New Fic: Trust Me, Part One

[thebratqueen]

Okay gang, you remember the evil monster plot bunny from HELL? This would be the start of it. Allow me to give props to wolfling for the beta and piedmargaret for the Brit translations. Also a shout-out to _green_ who will probably recognize one of the details in here as one that was requested ;) (ETA: Oh yeah, and how can I forget? This is all sisabet's fault! Damn her!)

That being said...

Trust Me
By The Brat Queen

PROLOGUE

The room was dark. Not pitch black, but shadowed. Swathes of grey draped over the furniture, lending it a rather funereal feel.

He observed this and thought to himself that it was rather apt, all things considered.

"It's a bad idea," she said, her habit of speaking rather plain and painful truths never having left her, even under the circumstances.

"It is *not*," he replied, because truth could be painful but it could also, in his opinion, be mutable. Or perhaps not truth but the future. The future could be quite mutable. Subject to change and far too enamored of throwing in wrenches and cutting your legs out from under you and not giving a damn for anyone's carefully laid plans and -

He stood up, walking away from his chair as though he could dismiss it and all the thoughts which were tormenting him. "I can't accept this."

She gave him a sympathetic grimace. "I don't think you get a choice."

He faced her down. "I refuse to accept this."

Now her eyes held hints of a smile, though the expression failed to reach her lips. "You always were a fighter."

"It's not *right*," he told her, wanting this point to be stressed, wanting her to *agree* to it if nothing else.

She shrugged, unmoved. "What's that got to do with anything?"

He wanted to embrace her, but lacked the nerve to admit it. "How? How can you say this, when you - "

"I knew what I was getting into," she reminded him.

"You can't have predicted this. No one could."

"I don't predict," she said. "I act. I do. I look out for number one."

"Is that what you're doing now?" he asked, meeting her eyes. "Looking out for number one?"

"And *you*?" she asked. "What exactly are you doing right now?"

"Fighting to make things better," he said, confident of this.

"For who?" she asked.

"Everyone."

She reached out, brushing her fingertips over his cheek. He knew in his heart this would be her final, parting gesture. "There's just one catch."

"What?"

"Some things can't be changed."

***

PART ONE

It was nighttime, and the diner had finally, *finally* given way to quiet. The last of the late-dinner crowd had left and, after a round of batted eyelashes and pleading, so had the rest of the staff.

Angel sat in the middle of all this, a king in a very chrome and vinyl covered domain, and smiled.

"Damn," Gunn said, slapping his hands together as he came through the front doors. A whoosh of cold air accompanied him, making Angel's skin break out in a quickly vanishing flush of goosebumps. "When the fuck did we move to the North Pole?"

"Still snowing?" Angel asked.

Gunn pulled his gloves off, throwing them down onto the counter. "No, all this white stuff all over me is an invasion of tiny little demons intent on taking over the planet by attacking the smartest and best-looking humans first. Unfortunately for *them* I am this town's version of Will Smith and quickly figured out I could stop 'em by going anyplace that wasn't fifty below zero and melting 'em like they were the Wicked Witch of the West. Now all I gotta do is sit back, collect my residual checks and wait for the offers of sequels to roll in."

"You could have just said 'yes'," Angel pointed out.

"*You* could've not asked me a dumb-ass question."

"Doesn't Will Smith fight aliens?"

"My ability to care got left somewhere back at the office with my ability to find my balls," Gunn replied. "And before you ask let me remind you that it is fifty God damned degrees below."

"Weatherman said twenty," Angel said. "'Least last I heard. Guess there might be wind chill."

Gunn gave him a look. "Yeah, there *might* be wind chill. He say anything about it still being *fall*?"

"Predicted at least four more inches by the weekend," Angel said, then pretended to think about it. "Or was that four more inches by *tomorrow*? You know, I seem to remember something about a blizzard warning."

"You can shut up now," Gunn said, heading towards the back. "I'm hitting the bathroom and when I come out it had better be sunny."

"Awh, c'mon," Angel called after him. "Don't you just love it? Doesn't all this snow just fill your heart with joy and the peace of the Christmas spirit?"

"The Christmas spirit *and* you can both go suck my - "

Angel laughed as the slam of the men's room door drowned out the rest of Gunn's reply. He got up, going behind the counter to warm up a few things. A light from outside caught his attention and he watched as an SUV tried to navigate into a spot whose lines had long since been snowed over.

"I'm moving to Florida," Gunn announced, still wiping his hands on a paper towel as he came back. "And you're low on soap."

"I'll get it tomorrow," Angel said, getting a Caesar salad out of the fridge. "And you say that every year."

"This year I mean it," Gunn told him. "Screw this New England shit. I want palm trees, I want old people, and I want to spend my time bitching about huge ass spiders and alligators living in my pool."

"I assume you want the usual?" Angel asked, adding forks and napkins into a paper sack.

"Yeah," Gunn said, helping himself to a few lemon squares out of the display. "Throw a few sodas in there too."

Angel grabbed the Pepsis, putting them in with the salad so they wouldn't cool down Gunn's pot roast. "What does Gwen want?"

Gunn snorted. "My black ass to have been home about an hour ago."

Angel checked the time. "You *are* working late. Senior partners?"

"Yeah," Gunn said. "End of year, performance reviews, let's do everything to make it work with tax time, blah blah blah."

Angel grinned. "You love it."

"I maybe love it," Gunn admitted. "You should've *seen* me this morning on my teleconference. Made some guy in Tokyo choke on his sake."

"They drink alcohol during meetings?" Angel asked.

"You *ever* gonna let me have my imagery?"

"Go you," Angel said, giving Gunn an indulgent pat on the arm.

"I just want my props is all," Gunn said. "And toss in a ziti for Gwen if you made it."

"You got it," Angel said, totaling up the order.

"Hey, speaking of cash," Gunn said, giving him the eye. "Should I be worried about you know what?"

Angel frowned. "Should you be worried about - oh *that*. Nah, it's gonna be a massacre. Might even go home early."

"You can't lie a little?" Gunn asked. "Act a little less confident? Some of us are trying to get a bet on."

Angel's eyebrows quirked up. "You're *betting* on this?"

"Some of us thought that - "

"You're *betting* on this?"

"Now before you get all riled up - "

"You're *betting* on this and you didn't let me in on it?" Angel asked. "Nice. What are the odds?"

"Two to one," Gunn said.

"For or against?"

"Against."

Angel gave a low whistle. "Okay, maybe I could lie a little."

"This is all I'm asking," Gunn said. He started to button up his coat again. "You know how it is. You talk, people listen. Is it *that* hard to maybe spread a rumor or two?"

Angel thought about it. "I hear flu's going around."

"Flu could work," Gunn agreed. He shook snow off his hat. "How much you want me to put you down for?"

"Twenty," Angel said. The bell on the outside door jingled. Angel glanced over to see a man standing in the vestibule, trying to read the announcements that were posted over the fifty cent vending machines. "Thirty if the odds change."

"You got it," Gunn said. He gathered up his things. "We still on for Saturday?"

"Lunch, right?" Angel said. He kept his eye on the newcomer. He was clearly holding something, but a chair by the door blocked Angel's view of *what*. "Yeah, if I can get enough people here to cover."

Gunn followed Angel's gaze. "Something up?"

A thought niggled at the back of Angel's head. He kept looking at the guy, staring while trying not to be obvious, until it finally clicked. He relaxed, then shook his head at Gunn. "Nah. Just figuring something out."

Gunn motioned towards one of the booths. "Want me to stay?"

Angel smiled. The diner had been robbed once in all the years Angel had owned it, and the one time had mostly been his own fault. "I got it, but thanks. Get on home before your aliens get you."

"Demons," Gunn corrected him.

"Whatever."

"I am moving to Flor-i-da," Gunn sing-songed on his way out the door. He side-stepped to avoid bumping into the new guy, giving Angel one last look before he went. "Call me if you need anything."

"Will do," Angel promised, then busied himself with cleanup.

It was a few moments before goosebumps hit his flesh again.

"I'm sorry," a quiet, accented voice said. "Are you - the sign said 'open' and I thought - "

"Come on in," Angel said, waving his hand in welcome. "Mi diner es su diner."

The man hesitated, seemingly trapped by his own desire for politeness, but then came forward. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," Angel said. He gestured to the menus. "It's kind of the job description."

"Even still," the man replied. His eyes darted around, taking in the sight of the empty tables. "I don't mean to keep you late."

"I'm cleaning up," Angel promised. "You're not keeping me at all. Besides - " he nodded his head in the direction of the baby carrier dangling from the man's hand " - in my experience people that size wait for nobody's schedule."

That earned him a smile. "No. They really don't, do they?"

"Not outside of fairy tales," Angel agreed. "So what can I get you?"

"I - " the man laughed, the sound coming out somewhat dry and raspy. It culminated in a cough that he attempted to cover by putting the carrier up onto the counter and fussing with the baby's blanket. "Silly, really, but all I need is some warm water, if you have it? I'm all out of formula. The ready kind, I mean."

"Sure," Angel said, grabbing filtered water out of the fridge. "If you've got the powder and all. Been a while since I've kept the ingredients on hand."

"I do," the man said. He reached into a satchel that hung over his shoulder, producing baby bottles and a can with a picture of a teddy bear on the side. He looked up, catching Angel's eye on him. "I - I'll pay. I don't mean to - "

"Don't worry about it," Angel said, handing him the pitcher. "Here, mix it up. Microwave's over there if you want to heat it. I'll be back in a sec."

The man nodded, then got to work.

Angel pushed through the swinging doors into the kitchen. Once there he made busywork of tidying pots and pans, stacking plates and glasses into neater piles. Anything that would make some noise and sound like something normal.

In his head he pictured the man outside.

He hadn't meant to stare, not ever, but there were certain things that stood out to him - artist's eye aside - and remained stuck in his brain, demanding to be noticed.

Things like a stranger in town, when it sure as Hell wasn't tourist season.

Things like a stranger in town with a kid who couldn't be more than sixth months old.

Things like a stranger in town with a kid who, though the kid was bundled up properly for Gunn's alien weather, was himself wearing only a thin windbreaker for a coat, no hat, no scarf, no gloves, and a pair of pants that were clearly worn around the edges.

Angel walked back to the doors and looked out through the porthole windows.

He was thin. Lean frame, certainly, but with a hollow to his stubbled cheeks that suggested there had once been a bit of meat there. His hands shook, and every so often his breathing stammered up into a cough.

Angel watched him carefully, unnoticed as the man himself had eyes only for his child, who quickly devoured the newly warm bottle then settled against his shoulder to be burped. Angel studied the movement of those trembling hands, looking for a trace of familiarity. When all he saw was hunger, and cold, he pushed his way back into the dining room.

"Here," he said, placing a hot cup of coffee in front of him.

The man looked up. "I - " Angel recognized the hesitation now. It was the one that came whenever you had to stop yourself and recalculate every single penny in your pocket. He'd had that look himself, back in the day. "No, thank you, I - "

"You asked for warm water," Angel said. He pushed the cup forward. "That's warm water, with stuff in it."

The man shook his head, returning the now-sleeping baby back to the carrier. "I'm sorry, I - "

"A dollar," Angel said, knowing how sometimes pride really did come before practicality. "For the both of you. For coffee and using my microwave and keeping me up late."

This was apparently acceptable. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Angel said. He then turned around and produced a bowl of soup.

The man looked pained. "I - Actually, I'm not - I ate just - "

"I'm throwing it out," Angel lied. He made a bowl for himself as though that would finish off the last of it. "Might as well use it up, right?"

Another cough rattled out. "Thank you."

Angel shrugged, as though getting rid of perfectly good turkey soup was part of his everyday routine. He sat up on the counter, stirring his spoon through the broth to help cool it down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the man wrap his hands around the hot coffee cup, then slowly move to take up his own spoon and eat. Angel then drew his attention back to his own meal, knowing that no man liked being watched when he had to carefully place food inside of an obviously empty stomach. There were few things worse than having to throw up a meal because you'd gone without for so long you'd forgotten how to digest. "So, not from around here, huh?"

He'd meant it as small talk, but the question earned him a glance. "No. England."

"Figured," Angel said, trying to project an attitude of calm. "That's why I gave you coffee."

That got him a quizzical look.

"Gotta friend who's English," Angel said. "He comes here from time to time. Told me never to try serving him that dirt that comes in bags and calls itself tea. Didn't want to insult your tastebuds too so - coffee."

"Anything would have been fine," the man told him. Reminded, he took a sip of his drink. "As long as it was warm. Tell me, is it always this cold here?"

"Pretty much," Angel said. "Gunn - my friend who just left? - likes to complain about it but it's this way every year. We like to say spring, summer and fall are a really nice week in the middle of all those blizzards."

"It's pretty," the man said, spooning up more soup. "A bit difficult to drive in but, still, it's rather like living inside of a snow globe."

Angel smiled. "Yeah. I always thought so. Part of why I like living here."

The bowl was almost empty now. "Do you like living here? I - I was thinking of perhaps staying a while, seeing what it's like."

Angel hopped off of the counter, getting a glass of juice for himself so it wouldn't be obvious that he'd been able to translate all that into things like "I have no more money" or "My car's out of gas". Reminded of the SUV that he'd seen outside, Angel wondered if that had been serving as home for the two of them. "Yeah, I like it. Quiet, friendly. Nice place to raise kids, if you're into that sort of thing."

"It's currently a hobby I thought I might try, yes," the man said, managing a joking smile before another cough destroyed it. "Is there - I don't suppose there's a hotel nearby? I don't need anything fancy, just a room will do."

Angel turned around, leaning against the countertop. "Hotel could get expensive after a while."

The man became very occupied with smoothing out his napkin. "Places to rent require money up front. I - I don't have access to my bank accounts, back home."

Which was a load of bull but Angel figured he could play along with it. "How about a job? I know a place that might take you if you've got a steady job."

"Is anyone hiring?" the man asked, a note of hope creeping into his tone. "I'm not particular."

"What can you do?"

And then, suddenly, nobody was bothering to pretend anymore. "Whatever I have to."

Angel nodded, accepting that. "I might know a few people. Heck, I'd hire you myself except I just took on somebody as a favor for a friend. But lemme ask around. I think I can find you something."

Gratitude flooded the other man's eyes. He reached over to touch the baby as though to comfort himself. "That would be - thank you."

"As for a place," Angel continued, "there's one but it's not too fancy. Two bedrooms by which I mean one bedroom and a really big walk in closet. Living room, dining room and kitchen are all one thing and the kitchen's not really working right now either. But it'd be private, for the most part, and you'd have your own bathroom. As for food you could always come down here. Figure maybe a discount on rent and meals both until I get the apartment fixed? Afterwhich we could renegotiate but for now say - two hundred a month? Utilities included? You can pay me whenever your paychecks start coming in."

The man gaped at him. "You - you would do that?"

"I would," Angel said, already making a mental list of all the chores that would need to be done to get the guest apartment up to code.

"Why?"

Angel reached out to brush a gentle finger over the baby's fingertips. "Let's just say I know what it's like. What's his name, anyway?"

"Her," the man corrected. "Alissa. Her name is Alissa."

"Pretty," Angel said, thinking to himself he wouldn't have pegged the Brit for favoring Hebrew. "And you?"

"Wesley Wy - Johnson," there was another cough, and blue eyes looked apologetic. "Wesley Johnson."

"Nice to meet you, Wes," Angel said, holding out his hand to shake. "My name's Angel."

***