Trust Me Part Two

[thebratqueen]

PART TWO

The man - Angel, Wesley reminded himself. His name was Angel - busied himself with what Wesley guessed were the final late-night tasks of the diner. The remains of the soup were put away, dishes were cleaned, counters wiped down, the neon 'Open' sign turned off and, finally, the front door locked.

Wesley watched all of this, wondering if he should offer to help, but Angel's movements were brisk and efficient and didn't seem to suggest the need for assistance. Wesley remained sitting at the counter, watching Alissa sleep and thinking over the events of the day. His mind lingered over the one sharp turn where he'd almost lost control of his vehicle, forcing him to admit he was too sick and too tired to go on.

"Cripes, I forgot," Angel said, standing by the now-locked door. "Did you need anything? From your truck?"

Wesley smiled to himself. As though he possessed anything by way of luggage. "No," he said, slipping into this falsehood with greater ease than his near misstep with his name. "I'm all right for now. I can get the rest of my things in the morning."

Angel, who apparently lived up to his name with an effort as easy as breathing, accepted this without question. "Okay then, lemme show you upstairs."

Keys were fetched from inside of a broom closet. Lights were switched off as Wesley picked up Alissa's carrier, then followed Angel past the restrooms and to a door marked "Private".

"The big key opens this one," Angel explained, holding up the item in question before using it to open the door. A small alcove greeted them, lit dimly from above and decorated only by a narrow staircase. "I wouldn't try getting a stroller past any of this. You can leave it down here if you want. It won't bother anybody."

"Thank you," Wesley said. He moved aside so Angel could close the door, then transferred Alissa's weight in front of him so he could fit the both of them up the staircase.

"My place is over here," Angel said, as they paused on a landing. Wesley saw a metal door, still sporting a picture of a turkey from what he presumed was leftover Thanksgiving celebrations. "You need anything feel free to knock. If I'm not downstairs I'm usually in here."

"Thank you," Wesley said again, then cursed himself for his inane ramblings. Had he said anything *but* that since his arrival? He found himself possessed of the urge to prove that he had a working brain. "It's an interesting name."

"What?" Angel asked, unlocking another door and revealing another set of stairs.

"Hyperion," Wesley explained. He covered his mouth as he coughed, watching carefully to make sure he didn't jostle Alissa. "That's an interesting name for a diner. Did you pick it yourself?"

"Yeah," Angel said. He seemed pleased to be asked. Or perhaps he was still being polite. "Read it in a book. Liked it."

"It's a lovely place," Wesley said, hoping this was the thing *to* say. He wished he had more experience with this sort of thing. Were the compliments only coming across as attempts to ferret out information for later theft? It was so difficult knowing what one did in order to build trust in these instances. He decided to try for a joke. "The food was exceptional. Alissa was quite pleased with it."

Angel gave a half-chuckle at that. "Yeah, I'm real big with the under ones. They love what I do with pureed vegetables."

Wesley relaxed by a hair, glad he hadn't made things worse. "I'm sure she's looking forward to your expertise with rice cereal as well."

Angel unlocked the final door, then aborted an attempt to hand the keys over when he saw that Wesley's hands were still full. "Okay, here we are," Angel said, turning on some lights. "And let me just say I did *not* decorate the place."

Wesley stepped inside, coughing once more as stale air hit him.

The flat was old, that much was obvious. Wesley knew nothing of décor but something about the place felt as though whatever decorating *had* been done had been done two decades ago or more. Wood paneling covered the walls. Orange curtains hung from what windows he could spy. Some form of green tiling intersected with thick, chocolate brown carpeting to create the illusion that the small stove, museum-appropriate refrigerator, white porcelain sink and scant foot of counterspace was a kitchen.

There were pieces of furniture scattered about. A card table was folded against a door Wesley assumed lead to a pantry, or closet space. A chair sat in a corner, looking as though most of its weight came from multiple coats of paint, the last of which was a pale grey blue. A worn red couch sat in the middle of the carpet as though someone had decided they couldn't be bothered with moving it any further. Or, Wesley realized, that it would be too difficult to try to bring it back down the narrow stairs. He wondered how on earth it had gotten up there in the first place.

"I'm sorry I don't have more," Angel said, twisting a dial on the wall that Wesley realized was connected to the heat. "The place has been empty for so long I kinda got lazy about fixing it."

"It's all right," Wesley told him. To his right was a kind of hallway. Three open doors revealed the bedroom, the bathroom, and the closet that truly did have enough size to make an acceptable nursery. The quick inspection also revealed spiderwebs and possible evidence of a mouse problem. It was, frankly, a hovel compared to where he'd been living a scant year ago. However, circumstances being what they were - "It's perfect, thank you."

"I've got some spare stuff in the attic," Angel said. "We could try to wrestle it down tomorrow if you want. In the meanwhile if you need anything just grab it from downstairs. Paper towels, soap, you know, whatever."

Wesley knew that 'whatever' meant more food if he needed it, but he was determined not to take shameless advantage of this charity. "Thank you. I'll have to go shopping tomorrow."

"Microwave too," Angel continued. "Feel free to use it whenever you want. The filtered water is always in the blue pitcher. What else? Oh yeah, there's a washer and dryer in the garage. Not enough room for your car though, sorry."

"That's all right," Wesley said. "It's supposedly an outdoor vehicle."

"Park wherever you want, though," Angel said. "I'll tell 'em not to give you a ticket if you stay in any of the private spaces."

"Thank you," Wesley said. A cough rasped its way through his throat, leaving him with a slight wince as he swallowed. He felt as though his words were hopelessly inadequate. "For everything."

For a moment it seemed as though Angel himself was at a loss for what to say. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."

"I'll knock," Wesley promised, since that seemed to be what was being asked of him.

Angel nodded, accepting that. He tossed the keys onto the tiny countertop. "Okay. Night, Wes."

"Good night," Wesley said, smiling to himself as he thought only an American would assume that he preferred to go by some kind of nickname.

Still, he supposed there were worse names in life than "Wes".

***

The building, far from being quiet, held too *much* noise, in Wesley's opinion. As he stood there in his new home he could hear the creaking of floorboards, the hiss of steam radiators, the unfamiliar hum of the refrigerator. On top of that he could actually taste all of the dust in the air.

Still, it was indoors. And blessedly warm. That alone was worth every penny he'd just placed himself into debt for.

"Are you all right?" Wesley asked, gently placing Alissa's carrier down onto the floor, then kneeling beside her. Fortunately she was young enough that he didn't have to worry about her crawling off and getting her hands on the multiple things in the flat that no one should touch, let alone a small child. Wesley resolved to make housecleaning one of his first priorities.

Alissa, for her part, remained fast asleep, curling her fist around her lips and nose. Wesley knew that one day she would have co-ordination enough to purposefully put her thumb into her mouth, as he knew that she wanted to.

"This is our home now," Wesley told her. He kept his voice low, so as not to wake her. It hardly mattered since the words would be meaningless to her no matter what, but Wesley felt a need to include her. In his mind it made up for the times when he hadn't. When nine months had gone by with him somehow managing to avoid doing anything which brought the two of them in contact with one another. Though he'd never planned on it, it had been startlingly easy to treat her merely as a thing. "The baby". As in "What shall we do about the baby?" which had invariably meant "When are you going to get around to telling me about the abortion?" but of course *that* had never happened. Not because Wesley wanted it, but because he had assumed it was inevitable and entirely out of his ability to control.

Then the day came when she was born, and a bright-red squirming creature had been thrust into his unprepared arms and Wesley, now a father, had felt deeply ashamed of himself.

"It's a bit messy," Wesley continued, adjusting her knit cap. "And rather empty. But there's enough space for the both of us, and when you're old enough you shall have your own room."

Alissa shifted, her feet kicking out and tenting her blanket.

"If we happen to stay here that long," Wesley conceded. For months now they had drifted from place to place. The longest stay had been in New York, for all of three weeks. Wesley didn't know why he even bothered to hope this time might be different, but he thought perhaps eventually they would find a place to settle down. Someplace nice, where he could actually make enough money to provide a real life for his daughter.

Almost of its own accord, Wesley's hand drifted down to his back pocket, touching his wallet which still contained a signed dollar bill.

"I'll get it right," Wesley promised, both to Alissa and to himself. He took in their situation - the flat, the wallet which didn't contain much else *besides* the carefully hidden dollar, the feelings of fever which hadn't left him in the past few days, the feelings of hunger that even his free dinner hadn't been able to vanquish - and thought that if he wanted to make this particular goal especially difficult to reach, he wouldn't have to try much harder.

"I will," Wesley said again, and decided that was enough of morbidity. He got up, reaching into his satchel for his toilet kit. He would wash up, make a bed of sorts on the thankfully large couch, and then set about trying to fix things first thing in the morning.

He fell asleep to the sound of his daughter's contented breaths.

***

*Rocking around the Christmas tree at the Christmas party hop. Mistletoe hung where - *

"Oh they are *not* playing Christmas carols," someone - Gunn, Wesley recognized - announced as Wesley finally braved the staircase with Alissa in one arm and handful of baby supplies in the other. Gunn sat up, shaking a fist at the radio. "It's not for weeks yet. Chill already!"

"It *is* December, Charles," a young woman beside Gunn pointed out. She was sitting at the counter with him, her hands busy with the buttering of toast. "It's not like they're playing Silent Night during Halloween, though a few stations did that too."

Wesley stayed back from all of this, momentarily overwhelmed.

The diner, which had been all but abandoned the night before, had exploded into a mass of life. In spite of the heavy storm of the previous day - and some flakes were still falling - all the booths and chairs were filled, and the restaurant itself was constantly in motion as orders were taken, things hissed and popped on griddles, the kitchen doors banged back and forth and all around were people eating, talking, arriving, departing, and generally making the most of the breakfast hour.

"Coming through," someone said, and Wesley stepped aside to allow a waitress to pass, ducking to avoid knocking over her tray of food.

"I - " Wesley stepped forward, wondering who he was supposed to talk to in the midst of all this. Alissa was starting to give a few gasping cries, and he knew it wouldn't be long before she was hungry enough to start screaming. He tried to make eye contact with someone wearing a uniform, hoping to get permission to go behind the counter. "Angel said I could use the microwave?"

He felt someone tug at his shirtsleeve. He looked down to see the woman beside Gunn smiling up at him. "Hey. Microwave's over there. You can help yourself. Everybody else does."

Wesley relaxed. "Thank you."

"Cute baby," she said.

"Hungry baby," Wesley replied, by way of apology. He dodged his way around cooks and waitresses, then managed to mix up the formula one-handed. A few moments later and Alissa was happily suckling on her warm meal.

"Hey," another waitress appeared, frowning at him. "You allowed back here?"

Wesley flushed, keenly aware of how shabby he must appear. "I - Angel - "

"You're up," Angel said, suddenly appearing through the swinging doors. He took Wesley by the shoulder and guided him to an empty seat at the counter. "Great. Make yourself comfy. Cordy, give Wes here a number one and the house discount, okay? I'll be back in a - "

"Give him a what?" the waitress asked, and now Wesley could see her nametag which read "Cordelia".

"Number one," Angel said, rummaging in a closet and appearing again with a wrench in hand. "Or whatever he wants. Plus house discount."

Cordelia frowned. "What the heck is a - "

Angel gave her a look. "It's the discount he gets for renting out part of my house, *remember*?"

"Since when do - " Cordelia started, then immediately stopped herself when Angel's look became sterner. "Oh, *right*. The *house* discount. Which is how much again?"

"Fifty percent," Angel said. "Now don't you have people you could be serving or something?"

"Apparently I'm getting *him* a number one," Cordy retorted, jerking her thumb in Wesley's direction. She then looked at him, notepad in hand. "Okay, hit me. Scrambled or fried, toast or muffin, coffee or tea?"

Normally Wesley would have forced himself to refuse, but after dinner last night it was harder to deny himself. "Fried, toast, tea. Please."

"You got it," Cordy said, then disappeared through the doors.

"I'll pay you back," Wesley told Angel, quietly.

"Don't worry about it," Angel told him. He flashed a smile at Alissa before going back into the kitchen as well.

"You're renting out Angel's place?" the young woman by Gunn said. "That's great. He's been saying it'd be nice for somebody to do that."

"He's been kind enough to allow me to stay there, yes," Wesley said. He lifted Alissa to his shoulder, stroking her back to ease some of the air bubbles out of her system.

"Then it's good to meet you," she said. She stretched out over the counter, offering a hand. "Winifred Burkle. But everybody calls me Fred."

"Wesley Johnson," he replied, pleased that he managed not to stumble over it this time. He shook her hand, then decided he might as well try to fit in. "Everyone calls me Wes."

"This is Gunn," she said, pointing at her countermate. "Charles Gunn if you want to be exact but - "

"People who call me 'Charlie' better be my moms or better be ready to face a lawsuit," Gunn finished for her. "I saw you last night, right?"

"Yes," Wesley said. "I was coming, you were going."

"Thought that was you," Gunn said. His look was studious, and not a little suspicious, but Wesley honestly couldn't blame him. He probably wouldn't trust himself right now either. The gaze softened as his eyes moved down to the baby. "So is that a parasite you got there on your arm or - "

"Oh, my *God*," another waitress appeared, her eyes wide with delight. "Is that the cutest baby *ever* or what?"

"Erm - this is Alissa," Wesley said. He glanced at Fred and Gunn for help, not certain what to make of this. "My daughter."

"Well she is just a *sweetheart*," the new waitress cooed. "Yes you *are*!"

Her enthusiasm was enough that it was starting to make Alissa tense. Wesley rubbed his hand in circles, hoping to avoid a full on crying jag. "Yes, er - "

"Harmony," Angel said, putting a cup of tea down in front of Wesley. "Don't you have something to do?"

Harmony shook her head. "Not really. I mean all those people over there want food but somebody needs to take their orders and - " the light dawned as Angel stared at her. "Oh, right! I guess I could do that, huh?"

"It might stave off the boredom, yeah," Angel agreed. He made an encouraging motion towards the tables. "Go on. I'm sure they'd love to talk to you."

"You got it, boss!" Harmony said, giving a jaunty salute before wandering back over to the tables.

"Why did I agree to this again?" Angel asked Cordelia, who presented Wesley with his food.

"Because you're a sweetheart and a generous soul and you trust me when I say she'll be great at this," Cordy replied, refilling empty coffee cups without missing a beat.

"And it had nothing to do with me maybe losing my mind?" Angel asked.

"I'm not saying it wasn't a factor," Cordy said, pushing her way back into the kitchen.

"Right," Angel sighed. He grinned at Wesley, then leaned against the counter. "Okay, so in about a week I might have an opening here for a new waiter, but in the meanwhile are you free today?"

Wesley paused as he tried to cut up his eggs one-handed. "I didn't have plans besides the shopping. Why?"

"I gotta friend who's hiring," Angel said. "Name's Lorne. It's nothing glamorous. We're talking filing, answering phones, that kind of thing. But if you're interested I can get you an interview with him in a couple of hours."

Two hours. Wesley tried to calculate if that would be enough time for him to try to make himself look presentable. He had an outfit in the car which was cleaner than the rest. He supposed it would have to do. "Of course. That's very kind of him. Only - what shall I do about Alissa?"

"Could bring her with," Angel said.

"Angel," Fred scolded, "you can't bring a baby on a job interview."

"Why not?" Angel asked.

"Can you picture Lorne being able to listen over the sound of a baby crying?" Fred replied.

"Good point," Angel said.

"Drop her off at Anne's," Gunn suggested. Off of Wesley's quizzical look he said, "Friend of mine. Does a daycare/afterschool kind of thing. She's good people, promise. Could drop her off during the interview and pick her up on the way back."

Wesley thought about it. "I suppose that could be an interview for her as well. If I'm working full time I'll need someone to watch Alissa."

"There you go," Gunn said, finishing off his coffee and motioning for Cordy to give him a refill. "Win/win for everyone."

"How much does she - " Wesley started to ask, but stopped when Angel touched his arm.

"Don't worry about it," Angel said, keeping his voice low.

"I - " Wesley started to protest, but Angel shook his head, refusing to hear it. Wesley tried to cover the frustration of his pride by attempting to make light of the whole thing. "You know one day you're going to have to tell me why - "

"Car keys."

Angel looked over at the teenaged boy that had just thrust his hand into their midst. "Why good morning, son. It's nice to see you too."

The boy sighed. "Dad, *keys*."

"Good to hear," Angel continued, refusing to be swayed from his amiable tone. "I slept pretty well myself, thanks for asking."

"Dad," the boy said, shaking his hand for emphasis. "I have practice. Come *on*."

"Not before you eat something," Angel said. "Now what's it going to be, oatmeal or pancakes? And since when am I giving you my car today anyway?"

"Since last Thursday when I asked you?"

"Refresh my memory," Angel said, then gestured at Wesley. "And mind your manners. Say hi to Wes. He's renting out the guest apartment."

"Hey," the boy said, barely looking over. "Dad you *said* that I could - "

Angel put a bowl of oatmeal down in front of his son. "Okay, let's pretend that when I say mind your manners it means act like a human being and actually introduce yourself. You know, prove to the world I taught you skills besides grunting."

The boy rolled his eyes, then turned to Wesley in a perfect imitation of courtesy. "Hi, it's nice to meet you. My name's Connor, what's yours?"

Wesley smiled, actually finding himself charmed by the pantomime. "Wesley. Er - Wes. This is my daughter, Alissa."

Connor's act was dropped as he actually smiled and touched Alissa with genuine greeting. Then, catching his father's eye on him, he resumed his former tone. "Hi, Alissa. It's nice to meet you too. I'm glad you and your dad are renting our place, because that means that maybe I can come visit you sometimes and you can tell me what it's like having a dad who isn't senile and forgets when he promised to lend you his car."

"Siddown, eat, shut up," Angel said, no trace of anger in his tone. "And not necessarily in that order."

Connor slumped into a stool beside Wesley, adding enough sugar to his cereal that Wesley's teeth began to ache. "You know, Dad, maybe we should talk about this memory thing. Because I'm worried about you."

"Why am I lending you my car, Connor?" Angel asked.

"The thing is," Connor continued, putting milk into the mix, "you shouldn't be ashamed. Age happens to everybody and so do the consequences. You should never be afraid to ask for help."

"Any year now with the car thing," Angel told him.

"And I want you to know," Connor continued, sitting forward, "that I am *here* for you. I'll stay by your side, even as you go on this rapid path towards totally dead braincells. I will love and support you, and put you into the best old folks' home money can buy."

"Funny," Angel said.

"I mean it," Connor replied. He grinned, and Wesley could see an echo of Angel's smile on the boy's face. "I'll even visit you on holidays. Or some of them. Or *near* them since it's not like you'd be able to tell the difference anyway."

"You know I hear jokes about me being over the hill are actually humorous if you wait until I'm over the hill," Angel said, moving his hand through the air to indicate the bump in question. "But since I'm not even near middle age yet - "

Connor laughed. "You're almost forty!"

"I’m thirty-ei - five," Angel quickly corrected himself mid-statement. He looked at Wesley, as though gauging his success. "I'm only thirty five!"

"Oh God, you're not still trying *that* one, are you?" Cordelia asked, clearing away plates and silverware.

"Go stop Harmony from breaking all my cups," Angel told her.

Cordy frowned. "How do you know she's - "

"It's a gut instinct," Angel replied, and sure enough there was a sound of a crash from the kitchen.

"You are thirty *eight*," Connor said, stabbing his spoon in the air accusingly, "which is almost forty which is almost middle aged which means - "

"Which means I've got a kid who's old enough to be a pain in my ass," Angel finished. He put a glass of orange juice down in front of Connor, then automatically gave Wesley one as well. Wesley drank, hoping the vitamin C would help him get past his cold. "Now once more from the top: why am I lending you my car?"

"Because I've got practice," Connor said, "and then school and then I gotta hit the library and then it's more practice and then me and Tracy - "

"Aha!" Angel said.

" - have to study for finals which I *told* you about last Thursday," Connor kept going, ignoring his father's response. "And I can't do all that if I'm taking the bus because then I've got no way of coming home. You *do* want me to come home, right?"

"It's a fifty-fifty thing at any given moment," Angel replied. "So you and Tracy are studying where again?"

Now Connor looked shifty. "Tracy's place."

"And Tracy's mother is going to be right there helping you, *right*?" Angel said, pointedly.

"Did I say Tracy's place?" Connor asked. "Because I meant the library."

"As my dearest son just helpfully pointed out, I wasn't born yesterday," Angel reminded him.

"*Dad*," Connor pleaded, making the word stretch out over two syllables.

"Connor," Angel said, leaning forward and taking his son by the hand. "I think we need to talk man to man."

"Oh God, Dad, ew," Connor said, trying to pull away.

Angel held fast, his voice dripping with sincerity. "Because you know boys your age get certain *urges* - "

"Dad, come *on*."

"And it's okay," Angel continued, "I know. Because I've been there. You know when I was your age -"

"I'm going to kill myself right now," Connor warned him, "I swear to God."

"Look, I just want to know," Angel said, meeting his son's eyes. "Are you using condoms?"

"*Dad!*"

Angel grinned and produced his car keys. "Here you go. Ah - not so fast - " he held them out of Connor's reach. "I want you to remember me forcing you to have this conversation the next time you bring it back without refilling the tank. Got it?"

"You are *so* weird, do you know that?" Connor asked. He reached up to snatch the keys out of Angel's hand, then gathered up his stuff. "This is why I tell everybody I'm not related to you."

"Do it a third time and I'm putting my CDs into the player and making sure Tracy knows they actually belong to you," Angel retorted.

"I'm late for practice," Connor said, buttoning up his coat. "Is there anything *else* you want me to remember?"

"Oh yeah, Gunn wants you to tell people you've got the - " Angel turned to Gunn " - what was that again? The flu?"

"Yeah," Gunn agreed, wiping off his mouth. "Or maybe a limp. Think you could fake your way to a limp?"

"I cannot *wait* for college," Connor announced, dismissing them all with a shake of his head.

"And to think," Angel told Wesley as the outside doors swung closed after Connor left, "I used to long for the days when he would talk."

***