Trust Me fic snippets

[thebratqueen]

Okay, so sometimes comfort fic involves indulging yourself. For anyone who might be interested, I present to you the following fic snippets which, if I ever get around to writing more of Trust Me, might make an appearance. If not, well here they are anyway.

No particular rhyme or reason to them, other than they take place months apart from one another and, as you'll see, follow a bit of a theme.

Angel did not want to admit defeat. He didn't do that. He shouldn't have to. He'd faced vampires, demons, apocalypses, multiple realities, and the horror that was the early morning breakfast crowd. This was *not* something that should get the better of him.

Even so...

Angel went knocking on Connor's door. "Help."

Connor was sprawled on his bed. His back was against the pillows, his feet were propped up on the open windowsill with nothing but ratty socks to protect them. This made Angel want to lecture him about the dangerous of catching a chill, but Connor's ears were covered with headphones and Connor's eyes were buried in what looked like a Spiderman comic book. Angel knew from experience that lectures couldn't penetrate those kinds of distractions.

"Connor," Angel tried again. "help."

"I'm not doing chores," Connor said without looking up.

"This isn't chores," Angel shot him a look. "Though you *would* if I needed you to."

Connor turned a page. "It's my night off."

"Mine too," Angel said. He was quickly becoming convinced that the entire conversation was one of his dumber ideas. "Never mind. I'll just - "

Connor finally tore his eyes away from the comic book. "Aren't you supposed to be totally dressed by now?"

Angel's shoulders slumped. "Yes. Help?"

"We talking actual putting on of clothes or just some advice?"

"Advice," Angel said. "I can manage the rest on my own."

Connor seemed to consider it. "Okay." He detangled himself from headphones and the bed, then followed Angel back to his bedroom. "It's about time you admitted I'm a better dresser than you."

"You know more about this than me," Angel said. He gestured towards his open closet door with frustration. His shirts and pants, some more neatly pressed than others, stared back at him accusingly. "What do people wear on dates?"

Connor flopped down on Angel's bed, hitting the mattress hard enough that he bounced on his stomach. "Well you've got the pants part down. A shirt of some kind would be the next step."

"Right, right," Angel said. He wavered, then grabbed a white shirt with blue pinstripes out of his closet. He shrugged it on and began buttoning it up. "What else?"

"Shoes."

Angel rolled his eyes. "*Besides* that."

"Hey, if you're gonna give me lip I could be back with Spiderman," Connor said. "Bad enough I signed my night away doing babysitting just so you could go have sex with your boyfriend. Not, by the way, that that's gonna happen tonight if you're wearing that shirt."

"Wesley's not my boyfriend," Angel said. "And this isn't about sex. It's about two adults getting together for food, intelligent conversation and.... really? Not this shirt?"

"I wouldn't get laid if I was wearing it," Connor propped his chin up on his hand. "Try the one to your right. No, your right. No, your *other* right."

Angel took a long sleeved black button-down out of the closet. "This one?"

"Yeah," Connor pointed in the direction of some pants. "Maybe with the dark jeans?"

"No," Angel immediately put the shirt back. "Not those clothes."

Connor frowned. "Why?"

"Because - " Because Angel's other self wore black all the time. Because Angel was now only a vampire by memory. Because Angel had the memories, life, and personality of a nearly forty year old single father who didn't want to lose the tentative relationship he'd started to form with the interesting British guy who lived downstairs and showing up in what was practically the uniform of their former lives seemed like a way to guarantee the evening would be nothing but awkwardness and strained conversation. Because Angel *was* that nearly forty year old single father, and he didn't want to abandon that simply because he knew that he'd once been someone else. "Because it's too dark. I want to wear color."

"Clown nose could do it."

"You could help or I could dock your allowance."

"Try the blue shirt then," Connor said. "Or the red T-shirt with the blue shirt over it."

"What am I? Superman?"

"He'd do blue with red," Connor said. "And fine. Wear just the blue then. See if I care when you catch your death of cold."

"I'll wear a jacket, Dad," Angel pulled the shirt on, quickly buttoning up the front and the sleeves. "What do you think? Tuck it in or leave it out?"

"Leave it out," Connor caught the hem of the shirt, tugging it out of Angel's hands. "Tucking it in is too gay even for you."

Angel looked over his shoulder. "I am going out with a *guy*, Connor."

"Yeah, and speaking as a guy tucked in shirts look stupid," Connor sat back, studying Angel's appearance. "Do the brown coat. And wear the scarf I gave you."

"The coat doesn't really work well with a scarf," Angel held the jacket up to demonstrate. "See? I couldn't get one to fit under the collar."

"You don't do it for *that*," Connor said. "You do it so that when the night gets cold you can be all suave and offer to give him your scarf. Then you put it on, tug, and bingo: instant kissage."

"It absolutely terrifies me that you have moves," Angel told him.

"Are you going to the movies?" Connor swung his feet down onto the floor. He mimed sitting in a movie theater chair. "I have great moves for during the movies. There's this one with the popcorn - "

"Please don't tell me," Angel said.

"Not *that* one."

"You're really getting in the way of my attempts to pretend that my son is an innocent," Angel knelt down to search for shoes along the bottom of his closet.

"Was this pretending before or after you stole my condoms?"

Angel sat back on his heels, turning around so he could look at Connor. "How are you okay with this? You're an 18 year old kid talking to his dad about having sex. Possibly with a *guy*. No way I ever spent that much on your therapy."

Connor gave a loose-limbed shrug. "What do you want me to say? That I want you at home and mopey?"

"Isn't there *something* that freaks you out about this?" Angel asked. "Pisses you off? Anything?"

"Well, the thought of you actually having sex is a little nauseating," Connor ducked as Angel threw one of the abandoned shirts in his direction. "Okay, okay. Look, Dad, I did the whole you're betraying Mom's memory thing. Way I see it that just makes both of us not talk to each other. Plus that leaves you by yourself, which doesn't exactly seem fair or smart."

Angel stood up, feeling the burn of his muscles protesting the cramped position he'd left them in. "Smart?"

"I'll be leaving for college soon," Connor said. "You're going to have the empty nest thing going on. If you want to date somebody who lives downstairs and can maybe keep an eye on you - "

"Christ, Connor," Angel said, with heartfelt sympathy. He sat down next to his son on the bed. "I'll be okay. I *am* okay. Nobody has to watch out for me."

Connor became very intent on studying his hands. "Okay, yeah, whatever."

"Connor..."

"You didn't deal well with the *last* time you lost - " Connor started, then bit the words off. His hands clenched into impotent fists. "I can worry, okay? Isn't that allowed? Family prerogative? We can worry about each other. It's what we do."

"I'm not going to fall off the wagon if you go away to college," Angel said. "You being here doesn't keep me sober. You going away isn't going to make me drink."

"So you're not going to miss me, is what you're saying."

Angel lightly swatted the back of Connor's head. "I'm going to miss you like Hell. But I'm also going to be proud of you and I am going to be *fine*. Besides, why waste all that on drinking when I can take it out on you by calling you every day and guilt tripping you for not talking to me often enough?"

"See, this is why I want you to date," Connor said. "If you were getting laid on a regular basis, you might actually let me have a life while I'm at school."

"You might not be half wrong," Angel agreed. He stood up again, smoothing out his clothes. "How do I look?"

"Okay enough," Connor wiped lint off of Angel's shirt sleeve. "Are you doing cologne? Do you want to borrow mine?"

"I actually want Wesley to *enjoy* being near me," Angel said. "I'll use mine. Anything else?"

"Be polite," Connor said. "Can't hurt to hold doors open for him, ask him how his day was. Tell him he looks nice. Oh - and be back by eleven and if you're going to have sex maybe we should talk about the birds and the bees."

"I'm pretty sure sleeping with Wes won't result in you having a little brother or sister," Angel said. "Well - besides the package deal of his own kid."

"Stranger things have happened," Connor said.

Angel double checked his reflection in the mirror that hung on the inside of his closet door. "They certainly have."

***

"Dad. Dad. *Dad*!"

Angel saw Connor furtively beckon to him from the doorway to their private staircase. He abandoned his task of refilling the sugar dispensers and went over to join him. "What's up?"

"I can't make it work," Connor thrust a wad of black into Angel's hands. "This is *pathetic*. I'm going to be the biggest loser in all of high school and it's all Rick's fault."

"What did Rick do?" Angel asked.

"He said we had to do *proper* tuxes," Connor said. "Like anybody does *that* anymore."

"I think tuxes are nice," Angel said. "Very dignified."

"Yeah, and you're like a thousand years old."

"Barely two hundred and fifty," Angel replied, deadpan. "Or closer to three hundred depending on how you want to count it."

"Very funny," Connor gestured to his empty collar. "Can you do the bow tie for me or not?"

"Stand up straight," Angel told him. He closed the doorway between them and the diner for more privacy. "Chin up. Let's see what I can do for you. I'm better at putting these on myself."

"When'd you ever wear tuxes?" Connor asked.

Angel slipped the black cloth around Connor's neck and tried to navigate his way around forming the bow. "I've worn tuxes from time to time. In another life some people even said I looked nice in them."

"Before or after you showed them to their table and presented them with the wine list?"

"It's nice to know that if you fail out of college you've got a career as a stand-up waiting on the sidelines," Angel finished with the bowtie and stepped back to admire his handiwork. "There. You look great."

Connor did the frustrated squirm of someone who didn't have a mirror to look in. "Are you sure? What about my hair? Does my hair look stupid?"

"It looks fine," Angel said. "I like it. The slicked back thing looks good with the clothes."

"Are the clothes dumb?" Connor twitched the rented jacket into place. "Rick said do tails but tails make me think I have to start grabbing mops and dancing around or something."

"Well, you *are* going to the prom," Angel pointed out.

Which involves dancing with *dates*," Connor said. "Without tap shoes and with - oh crap, I forgot the music for the car!"

Connor bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Angel snickered, then went back out into the diner.

"Everything all right?" Wesley asked. He was sitting in one of the booths, trying to convince Alissa to eat the pale orange mush that was in a bowl in front of her.

"Tuxedo crisis," Angel said. "Music crisis, hair crisis - typical night of prom stuff."

"Hair crisis?" Wes's eyebrows quirked. "No doubt at all that he's your child."

"One day she is going to grow up and start doing all the little quirky things *you* do," Angel said, pointing at Alissa, "and then we'll see who's laughing."

"Me, if it means getting her to eat," Wes wiped a wet cloth over Alissa's face, managing to smear as much of it over her cheeks as he did onto the cloth. "I swear she's as stubborn as her mother."

"Yeah, because it was her *mom* who had all the stubborn genes," Angel went back to his sugar dispensers. "Did you try peaches? She might eat peaches."

"I think she's too tired to know what she wants," Wesley said. He scooped Alissa out of her chair and cuddled her close to his chest. "Is that it, darling? Should Daddy put you to bed?"

"You're getting food all over your shirt there," Angel said.

"Any day when meals don't result in me needing to use a hose is considered a clean one," Wesley replied. "A few dribbles on an old shirt is nothing."

Angel tried to project his mind forward through the years. "Someday this is going to be you, you know. Prom night, clothes freakouts, some snot-nosed teenaged kid coming through the door trying not to make it obvious that he's only there so he can have sex with your daughter."

"No, he won't," Wesley said, making silly faces just so Alissa would smile at him. "Because anyone who dares to lay a hand on my love shall find his balls shot off before he can even walk through the door. Isn't that right, precious?"

"What if she's into girls?"

"Guns hurt them too, I'm told."

"Scary thing about you is that I'm almost convinced that you're serious," Angel twisted a cap back onto one of the dispensers and moved on to the next.

"Do you think anyone who dates Connor is good enough for him?" Wesley asked.

"No, but I'm not *homicidal* about it," Angel grinned. "Ironic, huh?"

Connor came bursting through the door with a stack of CDs clutched in his hand. "Okay, okay. Tux, bow, music, tickets - crap, crap, crap - what am I forgetting? Oh, yeah, Dad do you have the - "

Angel silently slid the plastic box containing the corsage down the length of the counter.

" - perfect, great," Connor patted himself down. "I'm forgetting something, I *know* I'm forgetting something."

"Your date?" Angel suggested.

"Still at her house, which you know," Connor drummed his fingers on the counter. "What else?"

"Come here," Angel said.

Connor immediately leaned back. "No. You have dork written all over you."

"I do not."

"You're going to make this into a thing," Connor said. "I know you. Look, you've even got the smile going."

"My only son is going to the prom, I'm allowed to make it into a thing," Angel said. "Now come *here*."

Connor heaved a put-upon sigh and dragged himself and the corsage over to stand in front of Angel. "What?"

"First off, you really look great," Angel said.

Connor made a face. "Awh, come *on*, Dad."

"You do!" Angel said. "You look handsome and adult and - okay, okay, getting to the point. I've got a couple. First is this." Angel pushed an envelope into Connor's hands.

Connor opened it, peering inside. "Cash?"

"Enough for a little fun and for emergencies," Angel said.

"Thanks," Connor tucked the envelope into his pants pocket.

"Second is I want some promises," Angel said.

"You're not going to make me keep curfew, are you?" Connor asked.

"No," Angel said. "It's prom, I want you to have fun. But plan, okay? If something comes up, if you or your friends get too drunk to drive - "

"We're taking a limo," Connor reminded him.

"Something tells me you'll be out past the deadline for letting the limo go," Angel said. "I'm just saying if something comes up, anything, use that money to get a cab or you *call* me, you got it? Wake me up. I won't be mad."

"You're giving me permission to get drunk?" Connor stared at him, skepticism written all over his face.

"I'm saying that you're a big kid, and if anybody knows about the dangers of drinking it's you after living with me," Angel said. "I trust you to make the smart choice. Now bring *drugs* into the mix and I will beat the ever-loving shit out of you, do you hear me?"

Connor grinned, "Yes, Dad."

"I know you've probably got plans but just in case the apartment *might* be empty later tonight," Angel said, very carefully not looking at Wes who was likewise very carefully not looking at him. "Just in case. You can call me on the cordless if you need me."

The suspicion was back. "Okay, what's the catch to all this?"

"The catch is that you are going to let me be a dork about your prom night," Angel said. "You're going to go pick up everybody, come back here, let me take as many pictures as I want and make as big of a fuss as I want. In exchange for which you get the no curfew, the money, the empty apartment, and my final gift to you."

"There's one more?" Connor asked.

"Yup," Angel said. He gave Connor a lazy grin. "Your school asked if I wanted to be a chaperone. I told them no."

There was a second as the implication of all that took effect, then Connor launched himself across the counter and grabbed Angel in a tight bear hug. "Thank you, thank you, *thank* you!"

"I know, I know, best dad ever," Angel held Connor close, savoring the moment for as long as he could.

"You are so getting a good birthday present this year," Connor let go, then fixed his clothes again. "I mean it."

"Just have fun, okay?" Angel asked. He watched Connor carefully, missing the photographic memory that would allow him to never forget a single second of this. "All I want is for you to be happy."

"Okay, now you're getting maudlin and gross," Connor said.

"I could accept the chaperone offer retroactively," Angel reminded him.

"You are a real sadist, you know that?"

Angel grinned. "So I'm told."