand, damn it!
"So, umm, what do we do?" I ask, looking at both of them, my eyes settling on Wes, showing him how scared I am. A baby. A child. My child. In my care, in *our* care. Mine and Wes, because there's no way I'm letting Darla anywhere near a living, breathing child even if it is her own. Ours. Any day now. Oh, dear god.
"Can she- Do you think she can deliver it?" I ask Wes, Darla's hand somehow still in my own, although, I've completely forgotten that that appendage is attached to my body. The only thing I'm seeing is Wes and that little blurry shape on the screen.
Their child. Their child. Yes, rub it in please, Darla. She's doing that on purpose. I know she is. Even the hand holding and the looking at the screen and that soft look in her eyes. I don't know if it's the soul in her that does that, or if she's just a very good actress. One thing I do know is that Cordelia could learn a thing or two from this woman.
I keep moving the instrument over her stomach, noticing the smaller details. A head, an arm, a second arm. Legs. And it's all moving. It's all alive. The heartbeat already proved that much, but seeing it actually move on the screen is like a slap in the face. Angel is going to be a father. He's actually going to be given the one thing I cannot ever give him.
A child. With Darla. Who's still holding his hand in a death grip and staring at the screen as if she's actually scared. It dawns on me that she actually might be, which would make her potentially even more dangerous. My eyes move slowly back to the screen as I pause the machine. The photo of her unborn child looking perfectly healthy as far as I can see stares back at me like an accusation.
"Angel," I murmur, not looking at him as I start to clean up the mess we've made. "She's technically dead, and so are you. I'm sorry but she shouldn't even be pregnant..."
"And she's right here in the fucking room. Don't talk as if I'm not here, little man."
Her eyes find mine and I have to fight not to take a step back. The hate in them is quite clear but I have to wonder how clear that same feeling his showing in my eyes. "...At any rate," I continue as though she hasn't said a thing, "I don't know if she can. But since conceiving didn't seem to be..."
"It's protected."
"Pardon? What?"
"Fucking protected. No way I or anyone else can get it out of there. Don't you thing I tried?"
"What?" I say without thinking. That doesn't make any sense.
"It's supposed to come out. Babies don't stay in their mothers. It has to come out, right?" I say, scratching my head and looking at the hump of a belly in front of me.
"Damn fucking right it has to come out Angelus," she hisses, scrabbling behind her at the jars of supplies, grabbing a fistful of wooden tongue depressors and shoving them towards my chest, holding them there over my heart. She's not going to do it, we both know it, and to my credit, I don't even flinch. "You always did catch on quick," she sneers, covering herself up where Wes has cleaned up the gel and leaning against me, as if all the fight has gone out of her for now and she's trying to cover up her little outburst.
"It needs to come out right the hell now, but I can't do it. No one can do it." She actually sounds tired and frustrated and at a loss. I'm almost feeling sympathetic even. Nine months on her own with this...miracle. "I tried every shaman, every priest, every stupid demonic elixir known to this dimension, so trust me, it's not coming out until it decides to," she murmurs under her breath, the tongue depressors clawing at my chest ineffectually. "Did you really think I wanted a child, Angelus?" she says more quietly, almost sadly even, slumping back on the table, hand still clenched around the flat sticks of wood.
Her words catch me off-guard, and I step away from the table minutely, staring at her and then at Wes. To think, this child, this impossibility might not exist if Darla had her way... What do we do? my eyes ask Wes. At least her mood-swing seems to have tapered off, but now she just looks...lost. Why did Wes have to be across from me again? Again, I'm really wishing I could be holding Wes' hand.
Yes. I'm gaping at her stomach stupidly. I know. Angel has a point though. It has to come out, doesn't it? Why else would she conceive a child if it can't come out? And how undignifying does that sound. 'come out', as though it's some thing. As though she's some-- What am I thinking. To me she is a thing. A bothersome thing. A thing I wish would have never come back into our lives. Angel's and mine.
When I see him looking at her stomach with large eyes though. When I see her leaning against him though, while he seems to take that as though this is perfectly normal. When I see him with that look in his eyes while he tries to process that yes, he's going to be a father? Then I realize I can never, ever be for him what he needs. What he wants.
Already I had figured out that there are so many things I cannot give him due to my being human. Things Darla here *can* give him. And now here she is, able to give him another precious gift. A child. Yet another thing I can never give him. I feel out of my depth, alone and utterly miserable. If Darla weren't so pre-occupied with trying to get rid of the child? She would've mocked me for it, taken advantage of it.
She doesn't even *want* the child. That makes me so angry. I bite down on it though, taking several deep breaths. "Well, I guess I'm going to have to research this then," I murmur, probably mostly talking to myself. "If she can get pregnant then there has to be a way for the child to be born."
"Are you deaf, little man?" she sneers, looking at me as though I'm the most stupid human on earth.
"No," I sigh, switching off the machine. Looks like we're right on time using it. There are some pallets in the corner which tells me they were about to either move the machine or get rid of it. Either way, we have more important things to worry about. "I'm just saying that there could've been--"
"Shut up!"
"Look, Darla. Just because--"
"Shut up, measly little human. I heard something. Shit, we need to get out of here. They're back," she rushes, struggling to get off the table.
Wait. They? "They?" I ask, trying to pick up on any sound and not hearing anything out of the ordinary. "Who are 'they'?" And they call me paranoid.
"They?" I echo Wes, watching Darla scramble around on the table like a turtle on its back as she tries to get up. I raise my eyebrows at her and she shoots me a scowling look, all melancholy gone from her face. She does finally roll off the table, straightening her clothes and darting looks around.
"They're coming," she says firmly, looking around like a general with a spy in his barracks.
"Darla-" I don't hear anything, is what I was going to say, but her hands flashes across the table and takes a grip on my arm like she has claws.
"Shut up," she whispers, eyes practically staking me from across the slim table. Damn, how did she get on Wes' side. That's not good.
"Darla-" and I rush on before she can shush me or rip off my arm, "We'll just get in the car and get out of here, come on," I say encouragingly, as if I'm talking to some not all there. Drusilla pops to mind and I wonder if a little bit of her crazy didn't get passed on when she turned Darla again. I'm not really a fan of paranoid Darla. She's a whole lot more dangerous than sane Darla. She tried some opium once and let me tell you it was a good thing I hadn't because she was ready to 'float' off the top of a building into a pile of definitely wooden looking things.
Yeah. She just stares at me though as if I'm the mad one. "They'll only follow. They want this thing. Have to go." It's as simple as that. And the way she says it makes it sound like she going to dash off without us, and without any thought to whether or not I want the baby inside her.
Has she always been this paranoid? Can't say that's written down in any of the text documented on the escapades of the Scourge of Europe. Being the researcher I am I did read all of them. Who'd have though that years later I'd be in love with one of them, watching while another one of them is bearing a child. Of the one I love of course. Which is just typical. Why couldn't she have gone and shagged Spike? Dammit.
I sigh and let Angel handle this. Angel who looks all but devastated that she's ready to run off again. It would seem he's already getting attached to whatever is inside Darla. The Child inside her. I can no longer deny the fact that it is a child. A human child from all appearances. A child created between Angel and Darla.
Making the impossible possible.
As I turn around to clear the things away I notice that they were indeed getting ready to move this machine away. Somewhere else, I don't know. There are tools laying about everywhere, including screwdrivers, hammers and a very big carpenters pencil. Tuning the vampires out I glance at the pencil as I pick it up. It really is a very large one. Sharp too. Wonder if you can stake a vampire with it. It's an entertaining thought for a moment, but I know Angel would never forgive me if I were to stake Darla.
Besides, who knows what damage it'll do to this - *his* - child. Their child. Not that Darla seems to care either way if it lives or dies. Which angers me greatly. Thousands of people who's greatest wish is to have a child but they can't. And here we have *her*. It just... boggles the mind.
"You ungrateful little..." I start, turning around fast to glare at her. To fast it turns out. My eyes go wide as my feet tangle in the loose wires on the floor and suddenly everything goes far to fast as well as in slow motion. And there's nothing I can do other then watch. Like a movie.
I can feel myself topple forward, gaining rapid speed while I try to catch myself. Which is pointless it seems. My eyes go wide while I watch Darla come closer. A scowl on her face and hate in her eyes. It's moments, seconds, hours later that I watch those same eyes go wider, hear her voice scream something I can't comprehend and before I know it there's a lot of dust surrounding me while I watch the ground getting closer and closer awfully fast.
She's ready to go and I don't know whether to ask her to stay or to let her go. Part of me is terrified of the thing growing inside her. Part of me says that there's no way I can take care of a child, no way that Wes and I can handle another living being when we have enough problems between the two of us.
The other part of me though? Is fascinated. Is getting more sad and angry with each hurried movement that she makes. I open my mouth to say something - what I don't know - but before even a sound can get out, Wes is jumping to my defense, glare on his features dark and poisonous. If I didn't know better I'd think he was going to stake her with that pencil in his hand-
I see Wes tumble, his body swaying, and my body moves before my brain as I see where his trajectory is taking him. Straight at Darla. That can't be good. She'll slit his throat for sure. The table seems endlessly long to get around and- Oh- What-
I'm not fast enough, and it seems that fate thinks my life is funny. The pencil hits her chest as Wes falls and- and- there's dust and a choking sound in my throat as Darla disappears, some words on her lips that I don't process in my rush to get to Wes. ...And the baby?
I'm not really thinking as time seems to speed back up again and there I am, arms trying to catch both the - seemingly - unharmed child from Darla's stomach, and the man I will never stop loving. The world doesn't make any sense, but my body seems to know what to do, swooping down to pick up the child before it hits the ground, and moving up against Wes, to halt his motion forward. Baby in one arm, Wes' chest in the other, momentum gets us standing upright somehow, the tiny ball in my arms starting to wail. There we are... chest to chest and there's a baby between us.
"Wes?" I look at him so confused and so confused. I can't have a baby. I- This is- What are we going to do? "Are you hurt?" I ask him, my brain obviously thinking without me, eyes still blinking, darting between him and the child that looks for all intents and purposes healthy and human.
Time slows down. Horribly slow. So, so, horribly slow. It's nothing like a motion picture now. They don't ever go this slow. Part of me wishes it would find the fast forward button because watching this, while I can't seem to do anything is unlike anything I've ever been through before. Shocked I watch as I fall forward. I try to let go of the pencil and all thoughts stop.
Its not until much, much later that I find myself tormented with the thought. Over and over again. Why didn't I drop the pencil? The fact remains that I just couldn't seem to unclench my fist and before I know it, despite how slow everything seemed to move, dust surrounds me. My mind jumpstarts forward a bit and I don't even need to *think* to know where it's coming from.
There are words forming in the back of my throat but they're unable to get out. All I see is Darla's face, the look on is. The hate as it turned to fear. Real fear. For me? For Angel? For... her unborn child?
Oh god! The child! The slow motion fast forward again and I see a child. A human child. An apparently healthy human child tumble toward the floor at a killing speed. Not only did I kill Darla, but I'll be responsible for the death of Angel's child as well. And that's just to much to take right now. My eyes close without my telling them to do so. I can't watch as this child, Angel's greatest wish will die.
All because of me. My fault. My fault. My fault.
It's not until I hear the crying of a baby that I realize I've not hit the ground. And neither it seems has the baby. Slowly my eyes open and the first thing I notice is all the dust surrounding us. There's this very strange thought that for such a small creature, Darla created a lot of dust. Then the crying child filters through again and the realization of what I've done hits full frontal attack.
With a gasp I pull away from Angel, a soft and trembling, "fine," getting out. Although I'm not really sure what the question was. I keep moving backward until I bump into the machine. My eyes keep darting from the dust around us, to the crying child to Angel. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I start to babble breathlessly. "I-I tripped. I didn't- I didn't mean to...Angel. Oh god I'm so sorry."
I've only got Wes' eyes for a few seconds before he backs off with a gasp, eyes flooding with... I'm not sure what, but I do see the look at the ashes surrounding us. I don't smell any blood, and I know better than to trust Wes with just a 'fine' to tell me that he's okay. He doesn't look hurt, just...scared.
Shit.
The baby in my arms squirms a little and I- I don't know what to do. I mean, I'd know what to do if it were my little sister, or some stranger's baby, but this is- This is my son I think as I look down at him briefly. My son. Our son.
There's a tightness in my throat and I'm not even sure I can figure out how I feel about Darla being dust under my feet right now, but I know there's something...good in all of this. Our son. Mine and Wes'. He's going to be ours.
I step closer to Wes, the baby so carefully cradled in my big arms. "Shh," I tell him, trying to get Wes to calm down, my hand going straight to his. "It's alright. It's alright, I know you didn't mean to," I murmur through his babble and the wail of our son. And there's no doubt in my mind that he didn't mean to. There would have been a moment of hesitation. Wes isn't a killer. Darla may have made him want to, but he wouldn't have done it. That's not him. I know he *can* but... That's not Wes. "Look, Wes. Look," I say quietly, looking at him hopefully, helplessly. "We've got a son. You and me. You and me," I say, squeezing his hand tightly and nudging my way subtly closer to him. "Look," I murmur in awe.
I'm not sure if he's shushing the baby or me when Angel comes closer. Doesn't really matter because all I want to do is shout at him. Yell at him not to shush me, I'm not the child here. Scream at him not to come closer. I'm the one who killed the mother of his child. It's a large wonder I've not killed their child as well.
"I didn't mean to," I keep repeating, still trying to get away from Angel and this wailing child. The harder it cries, the more I realize that I took away his mother. Darla may not have been your role model when it comes to mothering, the fact remains that she was his mother.
There's this machine in my back though, making it impossible for me to go anywhere. Which is how Angel's able to get a hold of my hand. My first reaction is wondering how he can still hold it so tenderly after what I've done. The second is to pull it out myself. Can't bring myself to do so though.
And the child just keeps on crying. I'm about to tell him Angel should take care of his son when he utters the most astonishing, strange thing I've ever heard. "What?"
Our son. Our son? What does he... This baby is not my son. He'll never be my son. I killed his mother and the child itself nearly. How can Angel even trust me to come closer then ten feet from his child?
"That's not my son," I whisper in utter confusion. I manage to pull my hand out of his and shrug off my coat. As I look down at the floor I hold it out to Angel to take. "For- For your son," I murmur, wishing the child would stop crying. "He has to be- to be cold."
"It's okay, Wes-" I try to reassure him again. There's nothing I can do about Darla. Maybe I'll grieve later, but I certainly didn't the first and I know I don't have time right now. He didn't mean to do it. In fact if he hadn't been so caught up in looking out for me-
I frown hard when Wes protests that this isn't his son. He- he doesn't want a kid then? But- It doesn't make any sense. And I'm just going to ignore the little ache in my chest that Wes doesn't want this to be our child, because up until about 30 seconds ago, I didn't think I wanted a child either. But there's really not a choice here. There's a baby and it needs us, I don't care whose it is.
That seems to make up my mind for me about worrying over Wes not wanting the kid. I don't know what to think about that right now and I'm not going to know what to think about it in the next few minutes. When his hand slips out of mine, I know I've made at least a smart decision for a moment, because that action hurts more. Is he going to leave because of this child? Because of an accident? Can't think about that. There's a baby here. And-
"Oh. I- Oh." I hadn't thought of that. "You- will you wrap him? I-" I'm a stuttering mess when it comes to the actual care of this new being. I may be headstrong about focusing on the child and not worrying about the mess that is Wes and I, but when it comes right down to it, I know I can't do this on my own. And if Wes doesn't want to share that responsibility in the long run, he can at least help me now. But why would he offer to help if he didn't want to be a part of this?
I hold out the baby gingerly, vaguely thinking, "He needs a name," I murmur, careful not to jostle the kid or let any of his limbs flop about as well as I can. "I-" I swallow hard looking at the crying baby who quiets slightly once the jacket is around him. Why don't you want him- want to share this? is what I'm trying not to say out loud. "We should take him to a hospital?" I ask, not actually sure that we should, but thinking we need to get him out of here. Especially if Darla was right about things/people following her.
It's not okay. It'll never be okay, but I have other things to worry about. One small baby to be exact. My god, he's so small. He looks even more little when Angel's holding him in those huge hands of his. The child makes his hands look even bigger then usual. This miracle child really is very, very small.
I look up shocked when Angel asks me if I would wrap up the child. My eyes go wide as I look at the baby in fear. I don't know anything about babies other then what I've read in books. Lets face it, I wasn't actually taking any of that information in since it wasn't ever needed. Angel probably knows more considering he had a younger sibling. Which is probably not something I should remind him off, considering.
"Oh..." I breathe. Tentatively I move closer and it takes me several attempts to get the baby wrapped up in my jacket. Not because I'm doing it all wrong strangely enough, but because I'm afraid to hurt him, or cause Angel to drop him. After all, I almost killed it once with my clumsiness. And his mother. I wish Darla never showed up. Ever. Damn bitch.
Once I'm done I take a step back, wide eyes still staring at the child. Until Angel starts to speak again. "A n-name?" I stammer, eyes getting drawn back to the now quiet child again. I suppose he does, but that's up to Angel. I have no say in that matter at all. I don't think taking the boy to a hospital right now is a good thing though. They'd take him away from Angel, since *I* have no idea what to tell the doctors. Nor do we have any sort of papers.
"Why-why don't we got back to the hotel first," I suggest, weakly pointing at the door as though the words weren't clear enough. "And-and sort things-- out," I murmur, thinking there's a whole hell of a lot of sorting out to do. Wrapping my arms around myself, I keep staring from Angel to his son he's holding and wondering how things could've changed so bloody fast. We were happy, happy, before that wench showed up. But that's not the child's fault, and looking at him now I can't even get angry or jealous at the boy.
I watch Wes with admiration as he folds his jacket around the child so carefully. I would have been clumsy, might have dropped him. And if Wes hadn't been so careful, I might have dropped him anyway. My breathing has almost slowed back down to stopping without realizing that I had been doing it before.
"Sort things out..." I repeat after Wes mechanically, looking down at the baby because I can't quite look at Wes because I don't quite know...what's going on. Does he not want- What's going on? What am I going to do without him? I don't even know what to feed this kid without his mother. "Do you think he drinks blood?" I say, looking at Wes, horrified. Oh, god, what if we sired some sort of in utero vampire baby. "What if he drinks blood?" I say holding the baby closer as if to ward off the possibility of vampirism. "What do I feed him if he doesn't? How do we know if he's really human? What-" what am I gonna do, Wes? but I can't ask him that because he wants no part of this.
That's not my son.
But then why does he look so worried and lost hugging himself like that? I don't understand. "Are you cold?" I ask him, looking at him, trying to figure out what's wrong. "Do you want my coat, Wes?" I ask, shifting from one foot to the other. "Maybe you should hold him," I say, the babble returning. "You're warmer than I am." God, I'd be chewing on my thumb or something equally a sign of nerves if I wasn't so afraid of dropping the child that I need both hands to hold him. "You should hold him and I should drive, right?" I say looking for some kind of confirmation that this is not my job, that this is not what I'm supposed to be doing, that I cannot should not be raising a child.
"Yes," I murmur, "sort things out." And it would seem we're back to stupidly repeating what the other said. This is absolutely going wonderful. He's right though, we can't stay here. Darla was paranoid about something and to be honest I'd feel saver at the hotel where I know how to defend ourselves. Which is why I turn around to lead them to the car and go back to the hotel.
Angel on the other hand has different plans. I turn back around to look at him puzzled and then at the boy. This would be one of those things we'll need to figure out. I hope to god the child doesn't drink blood, because that would indicate that it's not human. I don't even want to think about what that would mean for Angel's son.
"I don't know, Angel," I sigh, wondering if he thinks I'm some sort of walking found of knowledge. I don't know everything. I sure as hell don't know anything about children or babies. Demonic or otherwise. I get the feeling we might be calling Lorne, since I'd hate to disturb Cordelia and Gunn on their well deserving vacation. Lorne might see something, even if the boy can't sing.
Resisting the urge to draw back into myself I start to move toward the door again when Angel asks me if I want his coat. And hold the baby. Why would I want to hold his son? Is he not happy with his child? He should be ecstatic, but he doesn't look it. He looks afraid, unsure, and... which is all understandable as well I suppose.
"He doesn't appear to be cold any longer," I observe quietly, giving the child a critical once over. "Angel we need to go. Whatever D-Darla was afraid of, might come here. I'll drive us back to the hotel and then we'll call Lorne. He might be able to tell us more, even if the boy can't sing. Alright?" I urge, waving my hand weakly toward the door we came though.
Where is he going? Is he going to just leave me? Was there some sort of Wes shorthand that I missed that said we were breaking up? He said we shouldn't go to the hospital so I guess we're not doing that. But he doesn't seem to know about the blood either so I'm a little baffled about the not going to the hospital, but I'll go with what he says.
He looks back at me like I have two heads for even asking him anything though. What is going on in that head of his? And we definitely need someone around here that can take care of a kid, which obviously isn't me. The kid keeps...stretching and wiggling. Probably pretty damn uncomfortable, though I guess it couldn't have been all that warm inside of Darla than it was outside. Maybe he liked the cold?
I keep looking at him, tiny little face, tiny little fingers, tiny little eyes peering out from Wes' jacket. He's mine. I think. I mean...His mother didn't want him, and it looks like Wes doesn't either so it's just the two of us. I give him a tiny smile and then look up at Wes, trying not to show too much emotion.
Nodding reluctantly, I head toward the door, still so utterly unsure of what to do other than that this tiny thing needs a protector and it looks like that's going to be me. Just me. My heart sinks every time I think that Wes doesn't want to be a part of this, but now's really not the time.
I wonder if Wes and I - this fragile thing we have together - are going to make it through this, I think as we slip out the back doors of the university and get in the car.
I take a deep breath, this time ignoring both Darla and Angel as I continue with my job. Though Angel gets a small smile when he makes room for me to spread the gel, then put the instrument on it and move it around on her swollen abdomen. My eyes focus on the screen, trying not to listen to the regular tiny heartbeat coming from the speakers.
Whatever it is, it's alive. Which doesn't come as a complete surprise but does complicate things. Quite a lot.
Angel gets a small look at his impatient, eager question, the look in my eyes briefly flashing with that same pain again. I quickly burry it though as I fiddle with the buttons. Doesn’t take me long to get a clear picture and I'm somewhat disappointed to find there's a shape inside her that looks remarkably human.
Disappointed and excited. A dead body carrying the life she created with another of the living dead. It's not possible, but the truth, the proof, is staring at us right there. On that small screen.
"It appears to be human," I tell them in a detached, professional voice. "Here's the head, there's a hand and a foot. From the looks of it I'd say you were... "
"Nine fucking months," Darla whispers, eyes wide as she looks at the screen. Her hand somehow found it's way into Angel's. "Our-- Our child. Angelus, look. Our Child."
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My eyes swerve to that hand, even as her eyes are glued on the monitor. She's holding my hand. Like a normal expecting mother. It baffles me, and I almost miss what Wes says, my eyes finding his belatedly and looking at him in confusion. Why is she holding my hand?
I see the screen though, and- and- there it is. Only it's not an it, it's a- a- little person. Why is she holding my hand? That's almost more perplexing than the fact that the impossible is staring all three of us in the face. "I- I see," I mumble, staring at the screen and swallowing hard. This isn't like becoming a father. There aren't nine months to get used to the idea. This is like... I don't know what it's like, but it's, as Cordelia would say, freaking me out. I want Wes holding my hand, damn it!
"So, umm, what do we do?" I ask, looking at both of them, my eyes settling on Wes, showing him how scared I am. A baby. A child. My child. In my care, in *our* care. Mine and Wes, because there's no way I'm letting Darla anywhere near a living, breathing child even if it is her own. Ours. Any day now. Oh, dear god.
"Can she- Do you think she can deliver it?" I ask Wes, Darla's hand somehow still in my own, although, I've completely forgotten that that appendage is attached to my body. The only thing I'm seeing is Wes and that little blurry shape on the screen.
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I keep moving the instrument over her stomach, noticing the smaller details. A head, an arm, a second arm. Legs. And it's all moving. It's all alive. The heartbeat already proved that much, but seeing it actually move on the screen is like a slap in the face. Angel is going to be a father. He's actually going to be given the one thing I cannot ever give him.
A child. With Darla. Who's still holding his hand in a death grip and staring at the screen as if she's actually scared. It dawns on me that she actually might be, which would make her potentially even more dangerous. My eyes move slowly back to the screen as I pause the machine. The photo of her unborn child looking perfectly healthy as far as I can see stares back at me like an accusation.
"Angel," I murmur, not looking at him as I start to clean up the mess we've made. "She's technically dead, and so are you. I'm sorry but she shouldn't even be pregnant..."
"And she's right here in the fucking room. Don't talk as if I'm not here, little man."
Her eyes find mine and I have to fight not to take a step back. The hate in them is quite clear but I have to wonder how clear that same feeling his showing in my eyes. "...At any rate," I continue as though she hasn't said a thing, "I don't know if she can. But since conceiving didn't seem to be..."
"It's protected."
"Pardon? What?"
"Fucking protected. No way I or anyone else can get it out of there. Don't you thing I tried?"
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"It's supposed to come out. Babies don't stay in their mothers. It has to come out, right?" I say, scratching my head and looking at the hump of a belly in front of me.
"Damn fucking right it has to come out Angelus," she hisses, scrabbling behind her at the jars of supplies, grabbing a fistful of wooden tongue depressors and shoving them towards my chest, holding them there over my heart. She's not going to do it, we both know it, and to my credit, I don't even flinch. "You always did catch on quick," she sneers, covering herself up where Wes has cleaned up the gel and leaning against me, as if all the fight has gone out of her for now and she's trying to cover up her little outburst.
"It needs to come out right the hell now, but I can't do it. No one can do it." She actually sounds tired and frustrated and at a loss. I'm almost feeling sympathetic even. Nine months on her own with this...miracle. "I tried every shaman, every priest, every stupid demonic elixir known to this dimension, so trust me, it's not coming out until it decides to," she murmurs under her breath, the tongue depressors clawing at my chest ineffectually. "Did you really think I wanted a child, Angelus?" she says more quietly, almost sadly even, slumping back on the table, hand still clenched around the flat sticks of wood.
Her words catch me off-guard, and I step away from the table minutely, staring at her and then at Wes. To think, this child, this impossibility might not exist if Darla had her way... What do we do? my eyes ask Wes. At least her mood-swing seems to have tapered off, but now she just looks...lost. Why did Wes have to be across from me again? Again, I'm really wishing I could be holding Wes' hand.
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When I see him looking at her stomach with large eyes though. When I see her leaning against him though, while he seems to take that as though this is perfectly normal. When I see him with that look in his eyes while he tries to process that yes, he's going to be a father? Then I realize I can never, ever be for him what he needs. What he wants.
Already I had figured out that there are so many things I cannot give him due to my being human. Things Darla here *can* give him. And now here she is, able to give him another precious gift. A child. Yet another thing I can never give him. I feel out of my depth, alone and utterly miserable. If Darla weren't so pre-occupied with trying to get rid of the child? She would've mocked me for it, taken advantage of it.
She doesn't even *want* the child. That makes me so angry. I bite down on it though, taking several deep breaths. "Well, I guess I'm going to have to research this then," I murmur, probably mostly talking to myself. "If she can get pregnant then there has to be a way for the child to be born."
"Are you deaf, little man?" she sneers, looking at me as though I'm the most stupid human on earth.
"No," I sigh, switching off the machine. Looks like we're right on time using it. There are some pallets in the corner which tells me they were about to either move the machine or get rid of it. Either way, we have more important things to worry about. "I'm just saying that there could've been--"
"Shut up!"
"Look, Darla. Just because--"
"Shut up, measly little human. I heard something. Shit, we need to get out of here. They're back," she rushes, struggling to get off the table.
Wait. They? "They?" I ask, trying to pick up on any sound and not hearing anything out of the ordinary. "Who are 'they'?" And they call me paranoid.
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"They're coming," she says firmly, looking around like a general with a spy in his barracks.
"Darla-" I don't hear anything, is what I was going to say, but her hands flashes across the table and takes a grip on my arm like she has claws.
"Shut up," she whispers, eyes practically staking me from across the slim table. Damn, how did she get on Wes' side. That's not good.
"Darla-" and I rush on before she can shush me or rip off my arm, "We'll just get in the car and get out of here, come on," I say encouragingly, as if I'm talking to some not all there. Drusilla pops to mind and I wonder if a little bit of her crazy didn't get passed on when she turned Darla again. I'm not really a fan of paranoid Darla. She's a whole lot more dangerous than sane Darla. She tried some opium once and let me tell you it was a good thing I hadn't because she was ready to 'float' off the top of a building into a pile of definitely wooden looking things.
Yeah. She just stares at me though as if I'm the mad one. "They'll only follow. They want this thing. Have to go." It's as simple as that. And the way she says it makes it sound like she going to dash off without us, and without any thought to whether or not I want the baby inside her.
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I sigh and let Angel handle this. Angel who looks all but devastated that she's ready to run off again. It would seem he's already getting attached to whatever is inside Darla. The Child inside her. I can no longer deny the fact that it is a child. A human child from all appearances. A child created between Angel and Darla.
Making the impossible possible.
As I turn around to clear the things away I notice that they were indeed getting ready to move this machine away. Somewhere else, I don't know. There are tools laying about everywhere, including screwdrivers, hammers and a very big carpenters pencil. Tuning the vampires out I glance at the pencil as I pick it up. It really is a very large one. Sharp too. Wonder if you can stake a vampire with it. It's an entertaining thought for a moment, but I know Angel would never forgive me if I were to stake Darla.
Besides, who knows what damage it'll do to this - *his* - child. Their child. Not that Darla seems to care either way if it lives or dies. Which angers me greatly. Thousands of people who's greatest wish is to have a child but they can't. And here we have *her*. It just... boggles the mind.
"You ungrateful little..." I start, turning around fast to glare at her. To fast it turns out. My eyes go wide as my feet tangle in the loose wires on the floor and suddenly everything goes far to fast as well as in slow motion. And there's nothing I can do other then watch. Like a movie.
I can feel myself topple forward, gaining rapid speed while I try to catch myself. Which is pointless it seems. My eyes go wide while I watch Darla come closer. A scowl on her face and hate in her eyes. It's moments, seconds, hours later that I watch those same eyes go wider, hear her voice scream something I can't comprehend and before I know it there's a lot of dust surrounding me while I watch the ground getting closer and closer awfully fast.
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The other part of me though? Is fascinated. Is getting more sad and angry with each hurried movement that she makes. I open my mouth to say something - what I don't know - but before even a sound can get out, Wes is jumping to my defense, glare on his features dark and poisonous. If I didn't know better I'd think he was going to stake her with that pencil in his hand-
I see Wes tumble, his body swaying, and my body moves before my brain as I see where his trajectory is taking him. Straight at Darla. That can't be good. She'll slit his throat for sure. The table seems endlessly long to get around and- Oh- What-
I'm not fast enough, and it seems that fate thinks my life is funny. The pencil hits her chest as Wes falls and- and- there's dust and a choking sound in my throat as Darla disappears, some words on her lips that I don't process in my rush to get to Wes. ...And the baby?
I'm not really thinking as time seems to speed back up again and there I am, arms trying to catch both the - seemingly - unharmed child from Darla's stomach, and the man I will never stop loving. The world doesn't make any sense, but my body seems to know what to do, swooping down to pick up the child before it hits the ground, and moving up against Wes, to halt his motion forward. Baby in one arm, Wes' chest in the other, momentum gets us standing upright somehow, the tiny ball in my arms starting to wail. There we are... chest to chest and there's a baby between us.
"Wes?" I look at him so confused and so confused. I can't have a baby. I- This is- What are we going to do? "Are you hurt?" I ask him, my brain obviously thinking without me, eyes still blinking, darting between him and the child that looks for all intents and purposes healthy and human.
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Its not until much, much later that I find myself tormented with the thought. Over and over again. Why didn't I drop the pencil? The fact remains that I just couldn't seem to unclench my fist and before I know it, despite how slow everything seemed to move, dust surrounds me. My mind jumpstarts forward a bit and I don't even need to *think* to know where it's coming from.
There are words forming in the back of my throat but they're unable to get out. All I see is Darla's face, the look on is. The hate as it turned to fear. Real fear. For me? For Angel? For... her unborn child?
Oh god! The child! The slow motion fast forward again and I see a child. A human child. An apparently healthy human child tumble toward the floor at a killing speed. Not only did I kill Darla, but I'll be responsible for the death of Angel's child as well. And that's just to much to take right now. My eyes close without my telling them to do so. I can't watch as this child, Angel's greatest wish will die.
All because of me. My fault. My fault. My fault.
It's not until I hear the crying of a baby that I realize I've not hit the ground. And neither it seems has the baby. Slowly my eyes open and the first thing I notice is all the dust surrounding us. There's this very strange thought that for such a small creature, Darla created a lot of dust. Then the crying child filters through again and the realization of what I've done hits full frontal attack.
With a gasp I pull away from Angel, a soft and trembling, "fine," getting out. Although I'm not really sure what the question was. I keep moving backward until I bump into the machine. My eyes keep darting from the dust around us, to the crying child to Angel. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," I start to babble breathlessly. "I-I tripped. I didn't- I didn't mean to...Angel. Oh god I'm so sorry."
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Shit.
The baby in my arms squirms a little and I- I don't know what to do. I mean, I'd know what to do if it were my little sister, or some stranger's baby, but this is- This is my son I think as I look down at him briefly. My son. Our son.
There's a tightness in my throat and I'm not even sure I can figure out how I feel about Darla being dust under my feet right now, but I know there's something...good in all of this. Our son. Mine and Wes'. He's going to be ours.
I step closer to Wes, the baby so carefully cradled in my big arms. "Shh," I tell him, trying to get Wes to calm down, my hand going straight to his. "It's alright. It's alright, I know you didn't mean to," I murmur through his babble and the wail of our son. And there's no doubt in my mind that he didn't mean to. There would have been a moment of hesitation. Wes isn't a killer. Darla may have made him want to, but he wouldn't have done it. That's not him. I know he *can* but... That's not Wes. "Look, Wes. Look," I say quietly, looking at him hopefully, helplessly. "We've got a son. You and me. You and me," I say, squeezing his hand tightly and nudging my way subtly closer to him. "Look," I murmur in awe.
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"I didn't mean to," I keep repeating, still trying to get away from Angel and this wailing child. The harder it cries, the more I realize that I took away his mother. Darla may not have been your role model when it comes to mothering, the fact remains that she was his mother.
There's this machine in my back though, making it impossible for me to go anywhere. Which is how Angel's able to get a hold of my hand. My first reaction is wondering how he can still hold it so tenderly after what I've done. The second is to pull it out myself. Can't bring myself to do so though.
And the child just keeps on crying. I'm about to tell him Angel should take care of his son when he utters the most astonishing, strange thing I've ever heard. "What?"
Our son. Our son? What does he... This baby is not my son. He'll never be my son. I killed his mother and the child itself nearly. How can Angel even trust me to come closer then ten feet from his child?
"That's not my son," I whisper in utter confusion. I manage to pull my hand out of his and shrug off my coat. As I look down at the floor I hold it out to Angel to take. "For- For your son," I murmur, wishing the child would stop crying. "He has to be- to be cold."
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I frown hard when Wes protests that this isn't his son. He- he doesn't want a kid then? But- It doesn't make any sense. And I'm just going to ignore the little ache in my chest that Wes doesn't want this to be our child, because up until about 30 seconds ago, I didn't think I wanted a child either. But there's really not a choice here. There's a baby and it needs us, I don't care whose it is.
That seems to make up my mind for me about worrying over Wes not wanting the kid. I don't know what to think about that right now and I'm not going to know what to think about it in the next few minutes. When his hand slips out of mine, I know I've made at least a smart decision for a moment, because that action hurts more. Is he going to leave because of this child? Because of an accident? Can't think about that. There's a baby here. And-
"Oh. I- Oh." I hadn't thought of that. "You- will you wrap him? I-" I'm a stuttering mess when it comes to the actual care of this new being. I may be headstrong about focusing on the child and not worrying about the mess that is Wes and I, but when it comes right down to it, I know I can't do this on my own. And if Wes doesn't want to share that responsibility in the long run, he can at least help me now. But why would he offer to help if he didn't want to be a part of this?
I hold out the baby gingerly, vaguely thinking, "He needs a name," I murmur, careful not to jostle the kid or let any of his limbs flop about as well as I can. "I-" I swallow hard looking at the crying baby who quiets slightly once the jacket is around him. Why don't you want him- want to share this? is what I'm trying not to say out loud. "We should take him to a hospital?" I ask, not actually sure that we should, but thinking we need to get him out of here. Especially if Darla was right about things/people following her.
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I look up shocked when Angel asks me if I would wrap up the child. My eyes go wide as I look at the baby in fear. I don't know anything about babies other then what I've read in books. Lets face it, I wasn't actually taking any of that information in since it wasn't ever needed. Angel probably knows more considering he had a younger sibling. Which is probably not something I should remind him off, considering.
"Oh..." I breathe. Tentatively I move closer and it takes me several attempts to get the baby wrapped up in my jacket. Not because I'm doing it all wrong strangely enough, but because I'm afraid to hurt him, or cause Angel to drop him. After all, I almost killed it once with my clumsiness. And his mother. I wish Darla never showed up. Ever. Damn bitch.
Once I'm done I take a step back, wide eyes still staring at the child. Until Angel starts to speak again. "A n-name?" I stammer, eyes getting drawn back to the now quiet child again. I suppose he does, but that's up to Angel. I have no say in that matter at all. I don't think taking the boy to a hospital right now is a good thing though. They'd take him away from Angel, since *I* have no idea what to tell the doctors. Nor do we have any sort of papers.
"Why-why don't we got back to the hotel first," I suggest, weakly pointing at the door as though the words weren't clear enough. "And-and sort things-- out," I murmur, thinking there's a whole hell of a lot of sorting out to do. Wrapping my arms around myself, I keep staring from Angel to his son he's holding and wondering how things could've changed so bloody fast. We were happy, happy, before that wench showed up. But that's not the child's fault, and looking at him now I can't even get angry or jealous at the boy.
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"Sort things out..." I repeat after Wes mechanically, looking down at the baby because I can't quite look at Wes because I don't quite know...what's going on. Does he not want- What's going on? What am I going to do without him? I don't even know what to feed this kid without his mother. "Do you think he drinks blood?" I say, looking at Wes, horrified. Oh, god, what if we sired some sort of in utero vampire baby. "What if he drinks blood?" I say holding the baby closer as if to ward off the possibility of vampirism. "What do I feed him if he doesn't? How do we know if he's really human? What-" what am I gonna do, Wes? but I can't ask him that because he wants no part of this.
That's not my son.
But then why does he look so worried and lost hugging himself like that? I don't understand. "Are you cold?" I ask him, looking at him, trying to figure out what's wrong. "Do you want my coat, Wes?" I ask, shifting from one foot to the other. "Maybe you should hold him," I say, the babble returning. "You're warmer than I am." God, I'd be chewing on my thumb or something equally a sign of nerves if I wasn't so afraid of dropping the child that I need both hands to hold him. "You should hold him and I should drive, right?" I say looking for some kind of confirmation that this is not my job, that this is not what I'm supposed to be doing, that I cannot should not be raising a child.
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Angel on the other hand has different plans. I turn back around to look at him puzzled and then at the boy. This would be one of those things we'll need to figure out. I hope to god the child doesn't drink blood, because that would indicate that it's not human. I don't even want to think about what that would mean for Angel's son.
"I don't know, Angel," I sigh, wondering if he thinks I'm some sort of walking found of knowledge. I don't know everything. I sure as hell don't know anything about children or babies. Demonic or otherwise. I get the feeling we might be calling Lorne, since I'd hate to disturb Cordelia and Gunn on their well deserving vacation. Lorne might see something, even if the boy can't sing.
Resisting the urge to draw back into myself I start to move toward the door again when Angel asks me if I want his coat. And hold the baby. Why would I want to hold his son? Is he not happy with his child? He should be ecstatic, but he doesn't look it. He looks afraid, unsure, and... which is all understandable as well I suppose.
"He doesn't appear to be cold any longer," I observe quietly, giving the child a critical once over. "Angel we need to go. Whatever D-Darla was afraid of, might come here. I'll drive us back to the hotel and then we'll call Lorne. He might be able to tell us more, even if the boy can't sing. Alright?" I urge, waving my hand weakly toward the door we came though.
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He looks back at me like I have two heads for even asking him anything though. What is going on in that head of his? And we definitely need someone around here that can take care of a kid, which obviously isn't me. The kid keeps...stretching and wiggling. Probably pretty damn uncomfortable, though I guess it couldn't have been all that warm inside of Darla than it was outside. Maybe he liked the cold?
I keep looking at him, tiny little face, tiny little fingers, tiny little eyes peering out from Wes' jacket. He's mine. I think. I mean...His mother didn't want him, and it looks like Wes doesn't either so it's just the two of us. I give him a tiny smile and then look up at Wes, trying not to show too much emotion.
Nodding reluctantly, I head toward the door, still so utterly unsure of what to do other than that this tiny thing needs a protector and it looks like that's going to be me. Just me. My heart sinks every time I think that Wes doesn't want to be a part of this, but now's really not the time.
I wonder if Wes and I - this fragile thing we have together - are going to make it through this, I think as we slip out the back doors of the university and get in the car.
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