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thebratqueenGot another charity fic done! This one was for an anonymous donor, who asked for something in the A Million Miles Away 'verse, involving Angel, a 3-5 year old Connor, and some of the issues that the daddies of 3-5 year old boys have to deal with. I hope this fits the bill. =)
Other charity fics can be found here
"So how'd it go?" Angel asked as soon as Wesley walked in the door.
Wesley shot him a tired look. "He's your son."
Angel's shoulders slumped. "That good, huh?"
"Yes," Wesley went through the usual ritual of divesting himself of jacket, satchel, and car keys. "Though not quite that bad either."
Angel helped Wes put his coat away. "Did he break anything?"
"I believe he came very close with the teacher's spirit," Wesley said, "but it was a substitute so perhaps that's not the best benchmark to use. I'm told there was an incident of frogs put inside of desk drawers which nearly had her there anyway."
"That wasn't Connor, right?" Angel asked.
"Correct," Wesley confirmed. "It was Robert, who I've always thought was a bad influence and now look how smug I can be about my insistence that Connor never play with him."
"Not that you don't, you know, look real cute with the smug and everything," Angel said, "but aren't you forgetting something?"
"Ah, yes, you're right," Wesley stepped forward. He placed both hands on Angel's shoulders then leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was warm-cool with the heat of Wesley's body mixed with the chilly air from outside. "Hello, darling."
Angel wondered if he would ever stop melting at that. "Hey."
Wesley moved his hands up so that he could thread them together behind Angel's neck. "How was your day?"
"Great," Angel said. "Did laundry, pretty sure I patched that hole up in the attic, wrote a few letters. You?"
"Wonderful," Wesley said, "except for the part where I felt as though I personally had been called before the principal's office. Rather amazing how one never gets over that."
"I wouldn't know," Angel said.
"Yes, well, not all of us have the luxury of having killed or tortured anyone who's ever dared to bother us," Wesley said, then, with a frown of thought, amended it to, "that is, lately."
Angel grinned. He pressed kisses onto Wes's forehead. "You know I love you, right?"
Wes sighed, leaning into the touch. "Right."
"You know I love how you'd do anything to protect this family, right?" Angel asked.
Wes's fingers began to make small circles on the back of Angel's neck. "Right."
Angel gave Wesley a hug in return. "You know that when I said you'd forgotten something, I was actually referring to that short guy who lives with us, right?"
"Outside," Wesley jerked his head in the direction of the window. "He was quiet and brooding all the way home, and as soon as I got him out of the car he ran for the tree. At which point I decided that he's now your son again and *you* may go fetch him out of it."
Angel glanced out the window. If he stooped lower he could just see Connor's red sneaker as his foot dangled down from one of the tree branches. "We really have to build him a tree house."
"Oh, do 'we'?" Wesley asked, his lips quirked in a bemused smile.
"Well *you* could sit and watch me accidentally stake myself with the sharp edge of a two by four if you're really into being a single parent," Angel said.
Wes's fingers tightened on the back of Angel's neck, holding him closer. "Don't even joke. That's not the slightest bit funny."
"Gotta say the fact that you're so protective of me is really kind of hot," Angel told him.
"And yet you never jumped me the many times I saved your life back in Los Angeles," Wes pointed out.
"I was saving it up for now," Angel rubbed their noses together. "You, me, a house of our own, cozy bedroom just for us…"
"I have to say the fact that you're so enraptured with our lives together is really kind of hot," Wesley said, brushing Angel's mouth with a kiss. "Though that doesn't negate the fact that you've been all talk, no action on Connor's treehouse."
"I've been busy," Angel said.
Wes snorted. "With what?"
Angel dropped his hands down and gave Wes's ass a squeeze. "Guess."
"Hmm, yes, all right, you're forgiven," Wesley kissed him again, once on the cheek, then once more on the mouth. "But you still have to go and get your son out of that tree and back here before dinner."
Angel flashed him a seductive smile. "You are so sexy when you're all bossy and commanding, have I told you that?"
"Do a good job and I can be even more bossy and commanding for you later," Wesley said.
"Would this involve a lot of four letter words and nudity?" Angel asked. "This would, by the way, not be a great time to zing left with a joke about how it all depends on how dressed I want to be when I repaint your study."
Wes grinned. "There could be four letter words, nudity, and even hot oil if you play your cards right. Now go and get your child."
"You're really hitting that *my* child thing pretty hard," Angel said.
"I mentioned the part about him being quiet and brooding?" Wesley pointed out.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Angel grabbed his coat off of the rack by the door. "He gets that from his mom, you know."
Wesley smirked. "Of course he does."
Angel walked out onto the porch. A blast of cold air hit him as soon as he did. Winter was definitely coming. If he took a deep breath he could even smell the faintest hint of snow. He wouldn't be surprised if they woke up the next morning to find a faint dusting on the ground. He made a mental note to make sure the animals were secured for the night.
In the meanwhile, there were other things that needed securing.
Angel walked to the end of the porch where he could stay safely under its cover of shade, but still look up at his son. "Hey, Connor."
Connor was easily five feet higher than Angel's head. He was perched on a thick branch like a panther, with his stomach flat against the branch itself and his legs and arms draped around it. Angel was reasonably certain that this wasn't the kind of grace and dexterity that a normal four and a half year old would display, but then again Connor was no normal four and a half year old.
"My name's not Connor," came the reply. "You're supposed to call me Peter!"
Then again, some things about four and a half year olds seemed to be universal.
"Right," Angel said as he leaned against the railing. He made a mental note to remind Wes yet again that Connor might have gotten brooding from him, but the Peter Pan obsession was *all* Wes's fault. "Sorry, Peter. Hey."
"Hi," Connor called back down. He sat up on the tree branch, resting his hands in front of him. "I'm playing the part where there's the ship and the boys and then the boys are on the ship and then there's flying and then there's Captain Hook and you have to be the crocodile again okay, Daddy?"
Angel quickly tried to think of what answer would get Connor out of the tree, but not result in yet another viewing of the Disney DVD. "We could - uh - play that inside. Why don't you come down and we'll go play that in your room?" *Where there's no TV set,* Angel silently added.
Connor gave a vehement shake of his head. "No! We have to play here because this is the boat and Captain Hook has to come and you have to be the crocodile."
"But I could be the crocodile inside," Angel said. Then, envisioning the hours of playing on all fours that he might have just doomed himself to, quickly added, "or Captain Hook. How about I be Captain Hook? I could wear an eyepatch and everything."
"You have to make the ticking sound," Connor said, "you make the ticking sound and I'm Peter and then you eat Captain Hook and then it's the happy ending and then we start over and I'm Peter."
Angel knew he was going to regret asking this. "What's Captain Hook, then? If I'm supposed to eat him, then what am I supposed to eat?"
Connor gave him a look of exasperation. "Daddy, it's *pretend*."
Angel had to snicker at the seriousness of it. He also wondered if Wes had any idea how much Connor mimicked Wes's expressions in moments like that. "Okay, but we have to play pretend inside. Come on down, buddy."
"Peter!"
"Then come on down, Peter," Angel said.
"No, Daddy, this is the boat," Connor sat forward and wrapped his arms around the branch again. "Come play with me. Come be the crocodile."
Angel looked out over the sunlight that separated them. "I wish I could."
Connor yet again had Wesley-face as he frowned in thought. Then, as though this solved the problem, said, "Please?"
"It's good that you're minding your manners," Angel said, "but I can't come play with you out there. You have to come here."
Connor hugged the tree tighter and stayed right where he was. "I wanna be Peter."
"You can be Peter," Angel promised. He couldn't squelch the instinctive fatherly pride when he added, "You can be anything you want."
Connor didn't say anything to that. Instead his brow got furrowed, and Angel knew exactly which of his fathers he now looked like.
"You wanna talk about it?" Angel asked him.
"Robert's a poo-head," Connor told him.
"Well Wes would agree with you there," Angel muttered. Louder, he said, "Connor, language."
"He is!" Connor sat up again. "Robert said I can't be Peter because Peter flies and I can't fly and he said I can't use the glue because it's his glue and he draws better than me so I broke his crayons and teacher gave us juice and then I hit him."
Angel was glad Wes had already mentioned the female substitute, thus allowing him to correctly place the pronouns. "You broke Robert's crayons and then you hit him?"
Connor nodded. "And we had juice."
"Connor, hitting is wrong," Angel said. "If you have a problem with somebody you talk about it. You don't use your fists, remember?"
"But he wouldn't let me use his glue!" Connor said.
"Well, if it's his glue he doesn't have to," Angel told him. "I know it can be frustrating when you can't get what you want, but you have to learn how to be patient. Ask nicely, and if somebody's giving you a hard time then you tell them to stop. You don't break crayons and you don't do hitting."
"But teacher said we have to share," Connor protested. "And Robert wouldn't share and we're supposed to and I asked nice for the glue and he said no 'cause his mommy gave it to him."
"Maybe his mom told him to be very careful with it," Angel said. "Maybe his mom shared it with him, so he couldn't share it with anybody else."
Connor screwed his face up, looking as though he were on the verge of tears or shouting - or both. "He said I can't have glue 'cause only mommies give glue."
Angel stilled at that. "Excuse me?"
"He said only mommies give glue," Connor said. "He said I don't have a mommy so I'm not allowed to have glue."
Angel told himself it would be very bad if *he* used his fists to solve this problem. "Is that when you hit him?"
"No," Connor said, "I hit him 'cause he said two daddies is stupid and I said it wasn't and he said it was and he said my dads were stupid and his dad was better and his dad could beat up both my dads and I said I could beat him up so I did."
"Oh," Angel said. He tried to imagine the entire encounter. "Did you, uh, hurt him?"
Connor shook his head. He seemed disappointed. "Teacher made us stop."
"Well that's, uh, good," Angel managed over the lump of pride that was in his throat. He schooled his face so as to give Connor no inadvertent encouragement to beat the snot out of anyone who insulted him or their family, however much they deserved it. "Because hitting is very… very wrong. We don't do that."
"Except if somebody tries to steal me," Connor said, reciting one of the many lessons Angel and Wesley had made sure he understood.
"Correct," Angel said. "Then you can hit 'em all you like. Daddy said so."
Connor smiled down at him. He swung his legs back and forth. "I don't need a mommy. I have two daddies."
Angel smiled back up at him. "That's right. And we both love you so much it feels like we could blow up, like that fish in the movie. You remember the fish?"
Connor giggled. "Yeah."
"You wanna come inside?" Angel asked. "We could play like the fish."
"I hide and you come find me?" Connor asked.
"I would *always* find you," Angel told him, not caring if he couldn't hide the dorky dad smile that was on his face.
Connor gripped the branch with both hands. He kicked his legs up, swung himself over, then jumped down. It was a distance that would have surely hurt another child. Connor took it in stride.
"Okay," Connor said, coming up onto the porch. "But I'm Nemo and I touch the butt and then I get caught and you have to come find me and I'm in a fishtank with Gill and there's a volcano."
Angel followed as Connor led the way inside. "Okay. I'll be Marlin and I'll come find you. Who's Wes?"
Connor thought about it. "Wes can be the turtle."
"I can be what?" Wes asked as he came out of the kitchen.
Connor made a great show of touching the dining room table, then shrieking and running upstairs. "I touched the butt! I'm caught and you have to come find me! Come find me, Dad!"
Wes dried his hands on a dishtowel, watching all of this. "I take it that all is well?"
"Yup," Angel said, watching as Connor vanished upstairs and ran, Angel knew, to the only room in the house where Connor could get his hands on enough water to qualify as a proper fishtank. "He's out of the tree, we talked about no hitting, plus I even tricked him into taking a bath."
Wes smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. "Well done, Mr. Dad."
"See, now you're just melting me and guaranteeing that you and I will be having sex tonight," Angel told him.
Wes gave him a coy look, quirking a single eyebrow. "You doubted I would be ripping your clothes off later this evening?"
"No," Angel said, climbing the stairs so that he could keep an eye on Connor, "but I like hearing you say it."
"Dinner's in a half hour," Wesley told him.
"Got it," Angel said, and went to go play with his son.
Other charity fics can be found here
"So how'd it go?" Angel asked as soon as Wesley walked in the door.
Wesley shot him a tired look. "He's your son."
Angel's shoulders slumped. "That good, huh?"
"Yes," Wesley went through the usual ritual of divesting himself of jacket, satchel, and car keys. "Though not quite that bad either."
Angel helped Wes put his coat away. "Did he break anything?"
"I believe he came very close with the teacher's spirit," Wesley said, "but it was a substitute so perhaps that's not the best benchmark to use. I'm told there was an incident of frogs put inside of desk drawers which nearly had her there anyway."
"That wasn't Connor, right?" Angel asked.
"Correct," Wesley confirmed. "It was Robert, who I've always thought was a bad influence and now look how smug I can be about my insistence that Connor never play with him."
"Not that you don't, you know, look real cute with the smug and everything," Angel said, "but aren't you forgetting something?"
"Ah, yes, you're right," Wesley stepped forward. He placed both hands on Angel's shoulders then leaned in to kiss him. The kiss was warm-cool with the heat of Wesley's body mixed with the chilly air from outside. "Hello, darling."
Angel wondered if he would ever stop melting at that. "Hey."
Wesley moved his hands up so that he could thread them together behind Angel's neck. "How was your day?"
"Great," Angel said. "Did laundry, pretty sure I patched that hole up in the attic, wrote a few letters. You?"
"Wonderful," Wesley said, "except for the part where I felt as though I personally had been called before the principal's office. Rather amazing how one never gets over that."
"I wouldn't know," Angel said.
"Yes, well, not all of us have the luxury of having killed or tortured anyone who's ever dared to bother us," Wesley said, then, with a frown of thought, amended it to, "that is, lately."
Angel grinned. He pressed kisses onto Wes's forehead. "You know I love you, right?"
Wes sighed, leaning into the touch. "Right."
"You know I love how you'd do anything to protect this family, right?" Angel asked.
Wes's fingers began to make small circles on the back of Angel's neck. "Right."
Angel gave Wesley a hug in return. "You know that when I said you'd forgotten something, I was actually referring to that short guy who lives with us, right?"
"Outside," Wesley jerked his head in the direction of the window. "He was quiet and brooding all the way home, and as soon as I got him out of the car he ran for the tree. At which point I decided that he's now your son again and *you* may go fetch him out of it."
Angel glanced out the window. If he stooped lower he could just see Connor's red sneaker as his foot dangled down from one of the tree branches. "We really have to build him a tree house."
"Oh, do 'we'?" Wesley asked, his lips quirked in a bemused smile.
"Well *you* could sit and watch me accidentally stake myself with the sharp edge of a two by four if you're really into being a single parent," Angel said.
Wes's fingers tightened on the back of Angel's neck, holding him closer. "Don't even joke. That's not the slightest bit funny."
"Gotta say the fact that you're so protective of me is really kind of hot," Angel told him.
"And yet you never jumped me the many times I saved your life back in Los Angeles," Wes pointed out.
"I was saving it up for now," Angel rubbed their noses together. "You, me, a house of our own, cozy bedroom just for us…"
"I have to say the fact that you're so enraptured with our lives together is really kind of hot," Wesley said, brushing Angel's mouth with a kiss. "Though that doesn't negate the fact that you've been all talk, no action on Connor's treehouse."
"I've been busy," Angel said.
Wes snorted. "With what?"
Angel dropped his hands down and gave Wes's ass a squeeze. "Guess."
"Hmm, yes, all right, you're forgiven," Wesley kissed him again, once on the cheek, then once more on the mouth. "But you still have to go and get your son out of that tree and back here before dinner."
Angel flashed him a seductive smile. "You are so sexy when you're all bossy and commanding, have I told you that?"
"Do a good job and I can be even more bossy and commanding for you later," Wesley said.
"Would this involve a lot of four letter words and nudity?" Angel asked. "This would, by the way, not be a great time to zing left with a joke about how it all depends on how dressed I want to be when I repaint your study."
Wes grinned. "There could be four letter words, nudity, and even hot oil if you play your cards right. Now go and get your child."
"You're really hitting that *my* child thing pretty hard," Angel said.
"I mentioned the part about him being quiet and brooding?" Wesley pointed out.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Angel grabbed his coat off of the rack by the door. "He gets that from his mom, you know."
Wesley smirked. "Of course he does."
Angel walked out onto the porch. A blast of cold air hit him as soon as he did. Winter was definitely coming. If he took a deep breath he could even smell the faintest hint of snow. He wouldn't be surprised if they woke up the next morning to find a faint dusting on the ground. He made a mental note to make sure the animals were secured for the night.
In the meanwhile, there were other things that needed securing.
Angel walked to the end of the porch where he could stay safely under its cover of shade, but still look up at his son. "Hey, Connor."
Connor was easily five feet higher than Angel's head. He was perched on a thick branch like a panther, with his stomach flat against the branch itself and his legs and arms draped around it. Angel was reasonably certain that this wasn't the kind of grace and dexterity that a normal four and a half year old would display, but then again Connor was no normal four and a half year old.
"My name's not Connor," came the reply. "You're supposed to call me Peter!"
Then again, some things about four and a half year olds seemed to be universal.
"Right," Angel said as he leaned against the railing. He made a mental note to remind Wes yet again that Connor might have gotten brooding from him, but the Peter Pan obsession was *all* Wes's fault. "Sorry, Peter. Hey."
"Hi," Connor called back down. He sat up on the tree branch, resting his hands in front of him. "I'm playing the part where there's the ship and the boys and then the boys are on the ship and then there's flying and then there's Captain Hook and you have to be the crocodile again okay, Daddy?"
Angel quickly tried to think of what answer would get Connor out of the tree, but not result in yet another viewing of the Disney DVD. "We could - uh - play that inside. Why don't you come down and we'll go play that in your room?" *Where there's no TV set,* Angel silently added.
Connor gave a vehement shake of his head. "No! We have to play here because this is the boat and Captain Hook has to come and you have to be the crocodile."
"But I could be the crocodile inside," Angel said. Then, envisioning the hours of playing on all fours that he might have just doomed himself to, quickly added, "or Captain Hook. How about I be Captain Hook? I could wear an eyepatch and everything."
"You have to make the ticking sound," Connor said, "you make the ticking sound and I'm Peter and then you eat Captain Hook and then it's the happy ending and then we start over and I'm Peter."
Angel knew he was going to regret asking this. "What's Captain Hook, then? If I'm supposed to eat him, then what am I supposed to eat?"
Connor gave him a look of exasperation. "Daddy, it's *pretend*."
Angel had to snicker at the seriousness of it. He also wondered if Wes had any idea how much Connor mimicked Wes's expressions in moments like that. "Okay, but we have to play pretend inside. Come on down, buddy."
"Peter!"
"Then come on down, Peter," Angel said.
"No, Daddy, this is the boat," Connor sat forward and wrapped his arms around the branch again. "Come play with me. Come be the crocodile."
Angel looked out over the sunlight that separated them. "I wish I could."
Connor yet again had Wesley-face as he frowned in thought. Then, as though this solved the problem, said, "Please?"
"It's good that you're minding your manners," Angel said, "but I can't come play with you out there. You have to come here."
Connor hugged the tree tighter and stayed right where he was. "I wanna be Peter."
"You can be Peter," Angel promised. He couldn't squelch the instinctive fatherly pride when he added, "You can be anything you want."
Connor didn't say anything to that. Instead his brow got furrowed, and Angel knew exactly which of his fathers he now looked like.
"You wanna talk about it?" Angel asked him.
"Robert's a poo-head," Connor told him.
"Well Wes would agree with you there," Angel muttered. Louder, he said, "Connor, language."
"He is!" Connor sat up again. "Robert said I can't be Peter because Peter flies and I can't fly and he said I can't use the glue because it's his glue and he draws better than me so I broke his crayons and teacher gave us juice and then I hit him."
Angel was glad Wes had already mentioned the female substitute, thus allowing him to correctly place the pronouns. "You broke Robert's crayons and then you hit him?"
Connor nodded. "And we had juice."
"Connor, hitting is wrong," Angel said. "If you have a problem with somebody you talk about it. You don't use your fists, remember?"
"But he wouldn't let me use his glue!" Connor said.
"Well, if it's his glue he doesn't have to," Angel told him. "I know it can be frustrating when you can't get what you want, but you have to learn how to be patient. Ask nicely, and if somebody's giving you a hard time then you tell them to stop. You don't break crayons and you don't do hitting."
"But teacher said we have to share," Connor protested. "And Robert wouldn't share and we're supposed to and I asked nice for the glue and he said no 'cause his mommy gave it to him."
"Maybe his mom told him to be very careful with it," Angel said. "Maybe his mom shared it with him, so he couldn't share it with anybody else."
Connor screwed his face up, looking as though he were on the verge of tears or shouting - or both. "He said I can't have glue 'cause only mommies give glue."
Angel stilled at that. "Excuse me?"
"He said only mommies give glue," Connor said. "He said I don't have a mommy so I'm not allowed to have glue."
Angel told himself it would be very bad if *he* used his fists to solve this problem. "Is that when you hit him?"
"No," Connor said, "I hit him 'cause he said two daddies is stupid and I said it wasn't and he said it was and he said my dads were stupid and his dad was better and his dad could beat up both my dads and I said I could beat him up so I did."
"Oh," Angel said. He tried to imagine the entire encounter. "Did you, uh, hurt him?"
Connor shook his head. He seemed disappointed. "Teacher made us stop."
"Well that's, uh, good," Angel managed over the lump of pride that was in his throat. He schooled his face so as to give Connor no inadvertent encouragement to beat the snot out of anyone who insulted him or their family, however much they deserved it. "Because hitting is very… very wrong. We don't do that."
"Except if somebody tries to steal me," Connor said, reciting one of the many lessons Angel and Wesley had made sure he understood.
"Correct," Angel said. "Then you can hit 'em all you like. Daddy said so."
Connor smiled down at him. He swung his legs back and forth. "I don't need a mommy. I have two daddies."
Angel smiled back up at him. "That's right. And we both love you so much it feels like we could blow up, like that fish in the movie. You remember the fish?"
Connor giggled. "Yeah."
"You wanna come inside?" Angel asked. "We could play like the fish."
"I hide and you come find me?" Connor asked.
"I would *always* find you," Angel told him, not caring if he couldn't hide the dorky dad smile that was on his face.
Connor gripped the branch with both hands. He kicked his legs up, swung himself over, then jumped down. It was a distance that would have surely hurt another child. Connor took it in stride.
"Okay," Connor said, coming up onto the porch. "But I'm Nemo and I touch the butt and then I get caught and you have to come find me and I'm in a fishtank with Gill and there's a volcano."
Angel followed as Connor led the way inside. "Okay. I'll be Marlin and I'll come find you. Who's Wes?"
Connor thought about it. "Wes can be the turtle."
"I can be what?" Wes asked as he came out of the kitchen.
Connor made a great show of touching the dining room table, then shrieking and running upstairs. "I touched the butt! I'm caught and you have to come find me! Come find me, Dad!"
Wes dried his hands on a dishtowel, watching all of this. "I take it that all is well?"
"Yup," Angel said, watching as Connor vanished upstairs and ran, Angel knew, to the only room in the house where Connor could get his hands on enough water to qualify as a proper fishtank. "He's out of the tree, we talked about no hitting, plus I even tricked him into taking a bath."
Wes smiled, and kissed him on the cheek. "Well done, Mr. Dad."
"See, now you're just melting me and guaranteeing that you and I will be having sex tonight," Angel told him.
Wes gave him a coy look, quirking a single eyebrow. "You doubted I would be ripping your clothes off later this evening?"
"No," Angel said, climbing the stairs so that he could keep an eye on Connor, "but I like hearing you say it."
"Dinner's in a half hour," Wesley told him.
"Got it," Angel said, and went to go play with his son.
