It's hard to look at Angel, smiling at his son, and not feel my heart break in tiny little bits. The sad truth is there's no one can blame for this. For the fact that from now on this child will be the most important being in his life. This child will represent his future. This child, whom I could have never have given him. No matter if I wanted to
( ... )
I nod in thanks as Wes opens the door to the car, since it seems pretty clear that I'm unlikely to get more help than that in future. It really doesn't make sense, but...really, what does when you've got the impossible happening. Maybe this is all a dream. A really creepy, weird dream
( ... )
"Alright," I murmur, already looking for a spot to park the car close by. I glance to my side at Angel and realize he doesn't even want to look at me. Short replies, not wanting to look at me, his whole body langue is shouting at me to stay away. It's already started? My god, life certainly doesn't waste any time kicking me in the ball does it
( ... )
The kid starts fussing a little when Wes leaves the car, and I'm not really sure what to do so I hum a little bit and make some faces at him. Not really going to do much good if he's hungry, I guess, but that's all I've got. If I'm looking a little too closely at his mouth for fangs well... I sigh, hoping faintly that he doesn't pee on Wes' jacket. He looks good in this jacket.
Maybe I'm asking too much, or too soon. Maybe Wes will grow to like this little kid. Maybe he was still in shock over Darla when I asked. But... We're together. We're together. He knows that, right? How could he not know that? I don't want to be with anyone else, I don't want to raise this kid with anyone else. I'm scared out of my mind about raising this kid, and the only thing that was keeping me okay with the idea of suddenly having a kid was the thought that Wes was going to be there too
( ... )
"You're-- quite welcome," I murmur as I maneuver my way into traffic. I'm not sure what to think of that smile he gave me. Or what passed as a smile for Angel. It was a rather tiny one as though he had to drag it out of the toes of his feet. I glance in the rear view mirror, finding myself slightly disturbed by the fact that there's one small child hovering in the air. Of course I can't see Angel and I have to wonder what the boy's childhood with be like with a vampire for a father
( ... )
We seem to get to the Hyperion by the next time I glance up, still feeling the ache in my chest about Wes. But we have more important- no, more urgent things to think about. Wes is just as important, but this baby needs our care and attention. We- I can't be distracted, it could mean big consequences for the little guy. I really don't need my mind filing through all the possibilities of how I could unintentionally kill him or hurt him right now either
( ... )
My ja-- To be honest I had completely forgotten about my jacket. There are really other things to worry about then some stupid jacket. "Don't worry about the..." damn, stupid, "...jacket," I sigh, slipping past him with my arms full of baby supplies. There's something I'd never thought I'd be doing. Toting about baby supplies. And even if it might have crossed my mind, doing for *Angel's* son hadn't
( ... )
"Yeah, thanks. Just in case," I say, wearily, but trying to give Wes a smile he doesn't see. Wes is already off to call Lorne. I try not to frown as I head across the lobby. The boy could still be a vampire. Or some cross between. We don't know. The extra blood might be good to have on hand. Lord knows the two of us- I'm going to have my hands full without worrying that we need to go find blood in the middle of the night.
The baby and I trudge upstairs - or I trudge, the little guy is making a very trusting face at me and lounging in my arms - and head for the suite. Our suite. Or it used to be. I hope that it still is. And I'm trudging because I'm really, just really not shaking this whole Wes not wanting to help me with this parenting thing that seems to have fallen, literally, into my arms
( ... )
"Choo, choo," I say quietly to my son. "See, it's got a little train engine on the front," I also say, holding the strange one-piece garment up for the little boy to see. If he even cares. Which he probably doesn't. He's probably more concerned about being hungry. So I guess I should pick up the pace and get him into these plastic diaper rectangles so he can have some food and...stuff. If we can figure out what he eats.
Man, in my day there was nothing at all like all this soft...not-fabric and tape, and scent. I guess that's to mask the oh-so-pleasant odors, but man, that's strong for my nose. Better get used to it, I guess. Picking up the rectangle diaper, I turn it over. And over again. There should really be directions on these things. Fumbling it, my fingers catch a corner and- Oh. It comes open. Right. I knew that. Okay...now... How do I get this on him? I look back and forth from the baby to the diaper. Colin? Michael? Those are nice Irish names. In the back of my head, I make note of some sounds on
( ... )
When I arrive at the door - our door? His door? Their door? - there are voices. One's Angel's of course. But there's a sound I never in my wildest dreams would have ever thought to hear coming from behind that door. The sound of a baby. Fussing, gurgling, not sounding very happy. Poor lad must be hungry, I think, ruefully looking at the warm bottle of instant baby milk in my hand. Or food, I don't know what they all put in there. I got the version for the lactose intolerant, just in case
( ... )
I don't even hear Wes come in. There's so many foreign sounds coming from this little baby that my ears are focused on them, memorizing, cateloging so that in the future if his breathing, his heartbeat, anything sound different we'll be able to tell if he's sick or not. Or anything else for that matter, I hope. So I'm a little surprised when I feel a warm body, Wesley's body standing near my arm, reading the diaper packaging. I thought he was staying downstairs.
"Okay," I say, still looking down at Aiden? Brendan? Peter? Is he any of those? and turning the diaper this way and that, seriously wondering how anyone ever gets one of these things on. Wait. Wes did what? My eyes actually leave my son to look at Wes who is still looking at the diaper packaging in a way that usually implies studying. Is he trying to find the price? Or what it's made of? Now's not really the time- My eyes also seem to catch on the baby bottle filled with milk. Or the alternative these days. Huh. He really did make a bottle. But if he doesn't care
( ... )
This whole diaper thing doesn't look to difficult. It's a matter of figuring it out and I think I just did. Well that and making sure you get the- ah - the 'sticky' end up the right way. Angel hands me the diapers with a remark that has me looking at him confused and possibly a little hurt
( ... )
My heart gives a little squeeze watching Wes with the baby in his arms. Picks him up like it's perfectly normal, a perfect fit. And it is. Give Wes a child and he may not know what to do, but he'll figure it out. Figure it out in no time
( ... )
My confusion gives way to a little anger. No. Not a little anger. A lot of anger. Even though there's still that lingering confusion left behind. The boy seems to notice, starting to fuss and squirm again while my lips for a very thin line. I look at Angel, my eyes narrowing
( ... )
My excitement is short lived when Wes starts in with that even careful tone that really means that he's trying to keep control and not snap my head off like he wants to. How could that have made him mad? I was trying to be considerate
( ... )
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Maybe I'm asking too much, or too soon. Maybe Wes will grow to like this little kid. Maybe he was still in shock over Darla when I asked. But... We're together. We're together. He knows that, right? How could he not know that? I don't want to be with anyone else, I don't want to raise this kid with anyone else. I'm scared out of my mind about raising this kid, and the only thing that was keeping me okay with the idea of suddenly having a kid was the thought that Wes was going to be there too ( ... )
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The baby and I trudge upstairs - or I trudge, the little guy is making a very trusting face at me and lounging in my arms - and head for the suite. Our suite. Or it used to be. I hope that it still is. And I'm trudging because I'm really, just really not shaking this whole Wes not wanting to help me with this parenting thing that seems to have fallen, literally, into my arms ( ... )
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Man, in my day there was nothing at all like all this soft...not-fabric and tape, and scent. I guess that's to mask the oh-so-pleasant odors, but man, that's strong for my nose. Better get used to it, I guess. Picking up the rectangle diaper, I turn it over. And over again. There should really be directions on these things. Fumbling it, my fingers catch a corner and- Oh. It comes open. Right. I knew that. Okay...now... How do I get this on him? I look back and forth from the baby to the diaper. Colin? Michael? Those are nice Irish names. In the back of my head, I make note of some sounds on ( ... )
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"Okay," I say, still looking down at Aiden? Brendan? Peter? Is he any of those? and turning the diaper this way and that, seriously wondering how anyone ever gets one of these things on. Wait. Wes did what? My eyes actually leave my son to look at Wes who is still looking at the diaper packaging in a way that usually implies studying. Is he trying to find the price? Or what it's made of? Now's not really the time- My eyes also seem to catch on the baby bottle filled with milk. Or the alternative these days. Huh. He really did make a bottle. But if he doesn't care ( ... )
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