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
( ... )
"Well, if you need a hand with anything, just let me know," I say, watching with a pleased smile as Wes leans over to kiss Connor's forehead. Without any hesitation at all. I like this too, very good sign
( ... )
"Certainly, I will," I say automatically, already knowing I'll do nothing of the kind. When it comes to paperwork Angel isn't-- the best. If we ever went back to the way things were going before Cordelia or I showed up, the firm would be bankrupt within a week. Angel's idea of doing paperwork is *not* doing it. Claiming to have had other important things to take care of. Which is all true, but those permits and things do not get filled out on their own
( ... )
It takes me a minute to stop gazing at Connor, fist threatening to stop his breathing if he could fit it any further in his mouth, before I go to gather my sketching supplies
( ... )
Either we took all the tea with us when we went on vacation, or Cordelia and Gunn have become a fan of tea. Point of fact is that there's barely any tea! I doubt Gunn or Cordelia have suddenly become a fan of tea, so I guess - hope - most of it is in our suitcases still. It's not as though we've had a whole lot of time unpacking them. With all the trouble that's been going on, we haven't even done any laundry yet
( ... )
Lines, shadows, more lines, I just keep sketching, trying not to pause too often and just stare at the little boy. So tiny. Fragile. And we're going to have our hands full protecting him. Especially if word ever got out about what he is. A child of two vampires. It doesn't make any sense. None. But here we are. Or here Connor is
( ... )
Bloody hell, I had no idea I was so very far behind. It seems weeks of work is waiting for me instead of just-- has it been weeks since I've done my job? Seems decades, so maybe it's true. The amount of work I find here that is. So much paper-work, so many bills, so many-- Thank god I've already got all of Cordelia's filing system sorted out
( ... )
I'm all set to try this bottle making thing, only to open the fridge and find a few bottles all set and ready to go. Well, okay. Can't be much different than heating up blood. I shift Connor to my hip, or what I have of a hip, and grab the bottle, popping it into the microwave for like 30 seconds. Okay, a little longer. Not too warm though. Okay, so maybe a little less time. "Sorry, kiddo, gotta wait for it to cool a little," I say to his cries which the makes the situation seem like life or death. Sorry, sorry! I look at him worriedly, but I'm pretty sure it can't be that bad. Vaguely, I remember my mom with Sarah crying and not looking too worried. Good thing Wes is downstairs and can't hear
( ... )
Calling Bert had calmed me down somewhat. He told me he was almost done with the papers, tomorrow at the latest. Bert was one of those demons who you could trust to do the job fast, good and wouldn't go blather it around like some old gossip woman. There are very few demons or humans I know like that. So that was taken care of
( ... )
We manage to scoot through the door very, very carefully. I'm more worried about spilling the baby than I am about the tray and I try to keep an eye on both even though I've been carting Connor around all morning and should be totally attuned to his every move. What I am attuned to is the familiar heartbeat that settles into my body once we're in the room
( ... )
"I have it." Quickly taking the tray from Angel, I turn around and glance at my over-crowded desk. I turn back around in the hope that there's room on the other side of the desk, only-- to get a kiss from Angel. Of course that makes me smile right away, and look at him with the sort of adoration which would have Cordelia mocking me for weeks on end. As well as Gunn
( ... )
The blush on Wes' cheeks rises fast, and unexpectedly for me at least. Guess I'd forgotten that I could still make him blush. It's still as adorable as it ever was. And even more adorable is the way he smiles at Connor, and Connor very clearly looks back and looks alert. His friend is in the room. I can already tell he recognizes Wes. It's adorable. I'm glad they have some kind of connection, even if Wes won't believe it
( ... )
While I nibble those carrot sticks - they're not so bad, just extremely watery - I watch Angel giving his son a bottle. My smile softens as I watch them, watch the look on Angel's face. So proud already, so tender. Here is a man who's over two-hundred and forty years old. Who gave up being a father more then two centuries ago, now has something he probably never even dreamed of
( ... )
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