Trust Me, Part Three

[thebratqueen]

I forgot to say yesterday that Part Two was betaed by wolfling. Part Three was also betaed by wolfling so thanks, Wolf!




PART THREE

The snow had settled down into a random flake or two which still fell belatedly from the sky. The day itself was cold, and grey, and not for the first time Angel wondered if he shouldn't have insisted that he keep the car, or agree to take Wes's.

Anne's place wasn't far from the diner, so dropping Alissa off hadn't been much of a problem, once they got past the usual round of introductions and arrangement-making. Lorne's was a bit further but with the day being what it was Angel thought walking might be a good idea, especially since it allowed him to give Wes the lay of the land.

Only catch was Wes didn't have anything by way of real winter clothes.

Angel was feeling really damned stupid.

"The streets are surprisingly clear," Wes remarked as they waited for a car to pass.

"We're experts with winter," Angel told him, stepping past a mound of plowed snow that he knew someone's kids would be turning into a fort later. "Could hit us with three Nor'easters in a row and we'd still be up and running by the next day. Around here pretty much everyone knows how to man a shovel."

Wes looked stricken. "I'm sorry - it only just occurred to me I should have offered to help you clear the walk out front."

Angel waved it off. "Don't worry about it. I've got a snowblower and a teenager, which means this morning it was me and the snowblower. But Connor knows he's gotta lend a hand when the real storms hit."

To his credit, Wes only looked slightly intimidated. "Last night wasn't a real storm?"

Angel grinned at him. "We're not even in winter yet."

They took a turn down Bank street. Angel pointed out the grocery store, and the town's only ATM. He thought about pointing out a few clothing stores as well but wrote that off as too obvious a nudge. Plus he didn't want to come off as insulting the effort Wes had obviously made to get himself looking presentable for his interview. He wasn't totally dressed up by a long shot, but he'd somehow managed to shower and trim the stubble into a respectable shave. There was a different outfit too but at that point Angel reminded himself to stop staring.

"The two of you seem to have a remarkable relationship," Wes offered, pulling Angel out of his thoughts. "I can only hope to one day have the same with Alissa."

"Give it time," Angel told him. "These things come in stages. Connor'n me are still getting past that whole 'every teenager hates his dad' thing. And the rebellious thing. And the thing where he does stuff just to see if he can turn my hair grey. Actually I'm not sure we're past any of that yet but he's a good kid."

"You and your wife must be very proud," Wesley observed.

"I am," Angel replied, looking at Wes to show there were no hard feelings. "And she was. Darla passed away ten years ago. It's just me and Connor now."

"I'm sorry," Wesley said.

Inside the privacy of his coat pocket, Angel ran his thumb along his empty ring finger. It had been years since he'd stopped wearing it but sometimes he still felt the weight of the band. "Thanks."

"Alissa's mother - " Wes hesitated, then said. "There were complications with the birth. It's only her and I as well, now."

"Sorry to hear that," Angel said.

Wes seemed uncomfortable with the sympathy. "Thank you."

They turned one last corner, and the sign for Caritas Travel Agency came into view.

"Come on," Angel said, happy to change the subject for the both of them. "I'm sure Lorne's gonna love you."

***

"Angelcakes, I don't know."

Angel blinked. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know," Lorne said. He looked through the window of his private office, watching Wesley as he waited patiently out front. "I mean he's nice and all - "

"He needs a job."

"Cute as a button too," Lorne added. He glanced at Angel. "Is he single?"

Angel gave him a look. "He's got a kid."

Lorne scoffed. "Oh yeah. Like *that* means anything."

Angel sat down on Lorne's desk. "Can you hire him?"

"Can I? Yes," Lorne said. "But *will* I is the question. Angel, money's tight. It's not exactly the tourist season. There's only so many folks in this town I can send on fabulous tropical vacations before I've run out of people to deal with. Other than the Hendersons and their annual trip to gay Paree I'm tapped out until Valentine's."

"But you said you could use more help," Angel reminded him. "Somebody to answer the phones, do all the paperwork."

"Yeah, and I'd love a personal masseuse too," Lorne said, helping himself to a glass of water out of the cooler. "Doesn't mean I can afford it."

"He can work cheap," Angel said. "Off the books. Pay him in cash. At least until things get busy again."

Lorne went back to the window. His lips pursed in a frown. "I just have a bad feeling about this."

Angel stood up, trying to see what Lorne saw. "What? Why?"

"Who can say why?" Lorne shrugged. "You know me. I see people, I get feelings. I see your pal here and my feeling is I have a bad feeling. I can't tell you more than that."

Angel shook his head, refusing to believe it. "He's a good guy. He'll be great for you - Hell, for the business. Can't you at least give him a shot?"

Lorne studied him. "Boy, you're really working full time on helping this hopeless case, huh?"

"He's got a kid," Angel said again.

"Looks like somebody had a bowl of overidentification for breakfast," Lorne shot back, then waved off Angel's protest. "Okay, okay. I'll do it. But you owe me."

"Anything, name it," Angel promised.

"Yeah, right," Lorne replied, opening the office door again. "I wouldn't write blank checks like that if you're not totally back on the dating scene, but thanks anyway. Wesley? Congratulations! When can you start?"

***

Wesley's first day of work started right then and there. Wesley rather suspected that this was due to some sort of intervention on Angel's behalf, but he didn't protest it. His wallet was down to almost nothing, and Alissa needed a great deal of supplies.

Angel left to return to the diner. He offered to stop by Anne's to let her know about the new schedule but Wesley declined. He wanted to speak to the woman himself and hear her voice when she promised him that Alissa was fine. It wasn't the first time that he'd needed to place his daughter into daycare, but even so he preferred keeping close tabs on her. A phone call in the morning was enough to last him until afternoon.

Lorne gave him a tour of the office, such as it was. It was quiet, which allowed them time for a quick lesson on using the computer, or more specifically the software specific to the business as Wesley already knew how to use a computer in general.

He also knew a great deal of information about many of the travel destinations that Lorne sent people to, having been there himself, and could speak the native language of each and every one. But he had no idea if this knowledge would be perceived as useful or as pretentious arrogance, so he kept it to himself.

His job was to answer phones and to assist Lorne in whatever he might need, the latter of which covered everything from making coffee to sorting through the mail.

With things being as slow as they were, Wesley decided to *find* work to do, even if Lorne couldn't assign it. He dusted, swept, and then dedicated himself to the Herculean task of going through the enormous metal filing cabinets and making certain that everything inside was in proper alphabetical order. Doing anything had to be better than sitting around appearing useless.

"Oh, sheesh, Wes, you don't have to worry about that," Lorne assured him, once he realized what Wesley was doing. "Those things have been a mess for ages. Why give yourself the headache?"

"I don't mind," Wesley replied, even though by then his eyes *did* hurt. "That is - unless you'd rather I not touch anything?"

"No, no, have fun if you wanna," Lorne replied. "Better you than me, I guess. I'm breaking for lunch, do you want anything?"

"No, thank you," Wesley lied, determined to discipline himself after the extravagance of eating two meals in a row. Besides, he assumed any time taking off for lunch would be stricken from his hourly wages. "I'm still full from breakfast. I can mind the store if you like."

"Okay," Lorne said, pulling on an overcoat that seemed far too garish for anyone's tastes, yet looked perfectly fine when contrasted with the man's highlighted blond hair. "I'll be back in a jiff."

The day moved on. Wesley continued his quest to reorganize the filing cabinets. Lorne returned with a bag of something which smelled spicy, and made Wesley's mouth water at the same time his stomach twisted and turned. Perhaps guessing Wesley's hunger, Lorne offered to split part of the meal with him but Wesley politely refused. He wouldn't be known as the town charity case. He'd already done that far too much.

He kept working. The faint light of day disappeared and turned into the black of evening, even though it was barely past three. His eyes were hot, and tired, and his muscles ached from the constant kneeling and standing that he'd had to do to move things around from each and every drawer. His throat was dry, and there didn't seem to be enough water in the cooler to make his coughing go away.

"Need me to get you a lozenge?" Lorne asked at one point

Wesley chastised himself. It wasn't as though he didn't *know* how unprofessional all this was. "No, thank you. It's just a dry spot," he said, and resolved to clamp down harder on his lungs.

Finally it came time to go home. The cold air of outside slapped against Wesley's face, a relief after being locked indoors for hours. He let the wind buffet him for a moment, savoring the cool sensation.

"Need a ride?" Lorne asked.

"No, thank you," Wesley said, priding himself in how self-sufficient he was able to be now, particularly with his first day's pay now sitting in his pocket. "I remember the way, and I need to stop by the store regardless."

"Okay then," Lorne said, getting into his own car. "See you tomorrow. Ten to nine if you can make it."

"I will," Wesley promised, then retraced his steps home.

As he walked he allowed himself to cough a bit louder, trying to clear out whatever it was inside of him. His throat hurt, and his eyes watered, and he still felt overwarm from Lorne's office. He undid his jacket, then unbuttoned his top few shirt buttons as well.

The grocery store was bright, but small and blessedly easy to navigate. Wesley filled a basket with extra formula, wipes, toiletries, and used his other hand to carry a large bundle of diapers. His eyes lingered on the shelves dedicated to medicine, but he forced himself to look away. He had just enough for Alissa and no more.

Alissa herself was happy to see him. He indulged himself with hugs and kisses, cradling her close before putting her back into the carrier to take her home.

"She was really sweet," Anne told him. "Ate like a good girl and everything."

Wesley reached for his wallet again. "How much do I - "

Anne shook her head. "Don't worry about it."

Angel again, Wesley remembered. He wanted to argue it but he didn't have the energy. Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow he would arrive early and discuss a proper agreement. Perhaps a weekly or monthly payment system. Anything to show he could handle it. For now he had enough on his hands with Alissa on one side and the bulky groceries on the other.

"Thank you," Wesley said.

"See you in the morning," Anne smiled.

The Hyperion diner looked even more welcoming than it had the night before. Wesley walked towards its light as though drawn to it, putting one foot in front of the other by instinct more than anything else. It was late, or at least it seemed so. He was tired, and trembling. Alissa felt as though she weighed easily five times her usual mass and the diapers refused to keep still. He felt the constant bumping of the plastic packaging against his leg as though it were a slap.

He was hungry, he knew, but even so he refused to meet Angel's eyes when the other man greeted him upon his return. He didn't want to argue about meals, and supposed house discounts. He wanted to go upstairs, to bed, and sleep until Alissa woke him, even though the very idea of getting up again made his head hurt even more, and his stomach rolled, and his arms and hands felt so damned heavy and -

"Wes? Wes!" Angel's voice came at him from a thousand miles away.

"I - " Wesley tried to speak, but words failed him, and the world itself filled with cotton.

"Okay, hang on, Wes," Angel said, and Wesley was dimly aware of a pair of strong hands around him. "It's okay. I've got you."

*But what about Alissa?* Wesley wanted to ask, but he'd already passed out.

***

Wesley dreamt.

*It's not a secret.*

*What's not a secret?*

He felt dizzy, unable to keep still. The universe spun around him, coming at him in snatches of sight and sound and touch.

*Us.*

Touch. Lilah's touch. The two of them together in a kaleidoscope of memories, all of which felt real and surreal at the same time.

*I told you, I could care less about what he thinks.*

*You faker!*

Lilah's laugh. He remembered Lilah's laugh, and the first time he'd realized that she was actually capable of feeling something like joy.

*So my father knows about our relationship, big deal.*

*A dollar! You owe me a dollar!*

*Oh damn.*

Wesley remembered the first time he'd realized that he himself had actually felt joy around her.

*Sign it first. As proof.*

*Proof of what?*

*Of now. Of this.*

He wanted to grab onto her, onto everything. To make it all stay still. To stop spinning and let him *hold* it. Let him *feel* it. Let it not slip away one more time.

*What are we going to do about the baby?*

*Not a damned thing, Wes.*

Failure. Months upon months of failure.

*Mr. Wyndam-Pryce, I'm sorry but - *

*His* failure. His inability to do the right thing, to even *recognize* it when he'd seen it.

* - there's been complications.*

He'd been so bloody *certain*.

*I can't accept this.*

*I don't think you get a choice.*

There *had* to have been a way.

*This wasn't a relationship.*

*There's a signed dollar bill in your wallet that says different.*

There had to *be* a way, still.

*I'm sorry.*

*Oh, Wes, we don't have that word in our vocabulary.*

A way for him to fix it.

*Still, if you're that into the whole tilting at windmills thing - *

A way to make it *better*.

* - I'll tell you what. When the time comes?*

A way to make it better for *everyone*.

*And you can admit to yourself what this was? What *all* of it is? Then I want you to give that dollar to our daughter.*

Not just himself, but everyone.

*Then we'll see if you still recognize what really matters.*

Wesley woke up.

***

Wesley sat up on the couch, feeling the sweat that drenched his body. The livingroom was dark and quiet. He surged up, feeling panic hit his system. He had to find -

"Hey, you're up," Angel said, appearing from the other room. Alissa was cradled in his arms, fast asleep. "Sit down. Take it easy. She just got fed."

"What - " Wesley started to ask, but couldn't take his eyes off his child. "Please, I need to - "

"Here you go," Angel said, anticipating the request. He knelt down, carefully handing the baby over. "Watch it, you're about as weak as a kitten. Put her against your chest."

Wesley held his daughter close, feeling tears prick his eyes as relief coursed through him. "Thank you."

"She's fine," Angel promised him. "We pulled shifts on babysitting. Plus Anne did most of the work. Either way don't worry about it. Brought back memories for me."

Wesley frowned. "How long was I - "

"About three days," Angel said. He stood up again, gesturing to a small collection of prescription bottles on the table. "You were pretty bad. Fred said it was flu. Personally - well we don't need to get into personally right now. Point is you were down for the count."

"Oh God," Wesley said, as he realized the implications of this. "Lorne."

Angel waved it off. "You were sick. He knows. You can come back to work whenever you're up and ready."

"Tomorrow," Wesley said, looking at the clock. "Ten to nine. I can make it."

Annoyance flickered over Angel's face, but it quickly vanished. Instead he walked a circuit of the apartment, pointing out things as he went. "We pulled a collection together. Hauled some stuff down from the attic, plus everybody else had extras of things. Alissa's got a crib now, and a changing table. There's also pots and pans and dishes and stuff. Fridge's got some food in it. The bedroom has - "

"I'm sorry," Wesley interrupted him. "But what?"

Angel shrugged. "It's nothing."

Wesley sighed, then indicated the pill bottles. "And those? Are those nothing too?"

"No," Angel replied, "those are actually things you still need to be taking every couple of hours but if you're asking about *cost* - "

"I can't accept this," Wesley said. "Angel, I - you *know* how little I have."

"Nobody's asking you to pay them back, Wes," Angel told him. He pulled one of the new chairs over, turning it around so he could straddle it. "I wouldn't let you get into debt like that, promise."

"I'm already in debt like that," Wesley said, feeling overwhelmed. "To you, to Anne, to Lorne. Alissa alone takes up so much of what I earn. There's no possible way - "

"You really aren't from around here, are you?" Angel asked, his voice gentle.

Wesley thought of England, and home. Of enormous family mansions and the lavish dinner parties given inside where one plate alone could cost three times as much as the entire building he now sat in. Of what his family might think of a man like Angel, who took pride in owning what they would have cheerfully condemned in every sense of the word. "My world is quite different from yours," Wesley finally said.

"I'm getting that," Angel replied. "Look, Wes, things are different here. It's not like some big, indifferent city. If somebody needs something, we give it. That's how we are."

Wesley suspected that more than anything that was how *Angel* was, but he supposed the end result was the same. "Even still, I couldn't possibly - "

"Wes," Angel said, his tone a bit stronger. "I'm trying not to do the big nagging thing because I know what that's like. But the thing is what you're doing right now? It's not just about you. It's about her. You want to do what's best for her and *believe* me I'm behind that. But what's best for her also involves taking care of her daddy. That means sleeping, and eating, and not driving yourself to exhaustion."

"I'm trying," Wesley said. He wrapped his hand around Alissa's fist, feeling her wrap her fingers around his thumb in turn. "You have no idea. I want to do all of those things but - "

"No 'but'," Angel told him. His eyes met Wesley's. "And I *do* have an idea. I might not know the whole story - and you don't have to tell me if you don't want to - but I know what it's like. Ten years ago I was where you are now. And lemme tell you this: if it wasn't for my friends, I would have never survived it."

"I don't have any friends," Wesley confessed.

Angel shook his head, befuddled. "You do now, okay? At least if you'd like some. Look, I know all this is weird to you and probably nothing like what you're used to, but give us a chance, okay? Who knows, you might even like it."

"I will pay you back," Wesley promised, refusing to be swayed. "No matter what, I *will* return these favors."

"If you want to," Angel said, unconcerned. He offered his hand out to shake. "In the meanwhile, do we have a deal? You stop killing yourself and actually take advantage of what we're offering you?"

Wesley freed a hand to shake Angel's in turn. "All right. But for her sake, not mine."

"I can accept that," Angel said, flashing him a grin that was nothing but confidence.

***