"Work?" I say absently, still watching Connor, though also faintly wondering what work Wes might need to do. Connor. Still can't quite believe that he's here
( ... )
"Yes, work," I tell him, a frown forming on my face. Goodness, so caught up in his son already he's forgotten we have an actual firm to run? Or I do in any case. With us going on vacation and everything that happened when we came back? I'm already so far behind it's frightening. Good thing I've sorted the Cordelia Chase file system before-- before Darla showed up. "I have a lot of catching up to do," I add in case that wasn't clear.
Angel, however, is running in a completely different direction then I am. Or at least his mind is. And all I can hear when he tells me we should buy bigger things then diapers and food is a voice. A very sad, very hurt and very disappointed voice. Sure he's your son, you don't need *me* to buy stuff for him. Not like either of doesn't have any taste. Cordelia does passive-aggressive sarcasm like no one
( ... )
"On our fron--" On our fronts? I don't know, but whenever I go out I don't see anyone walking with babies on their backs *or* fronts. Where does he get these ideas? Am I missing something here? Some huge pink elephant that's stomping around in the room. I get the feeling I'm missing something here. And apparently something's-- wrong
( ... )
He gets a sheepish look when he warns me and steps back. Yeah, I know. I was trying to be good, really. If I'd really been ready to start something, Wes would have had no trouble knowing it
( ... )
"No ripping," I repeat after him, throwing him a suspicious look. Why do I get the feeling that if he could, there would still be ripping. Well not this shirt, and not these boxers. They're special and even if they had look atrocious I'd have loved them. Because Angel gave them to me. They're his gift to me, they're a reminder to me that he does remember his promises
( ... )
When Wes smiles back it's like the world is good and safe and everything's per- well no, okay, not but I really do like his smile. And he likes the gifts. That's plenty right there
( ... )
Its on the tip of my tongue to tease him about how he thinks a lot of what I say is 'good' since he gave me his gifts. But since Angel sometimes *can* be a little dense, which is what makes him so endearing, I don't. If there's something I'd like to keep its these little moments of almost happiness we have. These content moments where nothing goes wrong and the world seems miles away with it's cruelty and drama
( ... )
My smile gets impossibly wider when I see the blush rise over Wes' cheeks again. Still looks as cute as ever when he does that. And that shy look. I don't think I'll ever get over how adorable he is when he looks shy. Such a sweet man. It makes me feel...privileged kind of to be with him. That he can look past what I am and love me through...all of this
( ... )
There's a frown creasing my forehead when he thanks me. As if I'm only doing this for him. I'm doing this for *us*. Actually, most of the time I'm thinking I only do it for myself. Since I'm the one having issues - as it were - with the fact that I cannot mark him permanently. I'm sure he doesn't mean it as it sounds though. Just something you say automatically... I guess. I don't know. But it is a promising lead, very much so
( ... )
I smile up at Wes, my eyes closing a little at his gentle kiss. There's a quiet moment of synergy with the three of us all connected. Like everything is right in the world - not perfect because in a few moments, Wes will hit a dead end in his research, or Connor will cry - and we have this moment all to ourselves. I never thought any of this would be possible. Wes. Connor. All of us together
( ... )
Sometimes life moves as though it's a gentle slow breeze on a hot summer day. Slow, very slow. And sometimes your life moves as thought it's been caught up in a hurricane and you've no other choice then to run with it or be left behind. My life in the last month resembled a hurricane. Not just because it suddenly contained on little boy - Angel's son - but because I'd finally been able to find a way to put my mark on Angel
( ... )
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Angel, however, is running in a completely different direction then I am. Or at least his mind is. And all I can hear when he tells me we should buy bigger things then diapers and food is a voice. A very sad, very hurt and very disappointed voice. Sure he's your son, you don't need *me* to buy stuff for him. Not like either of doesn't have any taste. Cordelia does passive-aggressive sarcasm like no one ( ... )
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