"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.
That is not to say that Angel wont be a good father. He obviously already loves his son more then... I'd almost say more then my father loved me, but I realize it's not such a far stretch to accomplish that. But for Angel being a vampire and the boy probably 0 hopefully? - not, it's going to be very difficult. Angel wont be able to go into the sunlight is one of the biggest drawbacks. Trying to explain to the child that he can't go around telling his friends - if he's able to have friends - that his father drinks blood.
The fact that the Childs father is in love - is he still? Everything is so confused right now - with a man, is bizarrely enough the least of future problems. For them, not for me. Even thinking about Angel not wanting me close any longer makes it as though breathing is like swallowing fire. But then why did he say 'our son'? Spur of the moment I guess.
I'm not that boy's father, no matter how much I wish I was. I'm just an-- an uncle?
And that, I think as I see the Hyperion looming in front of me, is enough of that. What we need to do, all of us, is get the child settled and then figure out what it is. Human? Demon? Vampire? Once we figure that out, *then* we can all panic and make plans and the likes. First thing first, I tell myself as I park the car in the usual spot.
Getting out of the car I quickly move toward the back and grab the bag with small diapers and some baby clothes I hope that'll fit. "Why don't you go inside and see if this fits the boy," I murmur, glancing at the other bags and trying to figure out what comes next. "I'll call Lorne and ask him to come over as soon as possible." That obviously comes next. I'd hate to feed the child this powered milk when it needs... blood?
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.
I struggle out of the car and see Wes already at the trunk - I guess he wants to get away from the little guy as fast as he can - and come up next to him. Fits the boy? What? Oh, right, diapers. Clothes. Uhh... "Umm, okay." I say nervously, but try to hid it, taking the bag he's offering and heading inside. I just have to put a diaper and some clothes on him. That's all. People do it every day. I can do this. I don't need Wes' help.
Leaning against the door, I hold it open for Wes and all the bags he's holding. "I'll just, uhh, take him upstairs. Change him up there," I say, feeling more nervous than even that first time I admitted to myself that I was in love with Wes. "I'll try to keep him from ruining your jacket," I add my eyes switching from Wes to the little boy in my arms.
Once we're both inside, I head toward the stairs, pausing briefly and looking down at the tiny little creature with its tiny little heartbeat in my arms. I heard that heartbeat before he even came out of his mother. But this is all so impossible, there's no telling what he really is. He could be some kind of vampire hybrid still. "We've got plenty of blood, right?" I ask, a little sadly.
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.
Vampire's don't have children. They're not alive, something that is alive cannot be conceived, grow, let alone survive inside of them. What Angel is never bothered me but this makes no sense. None at all. This child should not be. When I glance at the little one, snuggled into Angel's arms, the truth is staring me right in the face. He's there, this miracle child that should not be. And no one knows how to react.
That isn't the boy's fault though and it shouldn't be giving him a worse start in life then he's already gotten. What with is mother dying. Murdered. I killed her. I killed Darla. My god, that's still not something I can grasp. And neither is Angel I think, otherwise he'd have shown me by now. I've killed his partner for over a hundred years, the mother of his child and-- he hasn't said a word about it.
"What?" His question startled me out of my thoughts. I blink at him and walk over to the counter to deposit the bags. "I think so?" I say, wondering why he's suddenly asking. Or why he's having that sad tone of voice. "I'll ask Lorne to bring some along on his way over?"
It sounds like a question, but I already have the receiver in my hand as I punch the well known number of Caritas. There's loud music coming from the other line as it's picked up very quickly and Lorne's melodious voice follows soon thereafter.
"Lorne?" I have to cover my other ear to hear him over the music, which is entirely strange since the music isn't even near me. "Can you hear me?"
"English Muffin! *Just* the guy I needed to talk about a show of all shows. Cream-puff, they've been asking for you!"
"Errr..." I'd forgotten about that. Damn. Other things to worry about now though. "We'll ah-- have to talk about that never, Lorne. I'd like for you to come over? Rigth now. Please?"
"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.
I shake my head. Gotta shake it off. Can't be worrying about this. Can't be disappointed about it. You have a son to worry about. A son... Again I shake my head in disbelief. I lay the little boy down on the bed, carefully to keep him swaddled in Wes' jacket - and he's back to the minor fussing, which I am so blaming on an immediate like of Wes - even though, I guess he can't really roll anywhere just yet. Right? Maybe he has super strength and could roll everywhich way and-
Okay. Calming. I pull out all the thing's Wes got, watching the kid like a hawk. Hmm, diapers. This is good. Other...diaper related things? Or baby first-aid? There's like, salve and some kind wet cloth things...like for when your hands are messy at a restaurant? I don't have a clue. Huh.
Hmm, looks like we have clothes in here, too. Something that looks far, far too small to be held in my hands...that is going to go on this even tinier baby. "Trains were never that cute in my day," I murmur aloud as I pick up the little scrap of soft, pale blue cotton. Baby blue. Heh.
"What do you think, did Wes get the right stuff for you?" I ask the baby, looking at him squirm gently in the jacket. There's even a soft, little blanket. Blue too. Just like his mom's eyes. Another thing I'm not worrying about as I bring the stuff over and pile it on the bed next my tiny, tiny...son.
"Whoa, whoa with the urgency panicky! It's almost leaping through the phone to choke me there, British Biscuit. What's going on?"
Of course he'd notice something was wrong right away. No matter how hard I try to keep myself calm, it'll seep through. Angel has a son. With Darla. Whom I killed. Darla not his son. Though I almost killed his son as well. A son I can never give him. A son I'll never actually have because I chose to be with Angel.
Sometimes the world is an unfair place. Some people heal very quickly from things most of us mortals will very slowly or never heal. And vampires can have children while the mere mortals such as I will never have. Yes, there might be some jealousy there, but I don't have time to give into that now. Or deal with it.
It's also not something you'd discuss on the phone. "Why don't I explain things to you when you get here, Lorne," I murmur, this time not making it sound like a question. I'm getting so exhausted with al this trouble already, I'm really not looking forward to having to explain this oh... at least a number of times.
"Okay. Okay, Wes. I'll be right over. Just take a few deep breaths, hold onto Angel and things'll be great. I'm on my way okay? Remember, breathe."
"Thank you, Lorne," I sigh, a sad smile flitting over my face. "Oh and bring some blood if you will, please? Thank you again." Hold onto Angel. Angel has something far more precious to hold onto now. Someone who's not me. Someone who's mother I killed. If this boy is older, how am I going to tell him that? God.
Shaking my head, I rummage through the bags on the counter and grab out one of the bottles and the tin of powdered milk. Doesn't look to difficult to make I think, reading the instructions on the back. I make a bottle of very horrid smelling milk, thinking that if the boy doesn't want it, he wont eat it. The microwave beeps and soon enough I find myself going up the stairs to Angel's room with - something I'd never see myself doing - a baby bottle in hand.
"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 the stairs, but...Wes is probably still downstairs. As far away from the baby as he can get Probably just the hotel settling.
Hmm. Oookay. Tentatively I unwrap the jacket from around my son and no sooner is it done than the kid starts making more noise and squirming around. "Choo, choo. Chugga, chugga, choo, choo," I say tunelessly, trying to be musical. Gotta try to distract him, right? Francis? Nah, never was a fan of that Francis kid the next pasture over. Seamus? Oh, defintely no.
"Umm, alright..." I make a face and put the diaper on top of the kid, kind of bending it around his waist. Uhhh, no, I don't really think that's how it goes. I turn the thing over and try it again, putting it between the kid's legs. But then how...? I am so in trouble. Why the hell do they make these things rectangular? Don't they know kids aren't rectangular?
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.
Slowly I open the door, realizing Angel isn't even noticing me. Probably due to the fact that deep down he knows it's me opening the door. For another because he's to engrossed in the child. While looking at the garment, the diaper and the child with utter confusion. Obviously he has no idea how these things work. That's really worrying, because neither do I.
I can figure things out by reading the instructions though. Putting the bottle down I keep my eye on Angel cooing adorably over his son and grab the diaper bag to read the instructions. There's a slight panic going through me when I turn the box this way and then that, wondering if there actually *are* instructions on-- Oh. There it is. Muffled away on the side in very small print with even small pictures. Goodness.
"Lorne is on his way," I murmur, squinting to read what's on the box. "And ah-- I've made him some-some milk," I babble on. "I'm not sure if that's what he wants, but if not he'll most likely spit it out. He has to eat something soon though, or he'll get sick." So small, such a tiny immune system and stomach and defense and-- He's so small. And I think I have this diaper business figured out. I hope.
"May I?" I ask hesitatingly, pointing at the diaper Angel's still clutching in his - looking so very large holding such a tiny thing - hands.
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-
"Of course, if you want," I say, handing over the diaper gingerly and feeling like- like a failure? when Wes offers so haltingly. That is not normal. I mean, me, not him. Sure, I brood, feel guilty, but failure isn't usually the word I grasp for when blaming myself. I don't normally take things so personally. But this is personal. This is my son, and if I'm not going to be able to take care of him-
I suck in a breath, not realizing how close I'm still standing to Wes. We've got to figure this father thing out. I want him here, want him in my life, but if we don't get past this...it's not just going to hurt us, it's going to hurt this little boy. Who deserves every chance to grow up as normally as is possible living in a hotel of demon hunters with visions and vampires and other dimensional beings.
Sighing, I watch Wesley work with the diaper. Again so carefully. He'd make a great dad. I just know it. "Thanks," I murmur. "For the bottle. You didn't have to."
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.
Why wouldn't I want to do this? Just because it's *his* son, doesn't mean I can't be an-- an Uncle of sort? Or is that not even allowed? Is it all Angel and his son already? This soon? It's on the tip of my tongue to ask why I would mind, but the boy is starting to fuss, no doubt getting cold and uncomfortable.
Pushing up my glasses I narrow my eyes at the diaper Angel handed me, quickly flip it around and then slip it on the boy with ease. Just as I thought and the instructions said it would. It's fairly easy once you've that figured out. It would seem the 'sticky' parts are not sticky, but made of-- A sort of velcro? Interesting.
"And there we are," I murmur, picking the boy up automatically at the same time Angel's thanking me. Telling me I didn't have to. Again. Why does he keep saying that? Putting the boy against my shoulder I pick up the small garment I bought. Onesie I think they're called? Studying it to figure out how to put this on one, I glance over at Angel again.
"Why didn't I have to?" I ask quietly, putting Angel's son down to try and get him some clothes on. Maybe I should just wrap him in a blanket and have Angel give him that bottle. The little one must be hungry by now. At least it seems to be fussing less. Strangely enough.
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.
He had no trouble with that, just stuck the diaper rectangle on him like magic. Maybe it was magic. I better watch more closely next time. But really, watching him with a child of his own - he should have one, damn it - is heart-wrenching. How could he not want one?
"Hmm?" I say when when it seems like Wes said something. Oh. Why is he shocked that I'm trying to give him a way out? He all but said he wanted nothing to do with the kid.
"I thought... You said he wasn't your son. I thought you didn't want anything to do with him. You don't have to look after him if you do want to. We'll work something out. I know you didn't ask for this. I don't want to pressure you...since we never really talked about...kids," I say just as quietly, keeping my eyes on the little boy now diapered up. My fingers trace over the little garment Wes just put down. Oh, look there's snaps at the bottom! So maybe it goes over his head?
"Will you hold him up? I'll put it over his head, see if it works. Then we can try feeding him?" I ask, interrupting our conversation with my own excitement about figuring something out about my son's care for myself.
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.
"Yes, I did," I say quietly, making sure no other emotion leaks through in the tone of my voice. "Because, Angel, he's not my son. He's your son, and Darla's son. Not mine, unless I've missed a rather large pink elephant in several rooms. I think the fact that you seem to have had an entire conversation with me about this and came to some conclusion that my saying the boy's not my son, means that I wouldn't want anything to do with you or your child, without actually needing me for either the actual conversation or your conclusion speaks volumes, Angel."
How did 'he's not my son' translate to 'I don't want anything to so with you or your child' in his mind? I don't- I truly don't understand what makes him work at times. Angel tells me that *I'm* complicated, but he most certainly isn't that easy to read or understand either. I'm also quite certain that he, more then anyone, should be aware what shock does to humans. Or demons even. And lets face it, as far as shocks go? My killing Darla, Angel's son suddenly being there? That's all a bit to much.
"You do realize, Angel that I killed the boys mother," I point out, thinking that he hasn't said anything about that, and that can't be right. Hundreds of years together, having a child together, he can't tell me that it didn't matter to him. Can't tell me he felt nothing when his current lover staked his Sire.
"Cherubs?" A familiar cheerful voice comes from just outside the door as it's being pushed open further. "Have no fear, Lorne is here! Holy mother of Herpes. Where for the love of Aretha Franklin did you two find that?! And what's this about Wes killing his mommy? Who *is* the mommy?"
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.
And now he's just making me pissy. He's acting like there's some kind of biological line he can't cross here. As far as I know, none of us are related and we make a pretty good family all by ourselves. I don't know why he's falling back on it now, but he's pretty damned determined to stick with the blood lines, it seems.
There's a small growl that escapes me when Wes starts talking to me like I'm about two. If he's going to be petty about it then maybe the kid and I should give him some space. Or maybe he's just looking for an excuse to get out-
My glare shifts to Lorne as he all but bounces in and then screeches to a halt ala a cartoon character. God, I was this close to really saying something nasty to Wes and if Lorne- Oh, I could just strangle someone right now, and the kid is obviously reading that because the fussing gets a little more heated.
"Darla's the mom," I grit out, "Who I killed before you did, Wes. It doesn't fill me with joy, but if I feel anything about it, it's guilt that I never saved her when she was human. And the moment she said there was something in her, there was no way I was letting her near it once it left her. She may be his mother, but she was still a killer, Wes. I wasn't even going to give her a chance to try raising him-
"Woah there, sweet cheeks - and what cheeks they are - umm, who's the father to be here? Shouldn't you be hunting for him? Darla, bitch from hell, okay... Still a vampire, right? Vampires screw but they really don't- Oh no. Oh my." Lorne looks totally aghast and then flings his long green arms wrapped in velour around me. "Big guy, congrats! He's the spitting image!" Of course Lorne knew about the thing with Darla, but- "And he whines just like his pop!" Lorne coos, bending over the little guy and tickling his stomach.
"Hey, I don't-"
"Sure you do, creampuff. And this little guy is tired of hearing it. Aren't you, sweetheart? From both of you lugs." Lorne picks up the poor tyke and cradles him against his shoulder, humming a little lullaby. "Now what's all this grown-up fussing, you two should be happy as clams with a little bundle of joy like this," Lorne says looking at both of us in turn as if he doesn't know exactly what's going on, which he probably does.
That is not to say that Angel wont be a good father. He obviously already loves his son more then... I'd almost say more then my father loved me, but I realize it's not such a far stretch to accomplish that. But for Angel being a vampire and the boy probably 0 hopefully? - not, it's going to be very difficult. Angel wont be able to go into the sunlight is one of the biggest drawbacks. Trying to explain to the child that he can't go around telling his friends - if he's able to have friends - that his father drinks blood.
The fact that the Childs father is in love - is he still? Everything is so confused right now - with a man, is bizarrely enough the least of future problems. For them, not for me. Even thinking about Angel not wanting me close any longer makes it as though breathing is like swallowing fire. But then why did he say 'our son'? Spur of the moment I guess.
I'm not that boy's father, no matter how much I wish I was. I'm just an-- an uncle?
And that, I think as I see the Hyperion looming in front of me, is enough of that. What we need to do, all of us, is get the child settled and then figure out what it is. Human? Demon? Vampire? Once we figure that out, *then* we can all panic and make plans and the likes. First thing first, I tell myself as I park the car in the usual spot.
Getting out of the car I quickly move toward the back and grab the bag with small diapers and some baby clothes I hope that'll fit. "Why don't you go inside and see if this fits the boy," I murmur, glancing at the other bags and trying to figure out what comes next. "I'll call Lorne and ask him to come over as soon as possible." That obviously comes next. I'd hate to feed the child this powered milk when it needs... blood?
Reply
I struggle out of the car and see Wes already at the trunk - I guess he wants to get away from the little guy as fast as he can - and come up next to him. Fits the boy? What? Oh, right, diapers. Clothes. Uhh... "Umm, okay." I say nervously, but try to hid it, taking the bag he's offering and heading inside. I just have to put a diaper and some clothes on him. That's all. People do it every day. I can do this. I don't need Wes' help.
Leaning against the door, I hold it open for Wes and all the bags he's holding. "I'll just, uhh, take him upstairs. Change him up there," I say, feeling more nervous than even that first time I admitted to myself that I was in love with Wes. "I'll try to keep him from ruining your jacket," I add my eyes switching from Wes to the little boy in my arms.
Once we're both inside, I head toward the stairs, pausing briefly and looking down at the tiny little creature with its tiny little heartbeat in my arms. I heard that heartbeat before he even came out of his mother. But this is all so impossible, there's no telling what he really is. He could be some kind of vampire hybrid still. "We've got plenty of blood, right?" I ask, a little sadly.
Reply
Vampire's don't have children. They're not alive, something that is alive cannot be conceived, grow, let alone survive inside of them. What Angel is never bothered me but this makes no sense. None at all. This child should not be. When I glance at the little one, snuggled into Angel's arms, the truth is staring me right in the face. He's there, this miracle child that should not be. And no one knows how to react.
That isn't the boy's fault though and it shouldn't be giving him a worse start in life then he's already gotten. What with is mother dying. Murdered. I killed her. I killed Darla. My god, that's still not something I can grasp. And neither is Angel I think, otherwise he'd have shown me by now. I've killed his partner for over a hundred years, the mother of his child and-- he hasn't said a word about it.
"What?" His question startled me out of my thoughts. I blink at him and walk over to the counter to deposit the bags. "I think so?" I say, wondering why he's suddenly asking. Or why he's having that sad tone of voice. "I'll ask Lorne to bring some along on his way over?"
It sounds like a question, but I already have the receiver in my hand as I punch the well known number of Caritas. There's loud music coming from the other line as it's picked up very quickly and Lorne's melodious voice follows soon thereafter.
"Lorne?" I have to cover my other ear to hear him over the music, which is entirely strange since the music isn't even near me. "Can you hear me?"
"English Muffin! *Just* the guy I needed to talk about a show of all shows. Cream-puff, they've been asking for you!"
"Errr..." I'd forgotten about that. Damn. Other things to worry about now though. "We'll ah-- have to talk about that never, Lorne. I'd like for you to come over? Rigth now. Please?"
Reply
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.
I shake my head. Gotta shake it off. Can't be worrying about this. Can't be disappointed about it. You have a son to worry about. A son... Again I shake my head in disbelief. I lay the little boy down on the bed, carefully to keep him swaddled in Wes' jacket - and he's back to the minor fussing, which I am so blaming on an immediate like of Wes - even though, I guess he can't really roll anywhere just yet. Right? Maybe he has super strength and could roll everywhich way and-
Okay. Calming. I pull out all the thing's Wes got, watching the kid like a hawk. Hmm, diapers. This is good. Other...diaper related things? Or baby first-aid? There's like, salve and some kind wet cloth things...like for when your hands are messy at a restaurant? I don't have a clue. Huh.
Hmm, looks like we have clothes in here, too. Something that looks far, far too small to be held in my hands...that is going to go on this even tinier baby. "Trains were never that cute in my day," I murmur aloud as I pick up the little scrap of soft, pale blue cotton. Baby blue. Heh.
"What do you think, did Wes get the right stuff for you?" I ask the baby, looking at him squirm gently in the jacket. There's even a soft, little blanket. Blue too. Just like his mom's eyes. Another thing I'm not worrying about as I bring the stuff over and pile it on the bed next my tiny, tiny...son.
Reply
Of course he'd notice something was wrong right away. No matter how hard I try to keep myself calm, it'll seep through. Angel has a son. With Darla. Whom I killed. Darla not his son. Though I almost killed his son as well. A son I can never give him. A son I'll never actually have because I chose to be with Angel.
Sometimes the world is an unfair place. Some people heal very quickly from things most of us mortals will very slowly or never heal. And vampires can have children while the mere mortals such as I will never have. Yes, there might be some jealousy there, but I don't have time to give into that now. Or deal with it.
It's also not something you'd discuss on the phone. "Why don't I explain things to you when you get here, Lorne," I murmur, this time not making it sound like a question. I'm getting so exhausted with al this trouble already, I'm really not looking forward to having to explain this oh... at least a number of times.
"Okay. Okay, Wes. I'll be right over. Just take a few deep breaths, hold onto Angel and things'll be great. I'm on my way okay? Remember, breathe."
"Thank you, Lorne," I sigh, a sad smile flitting over my face. "Oh and bring some blood if you will, please? Thank you again." Hold onto Angel. Angel has something far more precious to hold onto now. Someone who's not me. Someone who's mother I killed. If this boy is older, how am I going to tell him that? God.
Shaking my head, I rummage through the bags on the counter and grab out one of the bottles and the tin of powdered milk. Doesn't look to difficult to make I think, reading the instructions on the back. I make a bottle of very horrid smelling milk, thinking that if the boy doesn't want it, he wont eat it. The microwave beeps and soon enough I find myself going up the stairs to Angel's room with - something I'd never see myself doing - a baby bottle in hand.
Reply
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 the stairs, but...Wes is probably still downstairs. As far away from the baby as he can get Probably just the hotel settling.
Hmm. Oookay. Tentatively I unwrap the jacket from around my son and no sooner is it done than the kid starts making more noise and squirming around. "Choo, choo. Chugga, chugga, choo, choo," I say tunelessly, trying to be musical. Gotta try to distract him, right? Francis? Nah, never was a fan of that Francis kid the next pasture over. Seamus? Oh, defintely no.
"Umm, alright..." I make a face and put the diaper on top of the kid, kind of bending it around his waist. Uhhh, no, I don't really think that's how it goes. I turn the thing over and try it again, putting it between the kid's legs. But then how...? I am so in trouble. Why the hell do they make these things rectangular? Don't they know kids aren't rectangular?
Reply
Slowly I open the door, realizing Angel isn't even noticing me. Probably due to the fact that deep down he knows it's me opening the door. For another because he's to engrossed in the child. While looking at the garment, the diaper and the child with utter confusion. Obviously he has no idea how these things work. That's really worrying, because neither do I.
I can figure things out by reading the instructions though. Putting the bottle down I keep my eye on Angel cooing adorably over his son and grab the diaper bag to read the instructions. There's a slight panic going through me when I turn the box this way and then that, wondering if there actually *are* instructions on-- Oh. There it is. Muffled away on the side in very small print with even small pictures. Goodness.
"Lorne is on his way," I murmur, squinting to read what's on the box. "And ah-- I've made him some-some milk," I babble on. "I'm not sure if that's what he wants, but if not he'll most likely spit it out. He has to eat something soon though, or he'll get sick." So small, such a tiny immune system and stomach and defense and-- He's so small. And I think I have this diaper business figured out. I hope.
"May I?" I ask hesitatingly, pointing at the diaper Angel's still clutching in his - looking so very large holding such a tiny thing - hands.
Reply
"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-
"Of course, if you want," I say, handing over the diaper gingerly and feeling like- like a failure? when Wes offers so haltingly. That is not normal. I mean, me, not him. Sure, I brood, feel guilty, but failure isn't usually the word I grasp for when blaming myself. I don't normally take things so personally. But this is personal. This is my son, and if I'm not going to be able to take care of him-
I suck in a breath, not realizing how close I'm still standing to Wes. We've got to figure this father thing out. I want him here, want him in my life, but if we don't get past this...it's not just going to hurt us, it's going to hurt this little boy. Who deserves every chance to grow up as normally as is possible living in a hotel of demon hunters with visions and vampires and other dimensional beings.
Sighing, I watch Wesley work with the diaper. Again so carefully. He'd make a great dad. I just know it. "Thanks," I murmur. "For the bottle. You didn't have to."
Reply
Why wouldn't I want to do this? Just because it's *his* son, doesn't mean I can't be an-- an Uncle of sort? Or is that not even allowed? Is it all Angel and his son already? This soon? It's on the tip of my tongue to ask why I would mind, but the boy is starting to fuss, no doubt getting cold and uncomfortable.
Pushing up my glasses I narrow my eyes at the diaper Angel handed me, quickly flip it around and then slip it on the boy with ease. Just as I thought and the instructions said it would. It's fairly easy once you've that figured out. It would seem the 'sticky' parts are not sticky, but made of-- A sort of velcro? Interesting.
"And there we are," I murmur, picking the boy up automatically at the same time Angel's thanking me. Telling me I didn't have to. Again. Why does he keep saying that? Putting the boy against my shoulder I pick up the small garment I bought. Onesie I think they're called? Studying it to figure out how to put this on one, I glance over at Angel again.
"Why didn't I have to?" I ask quietly, putting Angel's son down to try and get him some clothes on. Maybe I should just wrap him in a blanket and have Angel give him that bottle. The little one must be hungry by now. At least it seems to be fussing less. Strangely enough.
Reply
He had no trouble with that, just stuck the diaper rectangle on him like magic. Maybe it was magic. I better watch more closely next time. But really, watching him with a child of his own - he should have one, damn it - is heart-wrenching. How could he not want one?
"Hmm?" I say when when it seems like Wes said something. Oh. Why is he shocked that I'm trying to give him a way out? He all but said he wanted nothing to do with the kid.
"I thought... You said he wasn't your son. I thought you didn't want anything to do with him. You don't have to look after him if you do want to. We'll work something out. I know you didn't ask for this. I don't want to pressure you...since we never really talked about...kids," I say just as quietly, keeping my eyes on the little boy now diapered up. My fingers trace over the little garment Wes just put down. Oh, look there's snaps at the bottom! So maybe it goes over his head?
"Will you hold him up? I'll put it over his head, see if it works. Then we can try feeding him?" I ask, interrupting our conversation with my own excitement about figuring something out about my son's care for myself.
Reply
"Yes, I did," I say quietly, making sure no other emotion leaks through in the tone of my voice. "Because, Angel, he's not my son. He's your son, and Darla's son. Not mine, unless I've missed a rather large pink elephant in several rooms. I think the fact that you seem to have had an entire conversation with me about this and came to some conclusion that my saying the boy's not my son, means that I wouldn't want anything to do with you or your child, without actually needing me for either the actual conversation or your conclusion speaks volumes, Angel."
How did 'he's not my son' translate to 'I don't want anything to so with you or your child' in his mind? I don't- I truly don't understand what makes him work at times. Angel tells me that *I'm* complicated, but he most certainly isn't that easy to read or understand either. I'm also quite certain that he, more then anyone, should be aware what shock does to humans. Or demons even. And lets face it, as far as shocks go? My killing Darla, Angel's son suddenly being there? That's all a bit to much.
"You do realize, Angel that I killed the boys mother," I point out, thinking that he hasn't said anything about that, and that can't be right. Hundreds of years together, having a child together, he can't tell me that it didn't matter to him. Can't tell me he felt nothing when his current lover staked his Sire.
"Cherubs?" A familiar cheerful voice comes from just outside the door as it's being pushed open further. "Have no fear, Lorne is here! Holy mother of Herpes. Where for the love of Aretha Franklin did you two find that?! And what's this about Wes killing his mommy? Who *is* the mommy?"
Reply
And now he's just making me pissy. He's acting like there's some kind of biological line he can't cross here. As far as I know, none of us are related and we make a pretty good family all by ourselves. I don't know why he's falling back on it now, but he's pretty damned determined to stick with the blood lines, it seems.
There's a small growl that escapes me when Wes starts talking to me like I'm about two. If he's going to be petty about it then maybe the kid and I should give him some space. Or maybe he's just looking for an excuse to get out-
My glare shifts to Lorne as he all but bounces in and then screeches to a halt ala a cartoon character. God, I was this close to really saying something nasty to Wes and if Lorne- Oh, I could just strangle someone right now, and the kid is obviously reading that because the fussing gets a little more heated.
"Darla's the mom," I grit out, "Who I killed before you did, Wes. It doesn't fill me with joy, but if I feel anything about it, it's guilt that I never saved her when she was human. And the moment she said there was something in her, there was no way I was letting her near it once it left her. She may be his mother, but she was still a killer, Wes. I wasn't even going to give her a chance to try raising him-
"Woah there, sweet cheeks - and what cheeks they are - umm, who's the father to be here? Shouldn't you be hunting for him? Darla, bitch from hell, okay... Still a vampire, right? Vampires screw but they really don't- Oh no. Oh my." Lorne looks totally aghast and then flings his long green arms wrapped in velour around me. "Big guy, congrats! He's the spitting image!" Of course Lorne knew about the thing with Darla, but- "And he whines just like his pop!" Lorne coos, bending over the little guy and tickling his stomach.
"Hey, I don't-"
"Sure you do, creampuff. And this little guy is tired of hearing it. Aren't you, sweetheart? From both of you lugs." Lorne picks up the poor tyke and cradles him against his shoulder, humming a little lullaby. "Now what's all this grown-up fussing, you two should be happy as clams with a little bundle of joy like this," Lorne says looking at both of us in turn as if he doesn't know exactly what's going on, which he probably does.
Reply
Leave a comment