Trust Me: Part Six

[thebratqueen]

PART SIX

"Wes, let me in."

"No."

"*Wes*."

"I said no."

Angel leaned against the door to Wesley's apartment, letting it take his weight. "You know, I *am* your landlord. Legally speaking I could walk in any time I liked."

"Good thing I changed the locks then."

Angel actually checked the locks for change before he realized Wes was pulling his leg. "I could break the door down."

"Wouldn't this result yet another macho injury that you would be requiring first aid for?"

"The door's not *that* strong," Angel pointed out.

"Fine, then lower my rent. I refuse to pay for shoddy workmanship."

"Let me break the door down and you can live here for free," Angel countered.

The door opened up. Wes poked his head out. "Have you *never* heard of patience?"

"Why be patient?" Angel asked. "Way I see it that only encourages people not to give me things when I ask for them. Lose/lose if you ask me."

"Eventually someone is going to teach you that you can't always have your way," Wes said.

"But I *like* my way," Angel said.

"Tough," Wesley replied, and closed the door again.

Angel sighed, loudly.

"I've dealt with all the demands a non-verbal child can throw at me," Wesley reminded him, his voice muffled from behind the door. "If you think your sighs have any power to persuade me, you are sadly mistaken."

"I gotta take lessons from Connor," Angel said. "That kid can hit you with a sulk at fifty paces."

"I believe that's a talent unique to teenagers."

"Sure, burst my bubble," Angel said. "Okay, how long?"

"Just five more minutes."

"If I have to," Angel said. He sat down on the stairs to wait. After a moment, he decided to sing.

He made it down to fifty bottles of beer on the wall by the time Wesley opened the door. "Kate's right. You *are* a sadist."

"Never say the first two words in her hearing," Angel said. "It'll make her impossible to live with. Can I come in now?"

Wes stepped aside, making a grand gesture of welcome.

Angel walked into the apartment.

It was different. Not *phenomenally* different, sure, but still different from the last time he'd been up. Wes had rearranged the furniture, and various surfaces were covered with his own things - books, baby supplies, notes to himself and such.

But, more importantly, he'd decorated.

Strings of white lights had been taped up along the ceiling. Cardboard cutouts of reindeer had been placed along the walls. A tree - no bigger than four feet - sat on a table, overladen with a riot of ornaments, garland, and lights all its own.

Angel looked at it all and felt the advice right on the tip of his tongue - use a staple gun for the lights instead of tape, get a bigger tree, do *not* cluster all the ornaments together like that - but he saw Wes looking at him expectantly and he shoved all that aside.

"It's great, Wes," he told him.

Wes rewarded him with a brilliant smile. "Is it really? I've honestly never done this before. But I thought about what you said and you're right. I should do it for her, if nothing else."

"You did fine," Angel assured him. "Where is she anyway?"

"Fast asleep," Wes replied, "Apparently the ins and outs of decorating only appeal to babies for about half an hour, then they become bored senseless."

"Shame," Angel said.

"Actually I find it quite useful," Wes said. "I plan on breaking out the decorations the next time she gets colic, see if that doesn't do the trick towards curing her."

Angel laughed. "Hate to tell you, it doesn't stick as they get older. Pretty soon she'll be up to her nose in the garland and trying to help, probably by flushing it down the toilet or feeding it to the dog."

"I don't have a dog," Wes said.

"Oh she'll find one," Angel promised, *still* having no idea how Connor had managed all that at five. Then again at seven.

"Duly noted," Wesley said. He made motions towards the small dining table and chairs. "Come in. I'd like to do this properly, if you have time for it. Would you like coffee? Tea?"

"Tea'd be great," Angel said. He sat down, offering Wes the gift-wrapped box he'd brought with him. "Here. This is for Sleeping Beauty."

Wes made a noise of disapproval as he filled a kettle with water. "Angel, you - "

" - shouldn't have," Angel finished. "Yeah, I know. I did it anyway. And trust me with this. This is one you want."

"I'm agreeing only because I've learned it's pointless to argue with you," Wesley said. He turned the gas on, then used a match to spark the flame.

Angel reminded himself yet again that he needed to get the stove fixed. Aloud, he said, "See? I always get my way eventually."

"I've been meaning to ask you how successful you are with that teenager of yours," Wesley said. He pulled a pair of mismatched mugs out of the cupboard.

"It's a work in progress," Angel said, as though such battles of wills with him and Connor were all part of his plan. "I know I'll get my way in the end."

Wes glanced at him, his lips curling in a smile. "In the end?"

"Yeah," Angel said. "Like my deathbed. I've got high hopes on getting the last word in with that one."

Wes laughed, turning back to his preparations. "Good luck."

"You think I'll need it?" Angel asked.

"Are you joking?" Wesley replied. "He's exactly like you. I've honestly no clue which one of you is the more stubborn."

"I keep holding out hope that I've at least got the advantage of age," Angel said, then rolled his eyes. "As he so kindly reminds me of again and again…."

Wes put the mugs down on the table, then added teabags, sugar and milk. "It could be worse, I suppose. I keep doing the math on how old I'll be once Alissa is Connor's age. It's not a pretty picture."

"It evens out," Angel said. "Sure it looks attractive now with me at thirty-five, but imagine how stupid you feel when you're - "

"Seventeen?" Wes supplied, smirking.

"Twenty," Angel admitted. "Twenty and a father. Trust me, if you felt dumb as a teenager you don't get any smarter by turning twenty and adding a kid."

The kettle whistled. Wes turned the gas off, then poured the water into the mugs. "Did you? Feel dumb as a teenager?"

Angel thought about it. "No more than any other kid that age does, I guess. Actually I think my biggest problem was being too cocky. Which I guess would make sense considering the eventual outcome."

That earned him another laugh, though Wes tried to hide it as he took a box of cookies out of the cupboard, then carefully arranged some on a plate. "We all go through that stage, I suppose."

Angel hesitated, trying to cover it by stirring sugar into his drink. Normally he didn't like to pry into Wes's private life, but on the other hand Wes didn't seem to mind sharing right now and considering the *last* nugget of information Angel had learned about him he'd be lying if he said he wasn't curious. "You too?"

"I would say arrogant, not cocky," Wes replied. He sat down, placing the plate of cookies between them. "Too confident that I knew who I was, what I was doing, and what everyone else should be doing accordingly."

"Having a kid will *definitely* cure you of that," Angel said.

"You're not wrong," Wesley agreed.

"Speaking of which," Angel said, pushing the present over. "Here. Merry Christmas."

Wes picked it up. "Should I put it under the tree?"

"Nah, this is a pre-Christmas present," Angel said. He sat forward, watching the play of emotions on Wes's face. "Open it now."

"This would be more of your impatience, yes?" Wesley said.

"Also practicality," Angel replied.

Wes tore open the wrapping paper, then lifted the cover of the box to reveal the red velvet dress inside. He quirked an eyebrow at Angel. "'Practicality'?"

Angel smiled. "Okay, *that* is not practical. But that's the point. It's silly and frilly and something she's probably going to have on for five seconds before she spits up and drools all over it. But it's also her first Christmas, and your first Christmas with her. Trust me. you're going to want to dress her up and take pictures. It's going to be way too soon before she won't want to anymore, but you'll both be glad that you did."

Wes ran his fingertips down the fabric, lingering on the white lace collar. "It is pretty."

"Comes with a complimentary side-gift too," Angel said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a disposable camera. "Here you go. For you. I didn't know if you had one or not. Figured this could last you for now."

Wes accepted it, surprisingly without his usual protest. "Thank you."

Angel watched him. Wes's eyes had gone unfocused, shadowed, and Angel knew the look of a man deep in memories when he saw one. He gave Wes the silence to lose himself for a bit, sipping his hot tea and nibbling on a cookie.

It was an awkward situation, make no mistake. Alissa's first Christmas, but also Wes's first Christmas without Alissa's mom, whoever *that* was. Hell, truth be told it should've been her on the other side of this table, either buying the stupid girly gift or scolding Wes for doing it. But she wasn't there and Angel was, and overidentification issues aside Angel knew it wasn't right to leave Wes alone in this.

"I remember Connor's first," Angel said, speaking quietly so as not to startle Wesley. "He was so small. Just over a month old. I don't think Darla and I had more than an hour's worth of sleep between us."

A faint smile touched Wesley's face. "I remember that. I can't imagine any parent sleeps much during those first few weeks. Not without a nanny."

"No way," Angel agreed. "You're too busy feeding and changing and changing and feeding and wondering why they're crying and asking yourself did you do it right? Did he get enough food? Did he get too much? Is the diaper on wrong? Is he too hot? Too cold?"

"Are you holding her right?" Wesley added.

"Oh yeah," Angel said. He mimed holding a newborn. "The neck. I was *obsessed* with his neck. I was convinced one wrong move and it'd snap right off."

"They're so fragile," Wes said, his eyes back on memories again. "When I held her for the first time it was like nothing. Air. No heavier than the blanket she came in."

"But still able to pull right at your heart," Angel said.

Wes looked up. "Yes," he said, softly. "I - I'd had no idea."

"Before Connor - let's just say Darla and I weren't in the running to win couple of the year," Angel said. "And before I met her I wasn't in line for man of the year either. Or child of the year, I guess. I was a waste of a life, no doubt about it. But then she got pregnant - which was a miracle in and of itself, believe me - and I held that kid in my hands and it was like everything on earth changed. This little guy needed me for *everything* and there was no way I could let him down."

"Yes," Wesley said, speaking now in no more than a whisper. "Exactly."

Angel knew the pain in Wes's voice like it was his own. Hell it had *been* his own, once. He wanted to reach out, grasp Wes by the shoulder or something and say it was okay. But Wes had never given the appearance of being comfortable with the physical, so Angel stuck with words. "Darla was my friend. High school sweetheart, if you want to call it that, but there was nothing sweet about it. We didn't do flowers or candy or any of that. I wasn't head over heels in love with her. I just loved her."

Wes watched him, showing no signs of interruption.

Angel took that as a cue to keep going. "We both hated our families. My dad and I had a hate/hate relationship going back to when I was a little kid. And Darla's dad… well let's just say her dad and our pal Jim would've had a lot in common.

"Darla understood me," Angel continued. "Like nobody else did. And my family hated hers and hers hated mine and in the end we ran off to get married to piss 'em all off more than anything else. But the funny thing was we kind of meant it. The partnership anyway. Us against the world. Do whatever we wanted and to Hell with the rest of it. No matter how destructive it was."

"Destructive?" Wesley asked.

Angel watched him carefully, bracing himself for Wes's possible reactions. "*Self* destructive. I was a drunk. Darla too. From sixteen to twenty I don't think we passed a single day sober."

Wes nodded, simply taking that in.

Angel relaxed, glad to have gotten past that hurdle. "Connor was unexpected. I never told him that but he's a smart kid. He's pretty much figured out that he was a surprise. Moreso since Darla was on the pill and we were using condoms. Then she starts getting morning sickness and there we are."

Angel sat back, remembering the look on Darla's face when she'd figured out that maybe it *hadn't* been a case of the flu. "You have to picture this, Wes. Because when I'm telling you I was a waste of a life I'm not kidding. Darla and I did whatever the Hell we wanted, whatever time we weren't drinking we were spending getting into bar fights and stealing. And fucking but I'm guessing you know that."

"I did figure it out, yes," Wes said. He stirred his tea absently, otherwise giving Angel his full attention.

"Fatherhood was *not* on the menu," Angel said. "In fact I'd made a point of avoiding it thanks to what me and my dad went through."

"Is he still alive?" Wes asked.

Angel shook his head. "Died before Connor was born. Which only encouraged my drinking habit in the end."

"I can imagine," Wesley said.

"Darla didn't want kids either," Angel said. "In fact she hated them. Not saying she actually stole candy from babies but she wasn't far off. Definitely the last woman you'd ever expect to embrace motherhood."

"But she did," Wesley guessed.

Angel nodded. "She did. She took the pregnancy test, spent a whole day tearing up our apartment because she was so pissed off, then just *collapses*. Starts sobbing her guts out. I'm totally useless. So drunk I'm barely standing myself. But she's hurting and I hate that so I'm holding her tight as anything against my chest. Stroking her hair and saying don't worry, it'll be okay, we'll take care of it.

"She looks up at me and she's a mess. Hair ragged, mascara running in streaks down her face, and she's so hoarse she can barely talk but she says 'We made this.'"

Angel paused, trying to speak around the lump that had formed in his throat. "'We made this,' she says to me. 'We've never done anything good in our *lives* but we made this.'"

"An innocent child," Wesley said.

"Exactly," Angel said. He clenched his hand into a fist, remembering when Darla had placed it over her stomach and the tiny life inside. "She and I - we'd both figured out we were bastards. Everybody else gave up on us, why fly in the face of public opinion, you know? But that kid - he was like a *minute* old and there wasn't a fucking thing wrong with him. He wasn't us, he was him. And he deserved a chance.

"So we sobered up," Angel continued. "Cold turkey, which was fun and a half. Got jobs. Got a little rat-trap apartment. Scraped together the money to get Darla to the doctor. Even went to the Y to take classes. Birthing, parenting, you name it."

Angel gave a laugh. "Darla - she went whole hog. If you think I'm overboard with the parenting thing you should've seen her. Started putting her hair in a bun, wore these nun-like clothes. Spent her time trying to *cook* which was nearly fatal for everybody. We're in class and I'm pinching myself on the leg to pay attention and she's got these reading glasses on and she's scribbling notes like there's no tomorrow. Then we get home and she's *quizzing* me. Bottle or breast? Cloth or disposable? Midwife or hospital?"

"What did you eventually decide?" Wesley asked.

"What decision?" Angel replied. "Connor got born in an alley. One night Darla says to me she's got cramps but she wants Chinese food. Ten minutes after we pay the check for some mediocre Triple Delight she's clutching my arm and saying the baby's on the way *now* and one minute after that I've got a coat I can't wear anymore because I had to use it to cushion his landing. It's pouring down rain, my wife is five feet away from garbage cans and I'm holding a brand new human being in the palm of my hand."

"That must have been terrifying," Wesley said.

"I still have nightmares sometimes," Angel admitted. "Othertimes I can't think of any memory which feels quite so good."

"Babies do do that," Wes agreed.

"After that we settled down," Angel said, helping himself to another cookie. "Moved around a bit until we came here. Our first apartment was over on Orchard. Tiny place, even smaller than this."

"Is that possible?" Wesley asked, obviously teasing.

Angel flashed him a grin in response. "Hard to believe, huh? Darla stayed home with the baby, I went out and found work. Started out doing anything anybody would hire me for, but eventually I figured out I preferred being my own boss. So we scrimped and saved even more, Darla even took on some extra work by doing babysitting, and when Connor was four we had enough to do a down payment on this place."

"Why here?" Wes asked.

"I could afford it," Angel replied. He gestured around them. "As you can tell, this isn't exactly a palace. And that's with me putting years of work in. It was worse when I bought it."

"It wasn't because you felt called to open your own restaurant?" Wesley asked. "Become a great chef?"

Angel shrugged it off. "I make hamburgers. Anybody could do it. I'm not trying to be Emeril or something."

Wes looked as though he didn't believe him, but motioned for him to continue.

"We did good," Angel said. "Not gonna lie and say we turned a huge profit but we worked hard and managed to stay afloat. And our friends helped. Gunn, Lorne - everybody. They ate here whenever they could, brought people here whenever they could - Hell they even jumped behind the counter from time to time. We weren't rich, but we were making a life for ourselves. Even giving something back to the community, which was miles away from where we'd been as kids."

"That must have felt nice," Wesley said.

"It did," Angel agreed. He drank the last of his tea, wetting his throat even though the liquid had long since gone cold. "Then Darla got sick."

Wesley grew quiet, letting him take his time before continuing.

"Cancer," Angel said. He stared into the empty mug as though he could see her face in there. The words felt as distasteful to say as they had the first time he'd heard about the illness. "We found out because - well stupid us, we actually thought about having another kid. After months of no luck we both go to the doctor. I go in figuring we'll find out I'm shooting blanks. Too much time spent next to the grill or something dumb like that. That's where my mind is. I'm not even thinking of this - this *thing* we end up bringing home with us. That *had* been with us the entire time."

Angel sat forward, focusing on the things in front of him - the table, the crumbs on his plate, the feeling of the chair. Talking about all of this made it all come alive again, but he knew he had to keep going. "She's got cancer and she's dying, but I can't accept that. I *don't*. I *won't*. So I throw *everything* into saving her. What she was to being a mom I am to this. I'm up all night, researching, reading, forcing her to go from doctor to doctor, hospital to hospital, trying every fucked up thing I can find because I just *know* we can fix it. Make her better. Make it so she doesn't have to leave me."

"Go on," Wesley said, gently nudging Angel when he lapsed into silence.

"Of course we don't have health insurance," Angel said. "Joys of being your own boss. So in comes the second mortgage. The third mortgage. Collectors calling night and day. One day a repo guy shows up and he's hauling out our furniture. TV, stereo - the car we keep because it's an old junker that was fully paid for, but I find out later the only reason he didn't take anything from the diner is because Gunn pulled some fancy legal bullshit to stop it.

"But I can't," Angel said. "Stop it. I can't no matter what I do. And Darla - she's going through all this, all the chemo and the operations and the alternative stuff I'm putting her through and she's trying to tell me it can't be done, we just have to *accept* it and I won't let her. And we're *fighting*. Can you believe that? We're down to her last days on earth, my last *minutes* with my wife and I'm *fighting* with her instead of holding her and touching her and telling her that Jesus fuck I love her like nobody's business."

"I can believe that," Wes said, quietly.

Angel took in a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. "Then she died. In a hospital, which she didn't want but I made her do. That was me. Big expert. Always had to have my way."

Wesley reached across the table as though to touch him, then aborted the attempt halfway. "You were trying to help."

"Yeah, but her or me?" Angel asked. He started to take another sip of his drink, then remembered the cup was empty. He filled it with milk instead. "You might have noticed there's a pretty selfish point of view in this story."

"It was a difficult time," Wesley said.

"It was," Angel agreed. "Now imagine what Connor's going through."

"That must have been horrible for him," Wesley said.

"The worst," Angel said. "Made worse still when his asshole of a dad does the ultra mature thing of responding to Darla's death by falling off the wagon. I crawl inside a whisky bottle and decide I'm not coming out again. Not ever. So now everything's going to ruin. We've got no money, we've lost our stuff, we're *this* close to losing the diner, Connor's a basket case already because he's eight years old and he can barely comprehend that Mommy's not coming home anymore and on top of that he's got *me* to deal with. A dad who's walking and talking and smelling funny and damned if he knows why."

Angel shook his head. "You've met Connor so you can probably guess how he tries to deal with it. He figures Daddy's sick. He'll help. So there's my kid, my kid who hasn't even mastered fractions yet trying to run the house. He's cleaning up, he's trying to cook, he's walking around on tiptoe so he doesn't make a sound while I've got a hangover. All that and he's gone on this total obsessive thing about school because he may not know what's going on but he's wise enough to figure out that when the teachers keep asking him if things are okay at home that he'd better say yes or Daddy's going to be in trouble. So I'm at home lying in puddles of my own vomit and he's out there pulling in straight A's and praying like Hell nobody notices if he wears the same outfit a few days in a row because I can't get my shit together enough to do a load of laundry."

"What stopped you?" Wesley asked. "In the end?"

"One night," Angel said. "I wake up - I don't know why - and I go downstairs to the diner. I'm not sober but I'm in this weird state of drunk. Like I'm hyperaware of everything. Like it's all a lucid dream, you know?"

"I think went through something that while I was ill," Wes said.

"Yeah, like a fever hallucination," Angel nodded. "I go downstairs and nobody's there but the front doors are wide open - and so's the cash register. We've been robbed. And I'm out of my mind at this point but it's all like - " Angel snapped his fingers" - I get it. I've got ESP or something, I know what's going on. All the cash is gone, and that's *all* of it. Because I didn't close out like I was supposed to. And it was a Saturday night so there's easily close to a thousand bucks that was in there. And we *need* that money for stuff like food and bills but I'm not sober so what I'm *really* thinking is that I just lost my booze money. I'm totally fucking broke and all I care is that right then and there I can't even buy a beer. So I start crying. I'm clutching the empty cash register and I'm crying, tears falling down my face and everything, because I can't have my damn beer.

"And it's all my fault," Angel said, "because I was too drunk to lock the doors at the end of the day. And in the back of my head I *know* this but it doesn't matter. All I'm seeing is the empty register and it's going through my head over and over like a mantra - I can't buy beer, I can't buy beer - and it's like the end of the world to me right then and there. I can't take it. Can't fucking *stand* it. I'm out of my god-damned mind and Darla's dead and I'm a drunken loser like my dad always told me I'd be and I start thinking: this is the end. It's really the end. I'm going to get my keys, go outside, get into my car, and drive it straight into a tree."

"Kill yourself," Wesley said.

"God willing," Angel said. "Or crush my skull in or something. Anything to make it *end*."

"How far did you get?" Wesley asked.

"The doors," Angel said. "I got as far as the doors before something stopped me."

Wes looked at him, curious. "What?"

"Connor," Angel said. "Not him, but a drawing. This little scribble-scrabble crayon thing that he did when he was younger. All square houses and triangle people and birds shaped like M's. Me being a proud dad I tacked it up to the walls. Restaurants sometimes showcase local artists, right? Well I've got one in-house. The place is covered with 'em, but this one's placed just right. It's the last thing I see before I walk out the door. And - and it *hits* me. I've got a son. My wife's dead and yeah, as far as trying to save her goes I failed at that. But he's still here and he *needs* me. He needs me to hug him and love him and kiss him goodnight. He needs me to teach him and support him and show him everything the world has to offer. He needs me to be his *daddy*. Even more now because I'm all he's got left. Yeah, Darla's gone. But he's still got me. If I go he'll be all alone and - and nobody will ever know how great he is. Not the way that *I* know how great he is. He needs me to tell him that."

"That's certainly true," Wesley said.

"So I went back upstairs," Angel said. "Go into his room - he's sleeping through all this, of course - and I kneel by his bed and I start sobbing all over again. *That* wakes him up. He climbs out of the blankets and starts hugging me, asking what's wrong. I'm holding him so hard he can barely breathe. Hell, *I* can barely breathe. But I'm telling him I love him and that it's going to be better. I'll *make* it better. That was the end of it. Next day I joined AA. Been sober ever since."

"That took a lot of strength," Wes said. "And courage."

"And therapy," Angel said. "For Connor and me both. It was a few years before things were totally right between us again, but we got there."

"Even still, it's something to be admired," Wesley said.

Angel shrugged. "It's something I did. I'm not proud of my past, but I've accepted it. All that's left to do is move on."

"And help those who need it?" Wesley suggested, a knowing smile playing about his lips.

"My friends were there for me when I was down," Angel said. "They supported me. Got me back on my feet. If I can help somebody else going through the same thing - so be it."

"I'll pay you back someday," Wes promised.

"Stop saying that," Angel said. "I'm not in this for money, Wes. You needed it. I was happy to give. I would've done the same for anybody else."

For some reason that answer didn't satisfy Wesley. "If you say so."

Angel wondered if this was one of those moments when he'd worn out his invitation. "You know, maybe I should - "

"Her name was Lilah," Wesley said, looking up at him. "Lilah Morgan."

"Pretty," Angel offered. He wondered what a Lilah Morgan looked like, and how much of her face was in Alissa's features.

"She worked for a rival company," Wes continued. "Angel, if you want to know why I am so staggeringly out of my element here it is because I come from a family of multi-millionaires. When I grew up I was not a child who wished for a pony, I *had* a pony. And a horse, and a nanny, and my very own car and driver to ferry me to and from our many homes. I went to school with royalty. I was *worth* more than royalty. You sweated blood to try to get the down payment for your business. I most likely could have purchased this entire town."

"Okay," Angel said, evenly. From the tone he knew Wes wasn't bragging. If anything he sounded ashamed of it.

"My family has been wealthy for generations," Wesley said. "Both the money and the business has been passed down from father to son for what is now centuries. With a direct line going from the start of that business right down to me. The so-called pride and joy of our family tree."

Wes stood up, pacing restlessly. "From the moment of my birth it was understood that I was being groomed to take over once my father retired. Every second of my life was dedicated to that task. If I was caught doing anything which my father deemed was in any way not a part of that goal I was punished. I quickly learned the easiest way to avoid that was to do as he wished. Of course that required knowing all of his wishes. I wasn't always successful."

"Sounds like a tough guy," Angel said. Then, remembering Wes's question earlier, he asked, "Still alive?"

"Unfortunately," Wesley said. He perched on the arm of the couch. "He and I stayed on this course for years, never deviating. I began to work for him and though I naturally never managed to please him I did well enough to be allowed to continue. It was hoped I would eventually stop embarrassing him long enough to be worthy of his role."

"Something tells me you probably weren't ever going to be," Angel guessed. "At least in his eyes."

"Probably not," Wes agreed. "Which was something I began to realize as well. Particularly after I nearly died in a fire that broke out in the office one day and he never once visited me while in hospital. I was actually clinically dead for sixty-three seconds. Most unpleasant sensation, by the way. I don't recommend it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Angel said.

"As you might suspect, the lack of so much as a get well card rather soured my hopes for a pleasant father/son relationship," Wes continued. "I began to rebel. Rather pathetic, I suppose, rebelling in one's late twenties."

"Better late than never," Angel said.

"Perhaps," Wes replied. "Regardless, I began doing things that I never did before. I drank excessively. Went to clubs. Had a long series of one-night stands with whomever caught my fancy."

Curiosity got the better of him. "Is this when you figured out you were a bit… oh?" Angel asked.

A hint of a smile touched Wesley's face. "No. I'd already known that. This was, however, the first time outside of public school that I actually acted on it."

"Gotcha," Angel said. "I - I mean not that you asked but high school. Before Darla. With her I was monogamous."

Wes nodded, taking that in. "It was during this time that I met Lilah. Or, rather, ran into her. We'd already met before but in business situations. Her family owns a company which rivals my family's. Apparently word had gotten out to them all the way over in America that I was turning myself into a black sheep. They sent her over to try to ply trade secrets out of me, or even offer me a job."

"Did you take it?" Angel asked.

"No, I took her," Wes answered. He moved down to sit on the couch properly. "It wasn't planned, I can promise you that. One moment she's trading barbs with me in the middle of a club, the next I'm snogging her in the back of a limousine."

Angel grinned. "So she was hot."

"Ungodly so," Wes admitted in what was nearly a groan. "Wonderful in bed as well, for all that it's probably blasphemous to say such things now."

"Don't see why," Angel said.

"Yes, well, you're not British," Wesley said, without rancor.

"Right, pretending I don't have emotions: check," Angel said. "So what happened?"

"We kept doing it," Wesley said. "Meet, banter, her asking if I'd sell out or come to work for her, me telling her to go to Hell, the two of us ending up breaking the furniture in my flat and then leaving off to repeat the cycle the next evening."

"Why didn't you?" Angel asked. "Go work with her? I mean if you hated your dad and all?"

"Pride," Wesley said. "Stubborn loyalty. The last vestiges of the belief that even if my father would never approve of me that *someday* he might die and I could at least prove to *myself* that I was good enough. It was my name too. I had a right to it."

"Fair enough," Angel said.

"Of course we were caught," Wes said. "Hardly surprising as my father is a most suspicious man. And her family was actually moreso. We were both told that we'd been found out and would have to end it."

"Did you?" Angel asked.

"No," Wesley said. "We thumbed our noses at them and kept going. I think at that point she'd started to become disenfranchised with her work as well. We both talked about starting our own business but I never took it seriously."

Angel got up to join him on the couch. "Why not?"

"Because I never took any of it seriously," Wesley said. "That was the way of it. We'd made that clear from the start. We didn't love one another, didn't even like one another. It wasn't a relationship."

"You went through all that," Angel asked, "for something that wasn't a relationship?"

A ghost of a smile touched Wes's lips. "That's what it was *supposed* to be. That's what we said it was. What it *actually* was - well, that's another story."

"I'm guessing not one you two ever talked about," Angel said.

Wes shook his head. "No. I thought of it sometimes. Of even making it formal, somehow. But I thought that was the last thing she ever wanted out of me so I kept my mouth shut. And then when she became pregnant - "

"It got even more complicated," Angel concluded.

"It's not a romantic tale," Wesley said. "We were stupid. Didn't even bother with birth control. You had your self-destructive moments, that was ours. But as I say, it wasn't a relationship. We weren't trying to make anything. When she told me she was pregnant I assumed she would have an abortion. To this day I honestly can't tell you why she didn't."

"Maybe *she* had things she wasn't admitting to," Angel said.

"Perhaps," Wesley said. "Either way we grew apart. I purposefully didn't see her. I assumed that would only make it worse. That it would give the impression that I was trying to force her into motherhood. Besides, what good would it do for me to try to form any sort of attachment to this child? She was only going to die anyway."

"We convince ourselves of a lot of stupid stuff," Angel said.

"Indeed," Wes agreed. "Months went by with little to no communication. Then I got the message that she was in hospital. I was to go to California to see her. Luckily I was in New York at the time."

"That's when you found out there were complications?" Angel asked.

Wesley nodded. "When I arrived they told me. It - it was a lot like you with Darla, actually. I couldn't accept it. I refused to. Lilah had already known and resigned herself to it. I kept insisting that there must be something we could do but she said that there wasn't."

"Some things can't be changed," Angel said.

Wesley looked up, startled. "Yes. Yes. That's precisely what she told me."

"I learned that with Darla," Angel said. "I've come to learn you either accept that or you lose your mind."

"If you learn how to accept it I'd love the lesson," Wesley said. "As it was I'm afraid I did very poorly. Lilah and I had a few final words with each other, then the doctors took over. I'm told it was a fifty/fifty chance at best. In the end that's what it turned out to be. Lilah died. Alissa did not."

"And you were suddenly a daddy," Angel said.

"A daddy with more trouble than a child on his hands," Wes said. "Because Lilah came from a powerful family. They knew about the baby and they wanted her for themselves."

Angel frowned. "For *themselves*?"

"Oh yes," Wesley said. "Because, of course, of the stupid rivalry. I was the enemy. As far as they were concerned that rendered me unfit to raise a child. In fact they went to court to attempt to prove that very thing. It was at this point that my years of drinking and indiscriminate sex came back to haunt me. I made it incredibly easy for them to prove that I could in no way provide a stable home."

"What about your family?" Angel asked. "All that money and you couldn't get together a good defense?"

Wes's smile became bitter and ironic. "That's the best part. Because my father, upon finding out that he had a granddaughter, immediately found out with *whom* and disowned me. All of my money was tied up in the business and in trust funds. All he had to do was say the word and I didn't have a single cent to my name. Even my credit cards were frozen. I was penniless and stranded in America with a baby that by all rights wasn't even supposed to be there."

"You could've given her up," Angel said. "Handed her over to Lilah's family. Bet your dad would've loved that."

Wes looked at him. "I think you and I both know that wasn't an option."

"So you ran for it," Angel said.

"I ran for it," Wes agreed. "Used what cash I had to buy supplies for Alissa, sold the rest to afford the car and then got out of Los Angeles as fast as I could. I've been trying to escape her family ever since."

"Which is why you're now Wesley Johnson," Angel concluded.

Wes turned to face him. "Wyndam-Pryce. My real name is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

Angel rolled it over his tongue. "Yeah, that sounds like money."

Wes laughed. "It sounds incredibly pompous too."

"It sounds like you," Angel said, facing Wes in turn. "You've never been pompous to me."

Wes tried to dismiss it. "I assure you, if you had met me years ago - "

Angel cupped Wes's chin in his hand, holding him still. "I know you now. That's all I'm looking at."

There was a long moment of silence between them.

"Angel," Wesley said, and this time his voice was an entirely new kind of quiet.

Angel moved forward. He felt himself *drawn* forward, as though that was exactly the thing he was meant to do. Wes tilted his head up, his lips placed just perfectly for them to -

"I can't," Angel said, jerking back.

Wes nodded his head, looking about as disconcerted as Angel felt. "Yes - I mean - you're right. That's - "

"I should go," Angel said. He stood up, patting his pocket for keys he didn't even remember if he'd brought.

"Right, yes," Wesley said. He was on his feet as well, making motions in the direction of Alissa's closed door. "I should - the baby - "

"Exactly," Angel said. "And I've got - "

"The diner," Wes finished for him. "So you should - "

"Go," Angel said. "And you - "

"Stay," Wes agreed.

They stared at one another again.

"Right," Angel said, then fled down the stairs to the safety of his apartment.

***