Family Blessings

Author: Jill

Disclaimer: hysterical laughter - not even in my dreams I would want them - oh wait, should I say nightmares? I stole the title from a book by Lavyrle Spencer, and funny enough it was the book that first started my fascination with the older woman/younger man subject. Category: Angst/Drama/Romance

Pairing: B/A, C/G, F/L, K(athie)/Wes and maybe others *g*

Rating: R

Distribution: my site (http://www.never-ending-love.de), ffnet, several lists including BA_Fluff, if you have any of my stuff, just take it, anybody else please tell me where it goes

Spoilers: only mildly

Summary: sequel to "Blissful Encounter". I highly recommend reading the story. I've created an AU here, and you won't be able to follow without the first story.

Timeline: a year after the end of Blissful Encounter

Feedback: oh yes, please!!!

Dedication: This is for the guys at the babbleboard, and especially J who only reads stories that are finished

"Honey, I'm home," Angel shouted, letting the door shut behind him, then shrugged out of his leather jacket, throwing it over the closest chair.

When silence greeted him, he paused, slowly putting his keys on the little table in the hallway. "Honey?" he asked, walking towards the living-room, where only emptiness waited for him. That was strange. Buffy should be home already. Besides, he'd seen her car in the garage, and she'd driven to work this morning.

He and Buffy had been married six months ago and instantly moved to a nice two story house not far away form Buffy's old apartment. First Angel had resisted the idea. He didn't have the kind of money to buy a house like this in the better part of town, but Buffy had finally convinced him that - now that they were married - her money was his money and that had been the end of the discussion. Besides, Kathie's and Wes's house was only five minutes away, an aspect Angel wasn't able to ignore.

Kathie was married to Wes now, expecting their first child in about a month, but the siblings were still close, the couples getting together on a regular basis. Angel's sister had blossomed in her relationship with the older scholar, had finally shed the shell she'd been wearing around her. She'd transformed into a radiant wife, deeply in love with her husband, and barely able to wait for the birth of her first child. At the same time she was trying to finish her PhD, and the progress was breathtaking.

Frowning at the empty room, Angel was about to walk towards the kitchen to get the coffee maker started, when he heard a noise coming from the bathroom. "Buffy?" he asked, instantly alarmed by what sounded like a muffled sob. He reached for the doorknob, when her voice stopped him.

"No," she cried, "Don't come in."

"Is something wrong?" he inquired. The whole situation was off. Buffy never shut herself up in the bathroom, not even when she was taking a bath. He almost groaned at the x-rated images instantly bombarding his mind. He could remember several encounters when he'd found her in the tub. Afterward he'd had a hard time peeling off his soaked clothes or fishing them from the lukewarm water.

"N-no," came the reply, causing the hair on his nape to stand up straight.

"You don't sound as if everything's alright," he insisted, reaching for the doorknob again, only to see that the door was locked from the inside. Locked. Buffy never locked doors.

Angel's alarm bells started to ring.

"Buffy." Trying to keep his voice calm, although he felt panic rising, he took a deep breath. "Baby, please, let me inside."

"No."

"You're scaring me, Buffy. Please." By now, he felt perspiration building between his shoulder-blades. Anything could be wrong. Had she been hurt? Or had someone tried to-

NO! His mind shut down at the possibility. He wouldn't imagine anyone hurting Buffy. But after his sister's confession about their father, Angel's imagination had developed a tendency to expect the worst. "Buffy," he pleaded.

Nothing.

For minutes nothing happened, but he was sure he was still hearing muffled sobs, and when he was finally ready to just kick the damn door down, he heard the lock click, and the door opened revealing his wife. Buffy had tried to restore her makeup, but even though she'd done a good job, she had not been able to disguise her red-rimmed eyes or the puffy nose and lips, definite signs of her previous crying.

His stomach clenching painfully at the sight of her, Angel reached out to touch her, only to have her avoiding him. "No," she shook her head, then without looking up, went towards the kitchen, her voice taking up an unnatural brightness. "I'm hungry. What about you?"

"Buffy-"

"How about we order some Chinese. I'm not up for cooking today. Coffee?"

Running a hand through his hair, Angel stared at her back, noticing the stiff way she was holding her head. "Buffy," he said softly, "Please."

"Decaf or regular?" she asked, determined to ignore his pleading voice. She couldn't deal with it. Feeling the muscles in her lower abdomen clench, she almost cried out loud. Not because the pain was unbearable, but because once again she'd failed him. She drew a sharp breath when she felt his hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy," his voice was so soft, so full of concern, it made her want to weep. She hadn't earned this man. This wonderful, loving, tender man, who should have a wife who could give all that back to him, not be a constant failure.

Angel felt her go rigid at his touch, and let his hand fall away. Something was seriously wrong with her, and he couldn't for the life of him understand what was going on. She'd been almost chipper the last few days, and all of a sudden she was distant and cold. Sighing, he turned away, "I need to go to the bathroom. Then I'm going to call for take-out. And I'd like decaf," he told her over his shoulder. "This day has been long enough."

As soon as Buffy heard the bathroom door close behind him, all the rigidity fled her body, and she had to grip the counter to keep her knees from giving out. She drew a shuddering breath, then pressed her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming. God, she was hurting him. Was hurting the man she loved more than anything in the world. She was hurting her husband.

Reaching for the coffee pot with trembling hands, she filled it with water. Pouring it in to the machine, she flipped it on, listening to the familiar sounds of coffee brewing.

Her husband.

Only six moths ago the world had looked bright and wonderful. She'd promised to love and cherish him, had believed herself in heaven when he'd slipped the simple gold band over the third finger of her left hand, looking at her with such love and promise, she'd wept with happiness.

But she already knew. Deep inside she knew.

She would be a failure. And it was only logical. She had lost her first baby, hadn't been able to keep it. So why should it be different now? They had stopped using contraception shortly after they'd decided to get serious, which had been almost a year ago. And she hadn't gotten pregnant before the wedding.

And not *since* the wedding either.

She had seen him looking at his sister, had seen the tender _expression in his eyes every time he touched Kathie's protruding abdomen. Her sister in law was already in her eighth month. She was strong, and healthy - and pregnant.

She was young.

Something Buffy wasn't anymore. She was almost thirty-five now. Not an unusual age these days for a woman to have children, but she was still not young anymore. The risks of having a child were high, even more so if it was the first. And it was also more difficult to get pregnant in the first place.

Buffy hadn't expected a miracle. Truly, she hadn't. But after a year of silently hoping, of waiting in anticipation, only to find her period had arrived - once again in time, she was at the end of her rope. Not that Angel ever said anything. They hadn't even talked about it, had never talked about having a baby, but wasn't the fact that they did nothing to prevent it proof enough? Wasn't the way Angel talked to Kathie's unborn child a sign of how much he wanted children of his own?

She knew that her obsession - and she knew it had become an obsession - was bordering on a mental problem, that she was hardly able to think about anything but getting pregnant. And Buffy knew that all these insecurities came from their age difference. Which - taking Angel's intense and frequent lovemaking - didn't seem to be a problem for him.

But still.

She saw all the young women making eyes at him, and she found herself watching him. Did he maybe look back? Did he sometimes wonder? Was he already regretting binding himself to an old woman?

She almost jumped out of her skin when familiar arms came around her from behind and she felt his lips touch a sensitive spot behind her right ear, sending shivers all over her body. His hands moved in caressing circles over her abdomen, making her draw in a sharp breath. How would it be if he were stroking their baby in there?

God, she was going to go insane thinking that way. She knew it. But - she couldn't help it. Angel was young, vibrant. It was natural for him to want children. And if she couldn't give him a child - would he leave her? For a woman who could? Closing her eyes half in agony, half in pleasure caused by Angel's wandering lips, she tried to block out the idea of him with another woman. Of another woman growing thick with his child. But the visions kept coming back, kept torturing her.

"You're so tense," she heard him whisper, his hands moving to her shoulders, kneading the muscles there. "I know there is something wrong."

"There is nothing wrong," she insisted, feeling panic rise. She couldn't tell him. He mustn't know. Never ever. "Really," she forced herself to smile, to look at him over her shoulder, to hold his inquiring gaze. "I'm fine."

"Well," seemingly content with her answer he started to nuzzle her nape, his teeth lightly grazing her skin. "It's good to hear. Because you're looking definitely sexy tonight."

Moving away from him, Buffy reached for the coffee. "We can't," she said, not looking at him. If she did, he'd know. He would see right through her.

She saw the puzzlement in his eyes, and added, "I got my period today." Quickly she busied herself by pouring coffee into two cups, glad her hands were under control now. They were steady, not a hint of the trembling left.

"I see," was all he said, taking one cup from her, his eyes unreadable. More than once Buffy had thought he'd be a real winner as a poker player.

Sitting down across from him at their small kitchen table, she sipped from her mug. "How was your day?"

"Don't," he replied, giving her a sharp look.

"I'm sorry," she shook her head and confusion. "Don't, what?" "Don't do this," he clarified, "Trying to behave if everything's alright. You got your period today, and now you're a wreck. Buffy, this can't go on."

The panic inside of her was palpable now. But she still managed to keep her face free of it, "I don't … know what you're talking about."

His cup landed on the table with a thump, the contents spilling over the rim. "Dammit, Buffy. Do you think I'm blind?" he said harshly, "It's the same every time you get your period. I'm not an insensitive fool, baby." His voice became soft, and he reached over the table to take her hand, then held it fast even though she tried to pull it away. "You want to be pregnant. You have this silly idea you need to prove something to me. But that's nonsense. Buffy, I love you. I married you because," he smiled slightly, "because you're sexy and beautiful, and because I'm so into you I can't think straight. You are warm and loving, you are intelligent and have a good sense of humor."

While he was talking he stood and her hand firmly in his, his eyes never leaving hers, walked around the table, then kneeled down in front of her. "You are the one, Buffy," he said. "I knew it all along. Yes, I'd like to have a baby with you, but if it doesn't happen, then it doesn't. Then I'll be a good uncle and spoil my nephew or niece to death. We could also adopt. There are so many kids out there who would give their soul for a good home. Believe me I know." He cupped her now wet cheek with his hand, "I didn't marry you to become my brood mare, Buffy."

"Oh, Angel," she whispered brokenly. "I feel so silly."

"You're not silly," he assured her, drying her cheek with his thumb.

"But I am," she protested. "I know how irrational I am, but I … I just can't help it. Kathie was pregnant within a month of their marriage. I … can't help feeling inadequate in comparison."

Angel almost laughed at that, but didn't, knowing it would be the wrong thing to do. This wasn't the silly problem she claimed. It was serious. Buffy was hurting, and that was no laughing matter. Still he smiled when he looked at her, "Oh, Buffy. Kathie would tell you differently. Do you think how often she feels that way? She often thinks Wes must think she's foolish or childish. She's so afraid he will wake up and find himself tied to a young woman who isn't half as smart as he is. Do you know how often she wants to be like you?"

"Like me?" Buffy laughed but it wasn't a happy sound. "Not very likely. I'm a failure. Angel, we stopped using contraception before our wedding and I'm still barren like an old cow."

He felt anger at her words, at the way she was putting herself down. He knew she had a tendency to blame herself for everything, but this was going too far. "You are not a cow," he said firmly, "and you are not old. You are in the prime of your life. The years between thirty and forty are the best for a woman. Stop saying such nonsense. And stop beating yourself up. Sometimes if you wish for something too hard it won't happen. Buffy," once again he gazed at her deeply, "Please, this has to stop. It frightens me. When I came home today and you wouldn't come out of the bathroom, I thought you were hurt … that - that someone had hurt you."

"I'm sorry," she sniffled.

"No, it's okay, but you have to stop. I'm not going to leave you because you're not pregnant. I'm not going to jump the bones of the first beautiful girl I come across." By the flicker in her eyes, he realized he'd been dead on with his words. "They all pale in comparison," he added, framing her face with his hands. "You are the one I want. I'm only dreaming of you. I'm in love with you, sweet. Just you."

"I know," she whispered, swallowing hard, "It's just so … I don't know what to do. I want a baby so badly. And I know you want one, too. Don't try to deny it, I've seen the way you look at Kathie."

"Oh, I'm not denying it," he replied, "it would be foolish anyway. Of course I want a child. With you. If it happens I'm going to be the happiest man on earth, but if it doesn't, it doesn't mean I'm going to run. You are the priority here, Buffy. I don't want just any baby. I want yours. Ours. If you can't give me one … well, then it's not going to happen. But I'm still going to love you. And besides, who says you're the one who failed me?" When he saw her eyes widen, he went on, "It could be me. I mean, you have been pregnant before, but as far as I know I haven't had a child."

"You better not have," Buffy said, but she smiled. "I love you, you know."

"Yeah, I do. And tomorrow I will go to a doctor and get myself tested. Just to make sure."

"Mmmmm," she kissed him, and when their lips parted, the sadness in her eyes was reduced to a mere shadow. "So, what about Chinese now?" she asked and in response he laughed.

*****

When the doorbell rang Kathie struggled to get up from her seat, "I'm coming," she shouted in hope the caller would hear her. God, it was annoying to be so slow and fat. Instantly she felt her baby kick and mentally apologized.

The doorbell rang once again before Kathie could answer it. When she did, she tilted her head at the blond woman standing in front of her. The woman looked somehow familiar, but she couldn't place her. She was about Buffy's height and had her sister-in-law's coloring, but there was nothing of Buffy's warmth in the woman's features. Kathie wondered if she'd had a hard life, because the woman's eyes were hard and weary. "Yes?" she asked. "Can I help you?"

The woman smiled, and this time it was filled with warmth when she pulled a boy from behind her who had to be around ten. "I hope so," she said, her voice melodic and sophisticated at the same time. "I'm trying to find Liam Sullivan. I tried his last known address, and I was sent here. Do you know him?"

"Liam is my brother," Kathie replied, still not sure what the woman wanted, feeling slightly uneasy. Plus the pain in her back was killing her. Groaning, she put a hand over the aching spot. She loved being pregnant, she couldn't wait to hold her child, but the final trimester certainly was something she could have done without. "We moved out of our old house when we were married," she told the other woman who still hadn't said her name. Yet after the few minutes of their acquaintance Kathie couldn't help to notice her resemblance to Buffy.

A delicate brow rose, "Liam is married?"

"Yes," Kathie nodded, "for about six months now." And why am I telling her this anyway, she thought, angry with herself for talking to this stranger as if she was her best friend.

The blond sighed, one arm going around the boy at her side. Only now did Kathie notice the dark brown eyes of the child. Eyes that were awfully familiar, even though blond hair was lying around his face. "Too bad," the woman shook her head, "But it's still not going to change what I have to tell him." She suddenly held out a hand, "I'm Darla Roberts, by the way."

"Tell him?" Kathie asked, absently shaking Darla's hand, already guessing what was going on. She felt her stomach clench in response. How would this affect Buffy and Angel? She was not blind to her sister-in-law's wish to become pregnant. How would Buffy react if she knew about this?

"Well," the blond smiled once again, her eyes warm on her son, "This is Connor," she said, "Connor, this is your aunt…," Darla smile apologetically at Kathie, "I forgot to ask your name. I remember Liam mentioning a sister, but …"

"Kathryn. My name is Kathryn." No reason to get all cuddly with this woman, Kathie thought. Even though she seemed to love her son, Angel's sister couldn't help the increasing dislike for Darla. It was obvious that the boy had been conceived at a time when Angel had still been in high school, and that the child's mother had never made an attempt to reveal his existence.

"Kathryn," Darla nodded, "Connor, this is your aunt Kathryn," she introduced. The boy looked up shyly, no smile coming to his lips. "This," Darla looked back at Kathie, "is Liam's son. And I think it's long past time he knew." Part 2

Buffy moaned deep in her throat the moment Angel's lips made contact with the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. It was dark in their bedroom - Angel had drawn the curtains - their bed illuminated only by the faint light coming from a white, vanilla-scented, candle on the nightstand, her husband had lit before he had carried her inside. The moment she had seen the room, the newly made bed with the dark blue linens, the candle, her doubts and insecurities had flown right out of the window. She had looked at him, her eyes reflecting all the feelings she saw in his. Adoration, awe, passion, lust, but most of all love. A love so deep, she felt herself drowning in it.

He had the most expressive eyes. You'd think them being so dark it wasn't possible, but they were. And she knew them intimately, knew every fraction of them darkening with the play of feelings they were able to express.

Right now - however - she couldn't see them. They were buried, with the rest of the man they belonged to, somewhere down between her legs, a most talented tongue doing the craziest things to her insides, making them flutter. "Angel," she breathed, trying to hold herself together, not to spiral out of control that easily. He knew her so well now, knew every spot he had to touch, to send her flying into oblivion.

"Hmmm," came his answer, and for a moment his head surfaced from underneath the covers, his orbs incredibly dark, they were almost black. She heard the smile in his voice. "Was there something you wanted?"

"I-," she started to say, but then drew in a sharp breath when his hands that were still somewhere down touched a critical area. "Oh God," she cried, throwing her head back, her body unconsciously arching into him.

"God, you are so beautiful," he said, kissing her throat, then going higher, his lips finding hers. His tongue slowly traced the outline of her mouth, then gently probed for entry which she granted immediately. Their lips fused while his tongue invaded her, for a moment playing with hers, then wandering over her teeth, finding a particularly sensitive spot in the back.

Once again she moaned, but this time the noise couldn't be heard, because it was swallowed by Angel, whose hands came up burying themselves in her hair, pulling her head closer, making their connection even more intense. Buffy moved her arms over his shoulders, circling his neck, meeting his kiss with all the desire she felt for this incredible men who had almost literally pulled down all the walls she'd surrounded herself with after the incident with Parker.

For a moment she felt guilty for still not telling her husband about the connection, but the sensations he was arousing inside of her were too powerful to dwell on heavy thoughts.

The kiss went on and on, and she took and gave, never sure where one began and the other left off. Neither of them wanting to let go, the kiss grew more urgent. She trailed her fingers in the thickness of his hair, loving the familiar texture and the feel of its softness, urging him closer. All problems were put on hold, tonight was the only thing that mattered.

When they finally had to come up for her, his eyes were black in the darkness of the room. "Buffy," he whispered, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbones, then brushing over her brows. "I love you. You."

Completely overcome with emotions, she replied on a barely suppressed sob, "I know, and I'm so sorry for being such an idiot before-"

He didn't let her finish, kissed her again, but sweeter this time, only lightly touching her lips. When he looked at her again, his face was tender, but also serious, "Not an idiot," he said gently, "But I don't want you to get crazy ideas of me only loving you if you can give me a baby. I love you. Just you."

"I know," she repeated. "I know. And I love you. But when the pregnancy test came up negative again …" she trailed off, feeling the familiar sadness settle in once again.

"Stop it," he chided her gently. "Tonight," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "I just want you to feel. To feel me. To feel how much I love you." Puncturing the sentence with a final kiss on her lips, he started to move down on her body, first letting his hands brush over her breasts, the already erect nipples puckering into tight little nubbins.

Buffy hissed between clenched teeth, but when he replaced his hands with his tongue, she heard herself crying out in pleasure, the touch sending a jolt through her system. All her insecurities vanished into nothingness, making them nothing but a man and a woman, deeply in love and committed to each other. It didn't matter anymore that he was younger, or that she was older. Not that she looked old in any way, Buffy thought, but she was also not ignorant enough not to see that her body didn't look the same way it had sixteen years ago when she'd lost her virginity with Parker. But when she felt Angel's mouth wandering down her skin, heard him whispering words, heated with passion, she felt thoroughly beautiful and cherished.

Angel suckled deeply at her nipples, rolling the abandoned one between thumb and forefinger and tried to check the flame that rocketed through him at the low husky cry of pleasure that broke from her. She arched upward to him, her head rolling back as she offered her breasts to him more fully, and he couldn't stop the tremor that swept him.

Buffy clutched at him when he shifted, afraid he would abandon her, that the glorious torment of his mouth on her breast would cease. She didn't want it ever to end, wanted the hot, golden ripples to go on and on. Yet she wanted more, was striving, arching for more, knowing exactly what pleasures she could expect from him.

Her hands slid down from his shoulders, nails digging into his flesh. His head came up at that, and the halting of the sweet drawing motion of his lips at her breasts left her feeling oddly abandoned. With a forlorn little sound Buffy moved, her hands once again going to tangle in the thick dark hair as she urged his mouth back to her nipple. When she saw his eyes darken once again, she felt a sudden feminine power she had almost forgotten she possessed.

Quaking in his effort to control his own body's response at the sight of her, Angel moved over her lowering his head to her breast once more. He took each nipple in turn, trying to concentrate on how sweet she tasted, on the rich, exotic scent of her, more intoxicating than anything he had ever encountered. She was hundred percent woman and so much more in his arms, and he would never understand that she could even think his feelings for her could change.

He tried to ignore the silken feel of the silken skin of her belly against his almost painfully swollen, aching shaft. This was not about him, Angel reminded himself, this was for her. He would never forget the torment and pain in her eyes, the disappointment, the look of not being enough for him. Never, he vowed to himself. He wouldn't allow this look to ever return into her eyes again.

She was melting, turning into some hot, flowing liquid contained only by the boundaries of skin that was tinglingly alive. And then his mouth went lower, began to wander, his tongue tracing a line to her belly button, diving in it, making her arch again, her hands clenching into fists, digging into the sheets. Instantly the liquid turned into a mass of pulsing need, a quivering bundle of heat and flame surrounding a now familiar ache of need that was burning low in her belly.

She heard him growl when his mouth finally found its way into the curls that hid her female centre, his lips grazing it, and she almost lost it there and then, her fingers turning white. "Oh God," she moaned, spreading her legs for him, giving him better access.

"Buffy," she heard him whisper, the name coming from a place deep within him. "Beautiful. So incredibly beautiful." With that his mouth closed over her clit, suckling it.

She had been close to the edge before, but the one touch did it, and with a shout, not able to hold onto herself any longer, she came, ecstasy rolling over her in waves, while she felt his arms surrounding her lower abdomen, holding her close, telling her without words that she was safe. With him.

She opened her eyes the moment she could and met his, found him watching her, a look in his eyes she had never seen before. "Angel?" she asked, her voice rough with passion.

"Have you any idea how beautiful you are when you come?" He moved up on her body once again, "I love you," he told her firmly, kissing her deeply, "So very much. Always."

"Always," she replied, feeling the word vibrate deep in her chest.

"And nothing is ever going to change that. Never." Again he kissed her, looking deeply into her eyes when their lips parted. "Say you believe it."

"I believe it."

Hearing her say it, he jerked his hips forward, joining them with one long, hard stroke, a harsh, guttural cry breaking free from his lips as he buried himself in her, and his arms slipped beneath her body, his hands curling back over her shoulders to brace her for the driving thrust. He pulled back, hating the chill that touched the heated flesh when he withdrew from her body, but needing more than anything to plunge into her once more. Buffy made a small sound of protest, and as he slammed forward again, she rose to meet him, adding her own impetus to his force, and the driving collision sent the breath spinning out of both of them in a mutual gasp of pleasure.

He was careening recklessly now, all restraints shattered, thrusting with a ferocious rhythm that echoed the pulsing, pounding currents of pleasure that were running through both of them. Angel was barely aware of the sounds he made, deep, short cries of pleasure. He didn't care. All he cared for was to show her the depth of his passion, the depth of his love in a way she would never forget, in a way she would never find reason to doubt it again. What he heard were her little cries that were urging him on, letting him plunge into her deeper and deeper.

His grip on her slender shoulders tightened, holding her in place, bracing her to take the full length of his ever more powerful strokes. The sound of their bodies coming together echoed in his ears over the pounding of his blood.

Buffy looked up at him, watched the candlelight dance over his body, over the planes of his face taut with need and pleasure. How could she ever have doubted his love or his passion, she wondered. He was simply beautiful and he was hers. Then he drove into her fiercely once again and she shuddered at the beautiful pressure, the wonderful fullness that had replace her aching for him. She marveled at the way he could feel her so completely, body and soul, stretching her until she knew she could take no more, and yet, she could feel herself clasping at his swollen male flesh.

He slammed his hips forward, grinding flesh against flesh, arching into her, his head thrown back now, as her name ripped from his throat, his face contorted with a pleasure so great, it was almost pain to watch. But it made her feel all woman. And it made her feel powerful. Just the sight of him, and the knowledge that she had evoked all those powerful feelings in him, was enough to send her tumbling over the edge, and she cried out his name as the convulsions overtook her again.

For one split second she felt him freeze, but then another hoarse cry broke from him, and he exploded within her, shudders racking his powerful body as he gave himself to her in boiling, throbbing pulses that seemed to go on and on. The hot, seething pleasure seemed to build on itself, returning to her from him in waves until her body was convulsing in rhythm with his, her muscles rippling in fierce, helpless response. She locked her legs around him, moaning his name over and over, feeling so full of love for him she thought she'd burst with it.

When Angel felt his pulse slowly gradually, he managed to rise his head from his place on her chest, his eyes locking with hers, "I love you," he whispered.

"I know," she replied, her lids already dropping. And this time he was sure he had gotten his point through. With a content sigh he let exhaustion and sleep envelope them.

Part 3

"This is all really - exciting - in a boring sort of way, but can you tell me why we came here?" Studying her newly manicured nails, Cordelia didn't bother to look up when the people around her once again let out ecstatic whoops and hoorays.

"What?" Stuffing another of those disgusting chips into his mouth, Steve munched on it, only glancing at the woman beside him. "This is great … yeah, Bonner, go on, another twenty yards and you've got your touchdown!"

"I really didn't have an idea that spending a nice evening together would include going to some rude sports event I have no clue about," Cordelia muttered, then with an _expression of utter annoyance blew her bangs from her face. The new hairdo was the creation of Dario, the new guy at "Hair & Styles". Her hair was shorter now, and Dario had added a reddish sort of touch, hopefully letting everyone forget about her temporary lapse into blond last year.

"This is Football. The game of all games," Steve looked down at her in surprise. "Do you want to tell me you don't know the rules?"

He said it as if not knowing about Football was a major offence. Now thoroughly annoyed, Cordelia glared at him. "No, I don't." What on earth had driven her to go out with that … that idiot? It was Gunn's fault, anyway, she decided. It was his fault for taking her bitching seriously and dumping her three weeks ago. Quickly she blinked the threatening tears away. She was Cordelia Chase after all. She wouldn't cry over some stupid guy. Even though she loved him with all her heart. Dammit.

"You don't know Football." Steve, six foot three inches high, 180 lbs, blond, suntanned, and now utterly boring, gaped at her. "Are you even real?"

"Quite," she hissed, getting up. "And I would very much like to go home now." God, being dumped by your boyfriend could really make you do desperate things. Like going out with a guy because he looked admittedly nice without checking his IQ first.

His gape turned to a look of horror, "Leave? Now?"

"Gee - I thought I was speaking plain English. Yes. Now." Not caring if he followed her or not, she pushed past other football fans ignoring their angry shouts that she was in their way. When she reached the end of row, she turned only to see Steve still standing at his seat, his face glued to the match on the field. Closing her eyes for a moment, Cordelia took a deep breath, turned and ran smack into a wall of undoubtedly male muscle. "Can't you look where you're going?"

"Where *I* am going?"

Finally looking up, she found herself face to face with a man about her size - not so much male muscle after all - but with the most amazing blue eyes she had ever seen. "You ran right into me," Cordelia accused, but found herself mesmerized by those eyes. Okay, his hair was cute too, and that killer grin …

"I suppose that's a question of perspective. But I won't hold it against you."

And that English accent was even more sexy … "Uhm …" Not quite knowing what to say, she found herself staring at him.

"And what brought you here all by your lonesome?" He asked, once again flashing his killer grin.

Annoyance returning, Cordelia let her gaze dart to Steve for one last time, dismissing him for good, even though his body had been promising, and blew out a long breath, "I made the fault not to check what it meant when a guy invited me to an 'exciting evening with well trained men'," she replied.

"Ah," he grinned knowingly. "Well, can I make as guess and say … it's his loss."

"Thanks," she said grudgingly, but the compliment went down like honey. "You are not interested to … watch?"

"Oh … the game is great," he told her, noticing her raised brows, her assessing gaze with an inward chuckle. "But …," he let his gaze wander over her, "I found something else to entertain myself."

A brilliant smile was his answer. Bingo. It always paid to remember how to impress the ladies. "I was about to go," she said. "Are you busy?"

"Not really," he replied with another flash of his grin.

She nodded at that, but he had no problem seeing how pleased she was, "You could … drive me home if you want. I'm Cordelia by the way."

"William," he introduced himself. "But my friends call me Spike."

*****

Angel gently removed Buffy's arm from his chest, careful not to wake her when he heard the phone ring in the living-room. They had early decided not to have one beside the bed. With a twinkle in her eye Buffy had declared that it would always ring at the most inappropriate of times, and that it was easier ignored if you had to do more than to just reach out.

Chuckling at the memory, Angel walked barefoot over the carpet and picked up the receiver, "Yes."

"It's Katie."

Instantly alarmed, he asked, "What's wrong. Are you okay? It's," he glanced at his watch, "not really that late." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair - he really had forgotten about the time. He chuckled inwardly, but his sister's next words had him turn serious once again.

"I'm fine," she replied, her voice sounding a bit odd. "But … I'm afraid we have a problem here, Angel. A problem that can't wait."

"A problem?" he asked. "What kind of problem?"

"Angel, who is it?" Buffy came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle and kissing him softly on his bare back.

"Katie," he told her, covering one of her hands with his. "So, little sis. Why don't you just hit me with it?"

"I can't."

Getting slightly annoyed with her, Angel let his mood infuse his voice. After all, his sister had interrupted what should have been a night just for his wife and he. "Katie, this-"

"No," she interrupted, "I didn't mean it the way it sounded. Sorry. But … you have to see what I'm talking about. I really can't tell you on the phone. Can you be here in half an hour?"

Once again he looked at his watch, "Katie, we're already in bed-"

"Hey, if something is wrong, we can be there in no time," Buffy interrupted him, placing her cheek against his bare skin, making it tingle in response. God, he didn't want this night to end, didn't want to take care of whatever problem his sister was talking about.

"Alright," he heard himself say, sighing deeply. Replacing the receiver on the cradle, he looked at his wife, "Fine. Let's get dressed, the sooner we take care of it, the sooner we'll be back and can," he smiled, breathed a kiss on her nose, "continue where we left off."

She grinned back at him, "Let's hurry."

*****

Fred sighed when she closed the file and stuffed it back into the drawer. It was already eight o'clock in the evening and she had not the slightest wish to go home.

Home.

For most people it meant a house full of love and laughter, it meant people waiting for you, it meant talking and sharing things. In her case it simply meant a tiny apartment in a bad neighborhood, an impersonal television program to listen to, and a stuffed bear that was looking at her with the same expression for years. Not really something to look forward to.

Rubbing her forehead, she sighed again, then reaching for her purse she looked up when the door to Gunn's office opened and he stepped out into the reception area. "Hey, you going as well?" he asked, giving her a little smile.

She nodded, "Yeah." Putting on a good face for him, for one of the men who had once quite literally saved her life, she forced herself to sound cheerful, even though it sounded false in her ears, "You know how it is. People to meet, friends to entertain."

To her surprise, he winced, "I wish I would." Obviously realising how that sounded, he shook his head, "Sorry, feeling a bit maudlin tonight." Rubbing his forehead in the same way she had before, he reached for his coat, "Can I take you somewhere?"

"No, thanks," Fred gave him a tight smile, "And I lied. There are no people to meet. Nobody is waiting for me. Seems we're both … a bit maudlin, huh? Anyways. I never told you, but I'm really sorry what happened with you and Cordelia."

He shrugged, but she still saw the flash of pain coming and going in his eyes, "This stuff happens. Wouldn't have worked anyway. Not in the long run. We're too different."

"Different like Buffy and Angel?" she asked.

"Yeah … No," he stopped, his coat half on, sighed, "I don't know." Shrugging completely into it, he let a palm glide over his blank head, "Cordy is not like Buffy. There might be differences between she and Angel, but compared to Cordy and I," he sighed again, then chuckled slightly, "She excited me. And I think I … loved her, but we … wouldn't work. Not just because we're from different backgrounds. We're … we want different things in life. I'm content where I am while she…" he trailed off and shook his head.

"Wanted more?" Fred nodded knowingly. "But who wouldn't."

"Don't get me wrong, I understand that she wants all life can offer, but I just can't see myself being nice to people just because they might be helpful for my career, or dress in stuff that doesn't suit me. I can't change what I am. Not even for her."

"And you shouldn't," she agreed, grabbing her own jacket. "Still, I thought you were a nice couple."

"Liar," he grinned at her, seeing right through her act. "You couldn't stand her."

A little embarrassed frown forming on her forehead, she bit her lower lip, "She … frightened me sometimes," she admitted.

"She can be bitchy and has a sharp tongue," he agreed, "But you didn't like her from the start."

"That's not-," Fred started to protest, but stopped when she saw the knowing glint in his eyes, "Okay, okay, I did have my problems with her. She came here and behaved as if the damn office was hers. I've worked here from the start and then she thought she could tell me where to put all the stuff, how to file," she rolled her eyes. "If I had done what she wanted I wouldn't have been able to find a single thing later on." Realizing she was rambling, she stopped with a little grin, "Sorry, I know I'm-"

"A bit passionate?" Gunn grinned at her, "No worries, I won't tell anyone. Maybe your southern temper."

"Southern people are said to be lazy," she protested.

"Not Texans. They are supposed to be hot blooded and have a colt ready when necessary."

She laughed at that, "Maybe I should put one in my purse, just to meet the image."

"Maybe," he laughed as well. "So you're sure you don't need a lift?"

"Well, if you're really not busy…"

"I asked, didn't I?"

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, trying to suppress the little flutter she felt in her stomach. "Yes, you did. And I'd be glad if you drove me home."

*****

Katie already waited for them at the door, kissed her brother on the cheek, then nervously looked at his wife. She and Buffy had become fast friends during the last months, and Katie hated the knowledge that her sister-in-law would be hurt by what news she had for them. "Hey, you two. Come in."

She stepped back and the couple entered the house, looking at her expectantly. "So, what happened?" Buffy asked, removing her jacket.

Obviously uncomfortable, Katie nodded towards the living room, "There is somebody waiting for you, Angel."

Her brother gave her a curious look, "For me?" Handing his own coat to his wife in an almost absentminded gesture, he walked towards the door, not knowing what to expect.

The moment his eyes fell on the woman sitting there, a sleeping boy cradled in her arms, he felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. Not in a million years he would forget that face. "Darla?"

Hearing her husband utter the name of his first lover, Buffy followed him into the living-room, frowning at the woman and the child. "Darla?" she asked as well, but her question was directed at Angel. When he didn't answer, she slightly touched his arm. "Angel?"

He flinched at her touch, but slowly turned his head, then nodded ever to slightly.

She tilted her head, her eyes holding the unasked question.

Angel nodded again, "Yes, the one," he said quietly. "Darla," his voice was louder when he addressed the other woman. "What are you doing here? I never expected to see you again."

"No," gently cradling the child, she laughed slightly, "I suppose you didn't. And if I was honest, I didn't either." She glanced at Buffy, "Sorry, it seems Liam has lost all his manners. I'm Darla Roberts."

"Cut the crap, Darla," Angel's voice was suddenly sharp and both woman flinched. The child in Darla's arms began to stir. But right now, Angel didn't care. He didn't know what this was about, but he had the sinking feeling that it wouldn't be good. He didn't want to spend time with pleasantries. "We had an affair once. You left. That was the end of it."

"I got expelled," she amended. "When they found out I was sleeping with a minor."

"Whatever. It ended," Angel made a slashing gesture with his hand, emphasizing his words. "So, why are you here? After ten years."

"Eleven," she shot back, then laughed again, a little embarrassed, "Seems you left an impression."

"Darla," he was getting impatient with her. "What do you want?"

"What I want?" She laughed, but this time it was harsh and hollow, "I want eternal health, I want youth, and I …," she almost choked on the last word and took a deep breath to hold herself together, "But I'm not going to get it. And because life is what it is, I need to introduce you to someone. It's important, Liam."

"Well, then tell me. "

"This," she pointed at the boy on the sofa who was blinking sleepily. Buffy almost gasped when she saw his eyes. Eyes so much like Angel's it almost hurt to look at them, and before Darla spoke, she already knew what the other woman was going to say, and she felt a sudden coldness she hadn't thought possible after the previous events of the evening.

"This is Connor," Darla went on, smiling at the boy. "He is your son, Liam."

Part 4

"Why don't you sit down, Mr … uh … McDonald." The polite hostess through and through, Mrs. Marshall gave Lindsey a forced smile, before pointing him to the chair in the corner of the library. The room was huge, and filled with books Lindsey was sure, Faith's parents had never touched. You could smell expensive cigar smoke, and the furniture must have cost a fortune, too. "Can I … get you something?" Nervously swiping her hands down her skirt, Mrs. Marshall waited for his answer.

"No, thank you," he replied equally polite. He would be civilised and friendly, Lindsey had decided a long time ago, when Mr. Marshall's secretary had called his office to make the appointment. He had a pretty good idea what this was all about, and even though he didn't have the slightest intention to discuss Faith with her parents, he still had accepted, too curious to hear what they were going to say to him.

"My husband will be with you in a minute," she announced, sitting down at the other side of the small table that separated the huge leather seats. She was obviously uncomfortable with the whole situation and although she tried her best to hide it, it still showed.

She tensed when a voice came from the doorway, "Mr. McDonald." Frederic Marshall stepped into the room, impeccably dressed in a suit, his grey hair groomed with every hair in place. "Good, you are here." He didn't offer a hand to the other man, simply rounded the table, then took a seat beside his wife, who had her hands tightly entwined, her _expression showing distress.

Lindsey, who had learned a lot during his years as a lawyer and who was determined to use this experience to his advantage, leaned slightly forward, "Mr. Marshall. Ever since your - secretary called me, I was curious what this was all about."

"Claire," Mr. Marshall addressed his wife, "Could you pour me a drink."

She scrunched her nose in displeasure, "It's only afternoon, Frederic." But another look of her husband silenced her, and after a moment she got up and did as he wished. Lindsey could see her hands trembling while she tried not to splash anything on the surface of the table that held several bottles and glasses.

Watching his wife return with a double whiskey, Frederic Marshall rubbed his forehead, "So, I hear you are socializing with my daughter these days."

Of course Lindsey knew this was going to be about Faith, but the expression that he was 'socializing' with Faith still made him chuckle. He simply couldn't help it. He thought about their hot nights, their strolls through the park, laughing and talking, their picnics all through the summer. 'Socializing'. Yeah. Sure.

"I see," was all he said, his eyes never leaving Faith's father.

"May I ask you since when this … is going on?" the older man asked, taking the glass from Claire.

"Not that it's any of your business," Lindsey replied, his tone pleasant, "but we've been seeing each other for almost a year now."

Frederic Marshall nodded at that, then took a long sip from his drink. "And how far did it go. Did you fuck her already?"

Gasping in shock, her face drained of all color, Claire exclaimed, "Frederic! I don't want such vulgar language in my house." She sent an apologetic smile in Lindsey's direction, "I want to apologize for my husband, but when he heard about you and Faith-"

Mr. Marshall surged to his feet, "Don't you fucking apologize for me, Claire. This-," he whirled towards Lindsey who stayed seated, not willing to let himself be intimidated by the older man. "This … bastard has seduced our daughter, and I have every right to-" He stopped cold when he heard Lindsey laugh. "What?"

"Sorry," the younger man held up a hand, "Not that this is a laughing matter in any way, but I hardly seduced your daughter. In fact there isn't a lot I could teach her in that department. And if you would've showed any interest in her life you would know how ridiculous this statement is. Faith is a grown up woman. She knows exactly what she wants and I hardly seduced her."

One brow on the other man's face rose, and he was obviously changing tactics. Frederic Marshall was a lot of things, but he hadn't come to make a fortune by being stupid. "You might be a son of a bitch-"

"Frederic!"

Ignoring the shocked outcry of his wife, he went on, "- but I never thought you were stupid. And because I'm still sure of that, I think you have a pretty good idea why I wanted to meet you."

"Money," Lindsey sad flatly, giving up all pretence. "I figured that much. And frankly, Mr. Marshall, I'm not interested."

"You don't even know what kind of money we're talking about," the other man replied.

"As I said," Lindsey's voice was cool, "I'm not interested."

"Careful, young man," Mr. Marshall warned, "You're walking on dangerous territory. We are talking about my daughter. I could make your life very uncomfortable. Never forget what your firm earns just by representing my company."

The lawyer let one of his brows rise, "So now you're threatening me."

"I'm just laying out your … choices," Mr. Marshall said, his eyes cold and sharp, "And I wonder what Faith is to you."

"I could ask you the same question," Lindsey replied. "Your daughter is over eighteen. Her love-life isn't any of your business."

"Maybe not," the older man agreed, "But it's still my business when some low-life tries to use her as a step-ladder for his success. I know where you come from Mr. McDonald. I know all about your parents, your background. My daughter is going to inherit a fortune some day."

Lindsey forced himself not to think about all the neglection Faith had suffered from her parents, the scars she still carried from it, scars that weren't visible, but in the shadows in her eyes, and let a cool smile play around his lips, "So you are accusing me of dating your daughter for the sole reason to get to her money. You know what really stuns me, Mr. Marshall? That you think your daughter doesn't have enough on her own for a man to love her for what she is. Or is money so important to you that nothing besides that counts?"

Mr. Marshall threw the glass in his hand against the wall, rage boiling over. His wife jumped at the explosion. "Don't you dare-"

Lindsey cut him off mid-sentence, surging to his feet, "But I do dare," he hissed. "Because I'm not going to sit here and listen to all this bullshit. You think I'm after Faith's money? Wrong. I love your daughter, but I'm not sure you know the meaning of that word. What really makes me sick is … your daughter is a beautiful, intelligent young woman. Don't you think that would be enough to peak a man's interest. But it shouldn't surprise me. You haven't called your daughter once the last six months. Not that you ever really gave a fuck what she did or felt. So don't try to pull that bullshit on me. Because it doesn't fit."

Turning his head towards Faith's mother, who stared at the two men with open mouthed shock, he gave her an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry this got out of hand. I didn't plan it. Don't bother showing me the way - I'll find the door." With that he turned and left the room, holding his shoulders straight and his head high, wondering how Faith had managed to stay sane in a house that even though it was beautiful was so utterly cold.

*****

"Buffy could you stay with the boy?" Angel turned his head to look at his wife, hating the pain he saw in her eyes, the doubts he could already see forming. He wished he could take her in his arms and tell her there was no reason to worry, but now was not the time. He could only hope she would be able to deal with this. He reached out, touched her arm, "Please?"

She flinched slightly at his touch, but forced herself to smile, "Sure. No problem."

His eyes were hard when they went back to Darla, "And we are going to talk. In the kitchen." Not waiting for her response, he left the room, paused for a moment when he passed his sister at the doorway. "Stay with them, will you." He saw her nod and walked on.

The thought were running wild in his head. The boy was his son. For a moment he had wanted to deny it, but something told him it was true. He and Darla had a child. A son. Connor. A boy of ten years. And she had never told him.

He heard footsteps behind him, and without turning he asked, "You want something to drink?"

"No," Darla replied, hesitating in the doorway. "Your sister already offered us something before."

He nodded, placing his palms on top of the counter for a moment, then took a deep breath before he turned to face her, "So, would you please tell me now why you waited ten years to tell me that I have a son?"

*

"Hey." Buffy forced herself to behave as natural as possible when she approached the boy on the sofa with eyes so much like her husbands. She knew it was ridiculous, but it hurt to look at them. She had always dreamed of a child with eyes like this, but she had imagined to hold it in her arms after hours of labor, not to get it presented at the age of ten.

The boy said nothing, just looked at her, his eyes huge and still a bit sleepy.

"I'm Buffy," she told him, sitting down beside him. "And you are Connor?"

At that he nodded, but eyed her warily, before casting a questioning look at Katie, who - even though she was only little more than a stranger to him, too - he knew at least better than Buffy.

"Buffy is my sister-in-law," Katie explained. "She is my brother's wife." She smiled at Buffy, "He is a little shy, but he's a very smart boy." Now her smile was directed at Connor.

"But …," the boy frowned, "that means you are Liam's wife?"

Buffy nodded, "Yes."

"But my mom said he was my dad," he seemed to think about it, trying to make sense of the confusing situation. "How can my dad be married to you when you're not my mom?"

*

"I'm sorry, Liam-"

"Don't tell me you're sorry," Angel spat, swooshing his hand through the air, "I don't want to hear it. It doesn't change anything, anyway. I only want to know why you never told me." He looked at Darla, and for the first time noticed the fatigue in her eyes and features and that she looked a lot older than she actually was. She had to be around Buffy's age, but you could have guessed her for mid-forties.

"But I am," she insisted. Running her hand through her shoulder-length blond hair, she finally stepped into to the kitchen. "As for not telling you. Things got very complicated when they found out about us. The dean was after me, and … your father-"

That brought Angel's head up with a snap, "My father?"

"He came onto me with murder in his eyes," she told him. "I had to call the police to get rid of him. He was pretty drunk."

"Figures," he laughed humorlessly. "He was drunk most of the time."

"I remember," she smiled slightly, then instantly got serious. "I still remember that bruise on your left temple-"

"Can we get back to the matter at hand," he interrupted her impatiently, not wiling to let himself be distracted by unpleasant memories of his father using him as a punching bag. "So things got complicated…"

"Yeah," she nodded, looked at the fridge, "Do you think I could have a coke or something cold?" He went to get it for her, while she continued, "And I was already in Florida when I noticed I was pregnant. I even thought about telling you, but then …" she looked at him when he put the can and a glass in front of her, "you were only sixteen, Liam. Have you any idea what you would've done with a baby?"

"I took care of my sister soon enough," he retorted, "I still had a right to know."

"Yes," she agreed, "You are right. But it's done and I can't change it. I even thought about getting … you know … rid of it. But I simply couldn't do it. So I kept the baby and had him. He was the most precious little boy and we did … not really well, but we managed."

Angel watched her while she talked and couldn't help but notice the way she talked about Connor, the little smile that came up on her lips at mentioning him. There was no doubt, she loved her child. The more curious he got why she had contacted him now. "Do you need money?"

She looked startled for a moment, then shook her head, "I wish it was that easy."

"Well, what is it then? You obviously had a reason to show up with your… our son tonight." He ignored when she smiled at his correction, and asked, "Maybe now would be a good time to tell me why?"

*

Buffy looked at the boy for a long moment, contemplating how to explain it to him, when he tilted his head, "You know," he said, "You kinda look like her."

Startled she laughed, "Like who?"

"Like my mom. You're both blondes."

Accurate, the little kid, Katie thought from the doorway. Angel certainly stray far from type. They were also both older than he. "But they still look different."

Connor scrunched his nose, "Yeah," he agreed, "Your eyes are … kind of green." He looked at Buffy, who still seemed surprised by his comments.

"Yes," she said finally, "Yes, they are green. Sometimes they are brown, too."

He seemed to consider it, then nodded, "Like Sarah. She is my friend. We're in fourth grade together. She said her eyes are hazel. Pretty stupid expression, don't you think."

Buffy had to smile at that. As much as she still hurt by looking at him, he was simply adorable. He was smart, as Katie has remarked before, and not only his eyes were like Angel's. She recognized the smile as well. "How old are you, Connor?"

"Ten," he replied instantly. "I was ten two months ago. How old are you?"

Once again surprised, the blonde grinned, "I'm thirty-five."

"My mom's thirty-seven," he informed her. "But she's …," he gulped, a sudden moisture coming to his eyes, "She's sick. She's not gonna get any older. That's why we came here."

*

Angel felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach, and he found himself staring at Darla, who was looking at him with a quiet acceptance in her eyes, he could only admire. Finally finding his voice, he asked hoarsely, "And this is certain?"

She nodded, sipping from her soft-drink. She hadn't bothered pouring it into the glass, and drank it right from the can, "I wish I wasn't, but the tests are all the same. There's no way around it. I know I look good now, but … believe me, it's all appearances. I feel like shit. According to my doctors there is nothing we can do."

He shook his head as if to deny the terrible truth, then ran a hand through his hair, "And that's the reason you came. Because you-," he stopped, feeling to choked up to say it out loud."

A sad little smile played around her mouth when she nodded, "Yes, that's why I came. I'm going to die, Liam. And I want you to raise our son."

Part 5

"This is a nice place."

Gunn looked up from his drink and into the face of the girl he'd once found on the doorsteps on their agency. She seemed different tonight, somehow not like the Fred he used to know anymore. There was a light around her - or was it maybe the flickering candle on their table - that made her look older. More like a woman. A woman, he didn't seem able to look away from.

Picking up his glass, he let the amber liquid swirl around, "Yeah," he nodded, "Angel and I used to come here. Of course after he and Buffy got together things changed."

"They are so happy together," Fred said with a dreamy smile on her face. "When I first saw her I never thought it could work. Not," she hurried to add, "because of the age difference. I never thought that was a problem. But because …they were different. Angel is … well, Angel. And Buffy was so sophisticated. With her job and home and all. God, I almost freaked when I saw her apartment for the first time. I never saw so many expensive paintings before - besides in a museum, that is."

"Her stepfather was an artist," Gunn explained. "He gave the paintings to her. Angel paints, too."

Surprise had Fred look up, "He does? He never-"

"I know," Gunn grinned. "He doesn't like people to know. But he's really talented. When we were still kids he was drawing our first grade teacher, Mrs. Mannings. With nothing on."

Fred burst out laughing. "And did they find out?"

"No," he shook his head, "Fortunately not. But we had great fun." He laughed in remembrance, "God, I can't believe how long ago all this stuff happened. Times were really bad then. His father was a drunk and was hitting him and Katie. And my parents - well, let's not go there. But together we had some good days. I always thought he would go to some art academy. But then, artists never make a lot of money, at least not in the beginning. And he had to take care of his sister. But she was the smartest girl. Got only straight As in high school and college."

"I like her a lot," Fred stated, sipping from her white wine. She was starting to feel relaxed. It was a long time that she'd gone out for a drink with a friend. And she felt more than comfortable in Gunn's presence.

"Yeah," he agreed. "She's like my sister. When we were little kids she was always following us around. Annoying brat." He laughed again, thought about the toddler trying to hang onto them. He also remembered how annoyed they had been to have a little girl following them around.

"You want kids of your own one day?" Fred asked out of the blue, surprising him.

"What brought that on?"

She shrugged, "I don't know. Maybe the expression in your eyes when you were talking about Katie as a toddler. It was," she smiled, "soft, somehow."

Gunn almost choked on his drink, "Soft?" He groaned, "Please don't ever repeat that. Do you have any idea what that does to my image?"

She giggled, "Your image as a big, soft marsh-mallow?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on," Fred shook her head, laughing now, "Everyone knows that your tough macho-image is nothing but fake. You could never resist a damsel in distress or the big eyes of a little child."

"Fucking kill me now," he groaned again.

Without thinking she reached out, covering his hand with hers. "Hey, that's not bad. Women like softies."

His head came up, a laughter starting in his eyes, but it died the instant their gazes met. Fred's hand was still resting on his, and Gunn felt the touch creeping up his arm, infusing his whole body. It was as if someone had kicked him in the gut and all air had left his lungs. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Hey, guys, can I get you one more?"

Both almost jumped on their seats and they snatched their hands away at the unexpected question. Looking up, Gunn saw Maggie, one of the waitresses standing there, with a smile on her face. Trying to find his voice, he cleared his throat, "I … uh … You want anything?" he asked Fred but kept his gaze on Maggie.

"N-no," Fred replied, her voice as shaky as he felt. What the hell was wrong with him? He knew Fred for years. She had always been like a little sister. And now he was suddenly feeling - Nothing! He was feelings absolutely nothing. It had to be his break-up with Cordy that had gotten to him. Nonsense. Fred was Fred. Good old Fred. Although her eyes had looked - God, stop it, he ordered himself.

Realizing that Maggie was still waiting, he said, "Bring me another whiskey." When she was about to turn away, he called her again, "Make that a beer." He saw her nod and leaned back in his chair. He had just remembered that he still had to drive Fred home. They would be in the same car for several minutes. In closed quarters. Only a clear head could help him through this. And maybe after a good night's sleep he would find a way to get his thoughts back in order.

*****

Fumbling the key into the lock, Lindsey angrily pushed the door open and entered his apartment. Slamming it closed behind him, he threw his briefcase into the next corner and his duster on the chair. He was still livid from his meeting with Frederic Marshall. Although he had managed to keep up a strong faηade in front of Faith's father, the insults had still pierced deeply, reminding him of the days when the good citizens of the small village in Louisiana he'd grown up in, treated him like white trash, because his father couldn't read and his parents were working their living on a tiny farm.

He'd come a long way from there, had managed to step out of the shadows of his childhood, had gained a scholarship, had gone to law school, and he now worked for one of the best law firms in the city, but for snobs like Frederic Marshall it still meant nothing. The only thing people like him cared for was pedigree. Damn him. Damn them all to hell. The fucker actually thought Lindsey was not good enough for his high class daughter. God, he wanted to hurt him. Bad.

"Hey."

He whirled around when he heard her sultry voice coming from the living-room. She was sitting on one of his favorite leather chairs, clad only in black, lacy underwear, holding a glass of red wine in her hand, her black pumps still on her feet. For the second time tonight he felt as if he had been punched in the gut. But this time the experience was a lot nicer. Yet, he was still too angry to react the way she might have expected it. "What are you doing here?"

Clearly taken aback by the sharpness in his voice, she set the glass down, "You gave me a key, remember?"

He let out a long breath, "Yeah. Yeah, I remember." Drawing air into his lungs, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to find a new focus, trying to let go of his anger, "Look. I appreciate you coming here tonight. And you look - really hot. But it's the wrong timing. I just had a very - unpleasant meeting - with a client." No way he would tell her what her father had tried to do. It would hurt her far too much.

"Oh," one of her brows came up, "Well," her voice became low and seductive, "Maybe I could make it better-," she licked her lips in a perfect invitation, "somehow."

Lindsey felt his groin respond instantly when she slowly walked over to him, her hips swaying seductively, her lacy underwear not really hiding anything. But it still was the wrong timing. "Faith. Don't."

She stopped and he could see the hurt in her eyes, but she covered it quickly. She took a deep breath, then shrugged and reached for her dress, "Hey," she said, her voice unnaturally high with forced cheerfulness, "That's no biggie. I'm just going to leave and you can pretend I never came. How about you call me - if you are in the mood." For a moment she struggled with her zipper, but she didn't ask him to help, then she grabbed her purse, and walked past him.

He watched her back for a moment, before he went after her. That was exactly what the old bastard had tried to do, and no way Lindsey was going to let him ruin what they had. "Faith," he called, relieved when she stopped, "Please. Don't go."

She stood there for a moment, before she turned back to him. He was shocked to see a tear run down her cheek.

"God," he was in front of her in a flash, and wrapped his arms around her, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I took my mood out on you." He thought about it for a moment and then decided that not telling the truth could hurt, too. "I saw your father today."

He felt her inhaling sharply, and slightly pulled back so that he could look at her. "My father?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "He - had his secretary call me to make an appointment. I won't give you the details, but he offered money in exchange for you."

All color drained from her face, and for a moment Lindsey thought she was going to faint. She gained control after a moment, but he could still feel her sag against him. "Oh God," she breathed.

"I'm sorry," he repeated his words from before. "I was so angry when I left."

Slowly she looked up at him, "What did you do?"

He shrugged, a little bit uncomfortable now. They had never talked about their feelings. Lindsey wasn't sure why. Maybe because there had never been the right moment, but right now it didn't really matter. "I told him he could go to Hell."

That brought him a laugh from her. It was still a bit shaky, but it was a laugh nevertheless. "I suppose he wasn't expecting that."

"You could say that," he grinned at her.

"And my mother?"

"She … stood there. I think she was pretty upset. But she never said a word." He paused for a moment, then amended, "Well, besides his name, that is."

"Yeah, that's Claire Marshall for you," she replied, defeat in her voice. "A lady through and through. She would never, ever go against him in public. And I doubt she ever did it in private either."

"I'm sorry," he said once again.

"It's not your fault. They are what they are. They will never change. God, I can't believe my father tried something like that."

"Hey," he brushed a tear away with his thumb, "What do you think, maybe you could pour me a glass of that wine." He leaned forward, kissed her lightly on the neck.

"And then … I could find a way to appreciate that new … lingerie you're wearing."

"Hmmm," she purred, trying to push the hurt away, trying to concentrate on the sensations he was making her feel.

"Good," he kissed her - hard - on the mouth. "See you in a minute." With that he turned and disappeared in his bedroom, suddenly feeling a lot better.

*****

The silence in the car was almost deafening on the way home from the hotel where they'd dropped off Darla and Connor. Angel kept staring at the road ahead while Buffy was alternately chewing on her lower lip, wringing her hands, or trying to come to terms with the wild images of Darla and Angel making hot, passionate love in the locker room. Not that she knew if they had even done it in the locker room. But the images still kept coming and she had no defences against them.

Her mind was still in turmoil from the events of the evening. First the negative pregnancy test, then Angel's assurance of his love, emphasised by the way he had made love to her, and finally Katie's phone-call. God, a roller-coaster ride was nothing compared to this.

Angel had a child. He had a son. A ten year old boy, all flesh and blood. With his eyes, and his smile, and a mother who was going to die before the year was over. And Connor still held his head up, still tried to be strong and even though Buffy resented Darla with her last breath, she also knew that it was the woman who had raised the boy into what he was now. And for that she could only admire Angel's former lover.

When the car came to a stop at a red light, she couldn't stand the silence any longer and said, "He - looks very much like you."

His head almost audibly snapped around, and for a moment he stared at her, and then as if letting all the air out of a balloon, he deflated right before her eyes. Propping his hands on the staring wheel, Angel closed his eyes and leaned back against the head-rest. "God," he groaned. "What the hell are we going to do?"

The 'we' helped a little, and Buffy drew strength from it, "We are going to do what she wants us to," she said simply, suddenly knowing that was the only thing they could do. Connor was a ten year old boy who had nobody left in this world besides his father. His mother had no living relatives.

Angel almost jumped when a horn blared behind him. Seeing that the light had gone green, he drove on. "He doesn't even know me. He doesn't know us. How could she do it? How could she never tell me?"

"I'm not saying she was right," Buffy said carefully, "But I can understand that she didn't want to burden you with a child. You were - after all - only sixteen. And she was ten years your senior. What would you have done? Married her?"

She saw him frown, "No," he replied after a moment. "Probably not. But I would have tried to be part of our child's life."

"But you had Katie to take care of. And you barely managed to get you two through. There was no way you could've taken care of a baby, Angel."

"Why are you defending her?" he asked bitingly.

Buffy understood that he was angry. Hell, she was angry, too. She had seen the pain in her husband's eyes at learning he had a child, a child he had never known about. But she could still understand where Darla was coming from. "I am not defending her," she said very gently, hoping he would believe her. "I'm just saying that I understand what she is going through. And maybe she was confused then. She was a teacher, right? And had an affair with a minor. With one of her pupils. She gets expelled. And then finds out she is pregnant. That must have been a pretty big shock for her."

And why the Hell am I even trying to understand her, Buffy asked herself inwardly. There is no reason why I should feel bad for her, or feel for her at all, for that matter. She came into our lives and turned them upside down. I have every right to hate her. But somehow, there was no way she could hate Darla. As much as she wished she could.

Maybe it was the little boy with Angel's eyes. A boy she had so hoped to give Angel one day. But maybe it was fate that Connor had come into their lives. Maybe he was meant to be with them.

A part of her still resented the fact that another woman had given Angel his first child, but another part also felt relief. Connor was Angel's son. His son. Buffy still had hope, but if she wouldn't be able to conceive he at least had a child. It was taking a lot of pressure from her, she had not even realized she'd been carrying around.

"I suppose," Angel's voice interrupted her thoughts, "you are right. And I," he sighed, "shouldn't blame her. I mean, she did what she thought best. And right now - with all the shit going on in her life - the last thing she needs is us blaming her. She should have our support. And Connor is going to need us."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, reaching over for his hand. "I love you," she said softly.

He took her hand and kissed its palm. "I know," he told her. "I love you, too."

*****

Darla groaned when the phone in her room rang half an hour after she'd gone to bed. She was tired and beat from the events of the evening and wanted nothing but sleep. Plus she'd taken the her pain medication ten minutes ago and it was making her sleepy. "Yeah," she said groggily.

"Darla."

Drawing a sharp breath she was instantly wide awake, all effects of the medication gone. "What the hell do you want? And how did you know where to find me?"

"Baby," the voice at the other end of the line sounded amused. "You should never try to become an agent. You would fail miserably. It was ridiculously easy to track you down. One smile for the nice lady at the airline desk and I knew where you went."

Tightening her grip on the receiver, Darla tried to keep the fear that had settled in every cell of her body, from her voice, "So, now that you found me, what do you want?"

"You know what I want, baby. What I always wanted. I want the boy."

"You are not going to get him. Not as long as I'm alive," she warned, glad she was sounding firm and in control.

"From what I hear that's something that's going to change soon."

"God, you are a bastard," she replied.

"Thanks for the compliment. Once again, I want the boy. And I'm going to get him."

"No," now Darla didn't care anymore that her voice was shaking. "Never."

"Darla," all amusement was suddenly gone from the voice, "This has gone on long enough. The fun is over now. I want my son. And I want him now."

Part 6

"I need to see him."

Fred looked up from the computer screen only to come face to face with Cordelia Chase, dressed in wide green trousers and a short blue tee-shirt that left her belly button open for anyone to see. On other women her age it might have looked ridiculous. On Cordelia it looked simply hot. Fred felt herself sighing inwardly. The last evening with Gunn had been fun, and she'd had a hard time falling asleep feeling herself tingling all over, but how could she ever compete with that! Gunn might think he and Cordelia were over, but Fred had a feeling that it was far from it.

"Gunn has a client in his office," she explained the impatient woman who was tapping the ground with her foot.

Cordelia let out an exaggerated breath and rolled her eyes, "I have work, too. In fact, I took the morning off just to talk to him, and I'm sure Buffy won't be happy when she finds out." She gave Fred a quick grin, "I never told her I was taking the morning off, you know."

The other woman giggled at that. Sometimes - at very rare moments - she almost liked Cordelia.

"Can't you get him to hurry up. This is really important."

And sometimes she didn't. Which, thinking about it, was most of the time. "I'm sorry," Fred said slowly, "But I'm sure they will be done soon. It's nothing complicated. Just a family matter."

"You mean she thinks her husband is cheating on her," Cordelia said knowingly. When she saw the other woman raise a brow, she added, "I've been with him for a while. A smart girl picks up one or two things."

"Uh-huh," was all Fred replied. She was trying to think what to say next, how to entertain Gunn's ex, when the door opened.

"Thank you Mrs. Waverly, for trusting us with your problem. We'll try to bring you results soon," Gunn said to a woman in her forties. She was tall and elegant, held her shoulders and neck stiff. There was no doubt that she suspected her husband was cheating on her. That forced calm was a dead give-away.

"I'll be waiting for your call," Mrs. Waverly gave Gunn a long look, then turned and left the office without bothering to say another word.

Having learned ages ago that it was all about attitude, Cordelia raised a brow, "I won't take too much of your time, seeing that you just took on one of your exciting cases," she started, walking towards his office without waiting for an invitation, "And I suppose more are waiting for you, but this can't wait either."

Gunn shot Fred a questioning look over her head, but the young secretary simply shrugged. So he took a deep breath and followed his ex-girlfriend inside, watching her making a show of sitting down, and draping one of her long, extremely well shaped legs - thanks to work outs with Guillaume twice a week - over the other. Fortunately Gunn had gained a lot of experience with Cordelia over the past ten months not to let himself be thrown by her display. Still, he couldn't help his groin tighten at the sight.

Trying to ignore his instant reaction, he sat down across of her behind his desk, forcing his face to show nothing but schooled indifference. "And what can I do to you? I thought all was said between us."

"So did I," she replied, with a regal tilt of her head, trying not to let him see how much she was affected being so close to him again. She had to force herself not to drown in those dark eyes, she knew only too well, not to think about all the hours they'd spent together, all the fun they'd had. "And I wouldn't have bothered you with this, if …," she paused and thought about a way to approach the subject, then decided for the simple truth. "The thing is … I'm not sure yet, but I could be pregnant."

*****

Angel paused after climbing from his car and shutting the door. Propping one hand against it, he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. He was standing in front of Darla's hotel. He'd come here to talk to her, to get some more answers he felt he was entitled to. Even though he had no idea what he was going to ask.

God, how could life get so complicated in the blink of an eye? He'd been making passionate love to his wife one moment, only to face something completely unexpected the next. Something he still had not the slightest idea how to deal with.

When Katie had called the previous night, he'd been certain they would deal with whatever the problem was, then return home and continue where they had left off. But instead of making love once again, they'd been just holding each other. But taking everything that had happened into account he should probably be happy that Buffy was behaving so rationally where Darla and Connor were concerned. Angel wondered if other women could take something like that so well. True Buffy was a strong and mature woman, but especially with her problems of not getting pregnant so far, he could only guess what seeing his child with another woman was doing to her. The worst thing was, there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it. Connor was a fact. And he was going to stay one, if he wanted or not.

Finally opening his eyes again, Angel pushed himself off of the car and slowly walked towards the entrance of the middle-class hotel Darla and her son - their son - were staying. When he entered the lobby the receptionist, a guy in his twenties, not much younger than Angel, gave him a schooled smile. "Sir, can I help you?"

Angel stopped at his counter, and returned the smile, "Yes. Can you give me Miss Roberts room number?"

The man looked at him for a moment, before he opened a registration book. "Miss Roberts …hmmm," he shook his head, "sorry, Sir, but there isn't any Miss Roberts staying here."

A frown appeared on Angel's forehead, "But that's not possible. I left her off here last night. She said she was staying here. She is," he held out, "about five-four, blonde, and there's a boy staying with her. He's ten."

At the mention of the child, the man's face lit up, "Oh, you mean Connor. Yeah, he's staying here. Great kid. But his mother's name is Gardiner, not Roberts."

The frown deepened. What the hell did that mean? Darla had used a false name? Something clearly wasn't right here. "Well, anyway," he said after a moment, "I need to talk to her. Is she in?"

"She hasn't been down yet. And I haven't seen the boy either, so I suppose it's a safe bet. And you are?"

"The boy's father," Angel growled, getting annoyed with the other man who was starting to behave as if Connor was his. "So would you give me the room number already?"

*

"Hello, Miss Gardiner. Or should I say Mrs?"

Darla stepped back from the door, not really surprised to find Liam there. Somehow she had expected him to show up, to want answers for all the things they had not talked about last night. She had not seen him for eleven years, but she could still remember the bright young man with eyes that missed nothing.

"Hello, Liam," she greeted him with a small smile. "Why don't you come in?"

He nodded, then entered the room, taking in the slightly shabby furniture, the unmade bed. "Where is Connor?"

"In the bathroom," she replied. "He likes to take a long bath now and then. And we … well, we didn't have a tub where we stayed before. Can I get you something? I could ask-"

"No," Angel shook his head, "Thanks. I'm fine. But I … I want to-"

"Talk, I know," she interrupted him. "And I answer whatever questions you have. I know this has to be difficult for you." She paused for a moment, then added, "And for your wife. She seems very nice. Connor likes her a lot."

Ignoring her comment about Buffy, he walked over to the window, overlooking the parking space, "What does he think about all this?" he wanted to know.

"Connor?" Darla sat down on the single chair near the door that led into the bathroom. "It's hard for him. But he's been a great help. At the beginning when I found the lump in my breast, I still thought it would end well. I mean, breast cancer - doesn't sound too bad. A lot of woman have it, and a lot survive. More and more these days. And at first it didn't seem too bad. I had surgery, then chemotherapy. For two years everything seemed fine." She shook her head.

"What happened?" He turned around and looked at her. She seemed very small and fragile, sitting there. Nothing like the young, vibrant woman he remembered. In the light of day her skin was had a yellowish colour and was almost translucent.

She shrugged, "Well, who knows. Cancer is unpredictable. In my case it suddenly exploded. I woke up one morning with back aches I had never known before. When it didn't go away after a week, I went for a check out and they x-rayed." She gave him a long, sad look. "My whole column is full of metastases. And there are more. In my liver. My spleen. Everywhere. Even in my lungs. They wanted to do chemotherapy, but I refused."

Feeling unsettled, Angel rubbed his palms on his thighs, "Why?"

"Because they told me it could only buy me some time. Two, three months max. But I'd be miserable. So I said no. I'm on strong painkillers now, so it's not too bad. And they will start with morphine later on. I won't be in too much pain."

Swallowing hard, he turned back and stared out of the window, "And Connor knows all this?"

"Yes," she nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "I thought it was better to let him know. The doctors agreed. Children always pick up their parents' moods, so it would be more disturbing to try and hide it. Plus he knows me very well. He can see I lost a lot of weight lately."

"Why do you call yourself Gardiner?"

"That's my name," she said simply. "I was married for three years. It seems a lifetime ago."

"What happened?" He turned back to her once again. Only now he realized that her blouse was hanging loosely on her much too thin frame. Somehow it must have slipped him before.

"What always happens. We didn't match. He seemed perfect at first. He loved Connor. Treated him like his son. But then I found lipstick on his shirt. Dark cherry. A color I never use. Later there was perfume I could smell. It went on like that and finally I had enough. End of story." She laughed unhappily, stood up and opened the door to the bathroom, "Connor, you should come out now. It's enough. If you stay in much longer you'll lose all your skin."

A giggle came from the inside and Angel felt suddenly raw at the sound. This was his son. And he was going to lose the mother he obviously adored. Rubbing his hands over his face, he took a deep breath, "Would you," he started, then stopped when Darla looked at him. "Could I go in?"

The first genuine smile of this morning appeared on her face, "You know what you're getting yourself into, right? It's all wet in there."

Not able to return the smile, Angel simply nodded, "I don't mind."

"Connor, are you okay if Liam comes in?" Darla asked.

Silence for a moment, then, "Sure." But there was a little tremor in the child's voice.

Angel's legs felt like rubber when he slowly entered the bathroom, and his heart beat like crazy when he saw the boy sitting in the tub, in the middle of bubbles. "Hey, Connor," he said, trying a smile, but failing miserably.

"Hi," the child replied, swallowing once, twice, before adding, "Dad."

*****

"Pre- pregnant." Gunn couldn't remember the last time he had felt like this. Maybe when Tony Mulligan had ripped into him in first grade, because he was a black kid, and Tony's father was a fucking fascist. Right before Angel had come to his aid and nailed Tony to the ground. As a result all three boys had been forced to clean up the courtyard of their school that afternoon. Afterwards they'd become the best of friends, even though Tony's father hated black people. But because Tony didn't like his father very much either, it wasn't really a problem. So, all in all, the story had played out pretty well in the end. Something Gunn wasn't sure was about to happen with this little problem.

"As I said, I'm not sure yet, but it's a definite possibility," Cordelia told him, obviously unfazed by the prospect of having a baby.

Or maybe she… He felt suddenly cold. "Do you want it? I mean, the baby. Do you want to have it?" With Cordelia you could never know. Things, opinions, sometimes changed so fast with her. On Sunday she might prefer blue, while on Monday suddenly grey could be her favourite color.

Studying her nails for a moment before she looked up, she bit her lower lip, something he had never seen her do before. "I … Do you want it?"

"Frankly? I'm still trying to get used to the idea in the first place. Right now my mind can't progress anything past that, I'm afraid," he told her honestly. It was nothing but the truth. Three weeks ago he had ended their relationship, finally certain that it could never work with them. Even though he had admitted to himself that he still had feelings for her, he had been sure it was over. Once and for all. And now she was sitting in his office, looking as beautiful as ever, telling him that she might have his baby.

"Since when do you know?" he asked, not sure if this was really important, but it was still better than just staring at each other, trying to find a way to get over the silence.

"I … I felt sick last Thursday," she said, rubbing her forehead, something she only did when she was really feeling distressed. "I didn't think anything about it. I mean I ate tuna the night before, and I thought maybe it hadn't been fresh, even though…," she trailed off, sighed, "Anyways. Then it happened again on Saturday. And this morning. So I went to the pharmacy and bought one of these home pregnancy kits."

Feeling his heart slam in his chest, Gunn leaned slightly forward, "And?"

She closed her eyes, then let out an embarrassed little laugh. "I," she put her purse on his desk , "I wasn't brave enough to look."

Not sure he had been understanding her correctly, he narrowed his eyes, "What?"

Instantly annoyed, she went into defense mode, "I was scared, okay" she said, "I took it this morning, but I don't know what it says."

"I see," Gunn drew his lower lip into his mouth for a moment, before continuing, "And where is it now."

She pointed at the purse, "In there."

"Are you going to look at it?"

Swallowing hard, she looked at him, "Do you want me to?"

"God dammit, Cordelia," Gunn exploded without warning. "You barge in here and tell me you might be pregnant. And then you're carrying it around, but you haven't even looked at it. Of course I want you to. So get the fucking stick out of your purse and tell me what it says. Now."

"Alright, alright, no need to get worked up like that," she told him, opening her purse and rummaging around to find the stick she'd put inside a tissue. Finally she found what she was looking for and presented the object to him. "Here. You can look. It's your fault anyway."

Feeling ready to strangle her, he grabbed the stick from her. "Give it to me. And why the Hell is it my fault?"

"I told you I had to get off the pill, if you would kindly remember. And you still didn't have the time to put on a condom that night."

"Yeah, sure," he scoffed, "blame it on me. If I remember correctly, there was a certain woman who couldn't wait that …," he trailed off when he had finally managed to unwrap the pregnancy kit, and looked at it. "Tell me, what color is it supposed to show when it's positive."

"Blue," she replied, once again biting her lower lip, "It's supposed to be blue."

Feeling as if his legs might give out any moment, Gunn let himself fall into his chair, "I see," was all he said.

"What?" she cried, reaching for the kit, pulling it from his suddenly shaky hand, only to see her own starting to tremble uncontrollably the next moment.

Carefully setting the kit down on the desk, she raised her head and looked into a pair of almost black eyes. "I suppose that's it then, - Daddy."

Part 7

"Good Morning, honey."

Buffy looked up from the file on her desk, "Mom?" She stared at Joyce who had just entered her office.

"I knocked," her mother gave her a smile, "but your secretary wasn't out there. I'd have asked if you were free otherwise."

"She took the morning off," the younger woman replied almost absentmindedly. She had been staring at the same file for an hour, her mind with her husband and a certain ten year old boy instead of her work. Seeing her mother at ten o'clock in the morning on top of all this was a little hard to process. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you never showed up for our dinner last night, and when I couldn't reach you I thought I'd stop by this morning."

Buffy stared at Joyce for a moment, then pinched the bridge of her nose, "Oh God, mom," she shook her head, sighed, "I forgot. I am so sorry. But something came up last night. Damn. Did you wait the whole evening?" Guilt was flooding her. She saw images of her mother alone and waiting for her daughter to show up. Double damn.

"Sort of," her mother looked a little uncomfortable for a moment, before she went on, "Well, not really. To tell you the truth, I wasn't all by myself."

"The thing is…" Buffy began, when her mother's words sunk in, "You weren't?" Now images of her mother making out with a man who was not her father or stepfather started to invade her mind. At the same time she thought of Angel and his supposed meeting with Darla and Connor this morning. How was it going, she wondered? Was he alright? She had wanted to go with him, but there were urgent deadlines she had to take care of. Feeling a headache beginning at her temples, Buffy rubbed them with her index fingers.

A faint blush crept up her mother's cheeks, making her instantly suspicious. "The whole reason for dinner together was … uhm ... for you to meet Brian."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Brian?" Not once since Giles' death had Joyce even mentioned another man. And now he was Brian already? Not Mr. X or Mr. B ... but Brian.

"You'll like him a lot, Buffy," Joyce hurried to tell her. "He's about my age. A theatre producer. Very sophisticated. And …" the blush intensified, "very good looking."

"God, Mom," the younger woman shook her head, "I, I don't know what to say. At least I can bury my guilt now. I suppose you had a nice time all on your twosome." It came out more bitingly than she'd intended, and Buffy winced instantly. "Sorry, didn't mean it the way it sounded. Mom, I'm glad you found someone. It's just, it's hard for me to imagine you with someone other than Giles."

"I know," her mother reached out and covered her hand, "Believe me. It's hard for me, too. Brian was pretty stubborn just to get me to go out with him. I refused him … oh … about a hundred times before I said yes. But now I'm glad I finally agreed to go with him. He is a wonderful man. Thoughtful. Intelligent. Even romantic. He brought me a single red rose last night. Do you have any idea how long ago it was that a man did something like that for me?"

Buffy couldn't help it, she had to smile at the dreamy look in her mother's eyes. "So he is perfect, huh?" she said, leaning back. She felt almost relaxed all of sudden, talking about other people's relationships for a change. "Is he widowed?"

"No," Joyce shook her head, "Divorced. Has three kids. They're all grown up, like you. Two are married. One son is gay. But Brian doesn't seem to mind, which only made me like him more."

Her daughter raised a brow, "Only like?"

Joyce laughed, "Buffy, I've only known him for three months. It's a little soon to think about … you know."

Buffy shrugged, "I don't know. With Angel … I think I loved him right from the start." She sighed, smiling slightly to herself, but the smile faded when darker thoughts intruded once again.

"Is something wrong?"

And unfortunately, ever since Buffy's breakdown in front of Angel and her mother about a year ago, Joyce had become very perceptive of her daughter's moods. But maybe it was just as well. Daughter and mother had become very close the past months and maybe Joyce was the right person to confide in. "Last night Katie called us. We went there only to find out that one of Angel's ex-lovers was waiting for him." She looked at her mother, before she added, "With her son. Angel's son."

Instant shock registered on Joyce's face. "His son? Oh, honey."

"Yeah, I was pretty shocked, too. I mean it doesn't happen every day that you suddenly find yourself the father of a ten-year old."

"Ten years?" Joyce frowned, "But that would mean-"

"Angel was sixteen when it happened. She was his first. She's ten years his senior." Buffy laughed unhappily, "Seems he had a thing for older women all along. She's even a blonde." Instantly regretting the way it had sounded, she shook her head, "I'm sorry. Angel was completely taken by surprise. I mean, sure, he remembered Darla - that's the woman - but she never told him. Never said a word about the boy." She paused, thought about it for a moment, "Which is pretty odd actually. Because - thinking about it - Darla doesn't seem like a woman who would step back and leave a man she wants to another woman."

The two women looked at each other, both with questions in their eyes.

*****

"So you like dogs, huh?"

Connor looked up from the leaf he'd been shuffling around on the ground, and shrugged, "Yeah." He and his dad - he still had to get used to this - were sitting on a bench three blocks from the hotel, in a small park. The leaves were already falling in the slightly chilly air of the autumn, showing pretty colors.

"Ever had one?"

"No," he shook his head. He had always wanted a dog. But first Steve had never allowed him to have one, and later his mother told him they didn't have enough time for a dog.

"I had one when I was a kid. Well, he wasn't really my dog, because my father wouldn't let me have one. He belonged to Marty. He had a bar near our home, and he let me play with Bud whenever I wanted."

"Bud?" It was a pretty dumb name for a dog.

"Yeah. Dumb name, I know. But I loved him. He was about that height," Liam indicated his knee, "and always dirty. But he was the best dog you could find." He chuckled, "When he died we buried him in the park. It was a park a little like this one."

Connor looked at his father for a moment, "I bet you were sad when he died." He still remembered how sad he was when his mother told him they were not going to live with Steve anymore. Even though he had never allowed him to have a dog, Steve had still been the closest to a dad he'd ever come to have. And all in all he'd been okay. He'd driven Connor to little league games, even attended that stupid Christmas school play where he'd been forced to play a reindeer.

"Yeah, I was. But my best friends were with me. That made it a lot easier. What about you?" his father wanted to know, "Do you have any friends?"

"I did," Connor looked to the ground, his feet starting to shuffle around leaves again. "But then we moved away and, I never saw them again. Later," he shrugged, as if it wouldn't matter, even though it did, "we never stayed anywhere long enough to make new ones."

He saw his father's eyes sharpen at the comment and wanted to bite his tongue. "Why did you move all the time?"

And what was he supposed to say? Lie? This was his father, or at least that was what his mother had told him, not some random stranger. "Steve tried to find us," he said finally, opting for the truth. "Mom said that he wanted to get me for himself. He adopted me when I was little. After the divorce, Mom had full custody, but Steven still wanted me." His mother had been angry at first, then afraid, and so they'd moved all the time. Connor had never said a word, but deep inside he felt good knowing that he was that important to Steve. He was the only father Connor had known so far, and it had hurt to leave him.

They sat in silence for a moment, the big man and the little boy at the brink of adolescence when Connor asked, "Why didn't you marry my mom?" Before his father could answer he added, "I mean, I know you didn't know about me. Mom told me. But ...didn't you love her?"

"No, I didn't know about you. And to tell you the truth, I don't know if it would have changed things if I'd known. I was sixteen when I met your mother. She was almost twenty-seven. We … were together, but I didn't love her. Well, maybe I did, but not the way a husband should love his wife." Not the way I love Buffy, he added silently, but didn't say it.

"Uh-huh," Connor replied, keeping his eyes on the ground. Even though he had always guessed it, it was something entirely different to hear that your father had never loved your mother. Not that he didn't know about it already. Freddie, his friend in first grade, had parents who were divorced. And Freddie had told him they had never loved each other, either.

"Connor," his father said, tentatively putting a hand on his shoulder. "But whatever I felt or didn't feel for your mother, it has nothing to do with you. I know we don't know each other well, but, I would very much like to know you."

The boy shrugged, not quite sure what to say, but he had to admit the hand on his shoulder felt good. So after a moment, he looked up and into a pair of eyes that were a lot like his, and he felt himself nod. "Me too," he said, "I'd like to know you, too."

*****

The late October afternoon was already shadowing toward evening as Buffy entered the registry office at Bolton Square. After Cordelia had arrived, they had actually managed to do some necessary office work, but a part of Buffy's mind had stayed with Angel and Connor and the conversation she'd had with her mother. By three in the afternoon her mind had been running wild and work was out of the question. She'd left Cordelia with typing assignments and instead of her car, she took the underground. The registry office was in an area where finding space to park your car was mere luck and Buffy didn't think she'd have the patience to wait if luck wasn't on her side.

The temperature had dropped several degrees since noon, and Buffy was glad to escape the chilly air into the warmth of the office. She looked around and then walked towards the section she was looking for. Behind the counter that ran the length of the small office stood a bored girl with elaborately braided hair and turquoise fingernails that certainly had never seen a typewriter in their life. Buffy wondered for a moment how she came to work here in the first place, then dismissed the thought. It wasn't her business anyway.

Obviously noticing Buffy's approach the girl looked up from the latest issue of People magazine, popped her gum and regarded Buffy from equally bored eyes.

The blond smiled politely and introduced herself. "I need to see a birth certificate," she said.

The girl shook her head. The beads in the ends of her braids clacked. "That's private."

Sighing for effect, Buffy leaned over the counter, "Actually, it's not. The person's certificate I'm looking for is not an adult yet. Plus I'm married to the boy's natural father. Which means I'm family. So would you now please help me." She pointed to the blinking computer terminal at a desk behind the counter.

"Uh-uh," once again the braids clacked, "Not without the boss giving me an order."

Closing her eyes for a moment, summoning all her patience, Buffy managed another smile, "Oh. Alright. Well, then maybe I could see your boss."

For the first time a small smile played over the girl's lips, "Uh-uh. He's not in today. A conference in Utah."

"And there is nobody else I could ask," Buffy said as politely as possible, even though she was slowly losing her battle with patience.

"The second in command," the girl replied. "But she called in sick. So no luck there either."

"Alright," Buffy turned away, "You know, I can get a judge to issue an order for that birth certificate." Her voice sounded cool. She was no lawyer, but thank god, she'd watched enough of them during her office years to know how they usually sounded. "I'm sure your boss will be delighted to get a court order and all the paper work attached just to let me see one birth certificate." She sighed, "Pity, when you could have saved us all so much time and trouble." With that she walked away.

"Hey," the girl called, "You really gonna make my boss look bad with that order?"

Buffy shrugged, "If I have to."

The gum popped, "Oh, shoot. What was the name of the boy?"

Five minutes later Buffy had a copy of Connor's birth certificate and for good measure, the girl had even added the blood test run on the boy because of a slight anemia two days after his birth. Giving the girl a bright smile, she left the office, then stopped outside to read through the information. The father was listed as unknown, which was pretty much what she had expected to find. Buffy looked at the exact date of birth, and it - too - matched what she already knew. Connor was born on the 10th of July. 1992. He had weighed eight pounds, two ounces, and had - besides the slight anemia - been in good health.

Buffy leaned back against the wall, going over everything again. She didn't know why, but she had the feeling she was missing something, even though she couldn't say what. But something - something important - didn't add up. When she'd talked to her mother this morning she had suddenly felt it. The whole thing was off. Darla might look ill and sad, but she also looked like a woman who knew what she wanted. A woman who took what was hers. Not at all like a woman who turned her back on the father of her unborn child, even though he was ten years younger and a minor.

Damn. Buffy stared at the papers in her hands, trying to make sense of them, trying to find what she was sure she was missing. Her alarm bells were ringing loudly and so far they'd never been wrong.

She scanned over the computer lines again, when suddenly another page slipped out between the two she'd seen before. Obviously a piece of gum had itself attached to the other page so that they'd been sticking together. Genetic profiles? Connor's and two others? Why on earth had there been genetic profiles made? Why would a mother get insist on doing so when she already knew who the father was?

Or did she?

Her eyes narrowing as she read over the laboratory report, Buffy stopped at the last line, her legs suddenly feeling like rubber, her heart starting to pound. She blinked. And blinked again.

There it was. In black and white.

Now she knew. The only question was, what was she going to do with that knowledge.

Part 8

"How come you never brought me here while we were still together?"

Gunn suppressed a sigh, then, nodding at the waiter, he sat down across from Cordy. "You want something to drink - non-alcoholic of course?"

"Sure. I want a coke," she told the young waiter who was staring at her in awe. In true Cordelia-fashion, she beamed back at him.

"Bring me a soda. With lemon." Gunn gave Cordelia a long look as soon as the waiter had left. "He can't be older than twenty. Do you have no limits?"

"Jesus, Gunn. I don't want to jump into bed with him. But excuse me that I like being admired by men. Young men especially. It strokes my ego. Don't tell me you don't like girls flirting with you."

Not bothering to reply to that, he asked instead, "You feel okay?"

"Sure," she grinned, "That's so typical man. I am pregnant, not sick. Well, if I can forget about the mornings." She grimaced thinking about the nausea, the feeling of weakness.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he told her and realised to his utter surprise that he was. Not just because she was having his baby, but because he wanted to be with her. Because - he has missed her.

She made a dismissive gesture with her right hand, "You didn't know. Neither did I. To tell you the truth, when I woke up this morning, I thought the nausea was the result of too much champagne and the wrong man in my bed …," realizing what just had slipped, she trailed off, and gave him a sheepish grin. "Uh-oh."

Gunn stared at her, "Are you telling me you're coming right from the bed of another man-"

She glared at him, "It was still my bed."

"Even worse. We did it there. So you are telling me you slept with another while you had my baby in-", he shook his head, pointed at her belly.

"Gee, Gun, I didn't know I was pregnant before. Besides, I didn't actually *plan* to sleep with Spike.

"Spike?" he stared at her. "What kind of name is that?"

"A stupid one, okay," her glare was back. "I went out with this blond, well-muscled beach-boy type-"

"Well, thanks for pushing *my* ego."

The glare intensified. "If you would kindly let me finish." When he crossed his arms in front of his chest, she went on, "So I went out with good-body-no-brain. Unfortunately I didn't check his IQ before. Turns out that his idea of a romantic evening was going to a football game." She narrowed her eyes when Gunn started to grin. "Don't say a word," she warned.

He held up a hand, "I won't. I'm just enjoying myself. So, did you sleep with the no-brain?"

"No," she made a noise of disgust. "Anyways. On my way out I kind of bumped into Spike. He brought me home, we had some champagne, one thing led to another and … there we were. I turned my head and … saw blond. And white. To tell the truth, I was a little - shocked." What she didn't tell him was that she had been miserable missing him. That Spike's presence and alcohol had soothed the pain.

"At least you didn't lose a lot of time." He shot her a look of disgust.

And just like that all memory or misery was gone. "Well, excuse me, but we're separated. *You* dumped *me* - even though I wish it was the other way round." She was angry now. He had dropped her like a hot potato, and now he was commenting on her love-life. Not that there had been any ever since he'd left. And last night had been a mistake. They'd both realized it in the morning. Spike was on the rebound, having been dumped by his ex-wife - again - as he'd told her in over breakfast, and she … Cordelia knew without a doubt that had she been sober, it wouldn't have happened. Gunn might have dumped her, but she still cared for him. Or more.

"But you already thought you could be pregnant - with *my* baby," he argued.

"Yeah," she agreed grudgingly.

"What were you thinking? And besides … why the hell were you sleeping with other men?"

She held up her forefinger, "One. There weren't *men*. It was one. And I already told you it was a mistake."

"So, how was he?" he wanted to know.

She crossed her arms as well, ignored the waiter who brought their drinks, "That's certainly none of your business."

Unfortunately he had to admit she was right. Still. "I don't like it."

"Don't like, what?"

"You - with another man."

"Duuuh … of course…," she trailed off, watched him …" What do you mean?"

"Frankly, I don't know. But I know that you and another man … it makes me sick."

He looked so miserable at the admission, she couldn't help but grin.

He narrowed his eyes, "Why are you grinning like a cat who caught the canary?"

She shrugged, her grin widening.. She felt bubbly all of a sudden, "Nothing." Pause. "You love me."

"Am not."

"Am too" "Well, maybe a little," he conceded, sighing deeply. "But don't get any ideas that-"

"I love you too."

"- I will worship …," he trailed off, stared at her, "What did you just say?"

Her smile was very tender now, and she uncrossed her arms and reached out, "I said, I. love. you. too."

He swallowed hard, reached out as well and took her hand, "You … never told me before."

"You didn't either. None of us did. We slept together, had fun together, but I think we both evaded what it could mean." She winced, then added, "I'm ten years older than you."

"See if I care," he tossed back, "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The ten years never bothered me."

Her smile was brilliant. "Thanks. You're not the most beautiful man I've ever seen," she grinned, "but you're not too bad either. I usually have a problem calling a man beautiful. But you sure are a hunk."

A little mollified, he grinned back, "Sounds good." With his free hand he took his drink and sipped. "What do you think. We could skip dinner and go somewhere more … private instead."

"Are you un-dumping me?"

He shrugged, "I guess, yeah."

"What are we waiting for?"

*****

Angel closed the door behind him, then leaning against it for a moment, he closed his eyes. He hadn't expected it, but spending the day with Connor had been fun. His son was a bright child, interested in everything and everyone, and after the initial shyness Angel had enjoyed talking to him. Darla had insisted they should spend time together - without her. She said they needed time to bond, and that it wouldn't happen if his mother was around all the time. Angel had done his best to ignore the sadness in her eyes when she said that, but he could still remember the slight tremble in her voice, the way her movements had suddenly been shaky.

But Connor had enjoyed the day nevertheless. His eyes had sparkled when they went to the zoo. He had loved going to the ice-rink, even though he'd fallen on his bottom more than once. And even though Angel could hardly believe it, he had to admit that he already loved the boy, that he was looking forward to see him again.

"Hey. How was your day?"

He opened his eyes and saw Buffy coming from the kitchen, wiping her hands at a towel.

He smiled at her, a part of him imagining Connor with her. The boy loved Darla, but Angel was certain that he and Buffy would be great together. "Not too bad," he said, but couldn't hold back the grin that instantly spread over his face. "Actually, it was perfect. He's a great boy, bright, funny."

He was a little surprised that she didn't smile back. But maybe she was still trying to come to terms with the fact that he had a child now, that *they* would have a child, soon. But Angel sighed when she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself close, "I'm glad you had fun today. Connor needs all the fun he can get. There will be a lot of pain for him in the future."

"Yeah," Angel nodded, resting his chin above her head, "But Darla did a good job with him. He knows all about her illness. Somehow she has managed to prepare him in a way that makes it bearable for him."

Hearing the wistfulness in his voice, Buffy pulled back slightly, looking up at him. "You admire her." There was no mistaking the tone of his voice.

"I guess I do, yes," he agreed. "She is going to die, Buffy. But she's … trying to behave as normal as possible. And all for him. She is so strong. I can't help but admire her for it. And for the great boy she has raised." He paused shortly, then added, "I didn't expect it. After all she did, all she never told me, I thought I'd hate her, or at least resent her. But it's just not there."

"It's hard to resent someone who's going to die."

"Yeah," he agreed.

She nodded, not sure what to say. Then she asked, "Did you love her? Then, I mean."

He sighed again, "I was sixteen. I can't really remember, to tell the truth. I was certainly in lust. She was my first … But - love? Whatever I felt for her," he looked into her eyes, raised one hand and traced the line of her brows with his forefinger, "It has nothing to do with what I feel for you. It could never compare. So - I guess, I never loved her. Not really."

"What about her? Did she love you?"

He shrugged, not really interested in the answer. The only woman whose love he needed was in his arms. What did it matter if Darla had loved him. "Maybe she was a little infatuated. I mean, I was kind of cute as a boy." He was grinning now, hoping she would do the same.

But she didn't.

He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her closely, "Buffy, is something wrong?"

She made a little sound, before she shook her head, "No. … Or maybe … I don't know. I'm glad, Angel that you and Connor have bonded." She slipped from his arms, walked back into the kitchen, knowing he would follow her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw him leaning against the doorframe. "My mom came by today. We forgot our dinner last night."

"Oh, shit," he said, "Did she-"

"She was okay. Actually, she had a date. … Brian. She wanted us to meet him."

"She wanted *you* to meet him," he replied, "She knew that I would be fine with him. She's been alone for too long. I'm glad she found someone she likes. She is certainly old enough to decide who's right for her."

"From the way she is talking about him, he can walk on water," Buffy chuckled slightly. "Anyways. I'm getting sidetracked. Mom and I were talking. And of course we came to Darla and Connor-"

"You told her?" he interrupted.

"Yeah. She is my mom, and-"

"That's not what I meant," he walked into the kitchen, "I'm glad you told her." He reached out, ran a hand through her hair, "You and your mom came a long way."

Buffy had to blink, once again in awe of her husband. There were still times when she could barely believe that fate had brought them together. She took a deep breath, "So we talked and … I suddenly thought …" Not quite knowing how to explain, she reached for her purse and pulled out the sheets she'd gotten from the registry office.

One of his brows rose, when he took them from her, "What's this?"

"I … please don't be angry, I just had a feeling that-"

"Connor's birth certificate?" Angel looked up, tilted his head, obvious hurt in his voice, "Why did you get … Buffy, I … thought we were okay with this … that you agreed that-"

She held up a hand, "I do. I mean, I am okay. Connor is a great boy. That's not … I just … Maybe it's a female thing, but there was something off with the way Darla acted. Angel, you might think she's a saint, but nobody is that selfless. She lost her job. She was lonely. And she never told you. I … just don't get it. Darla doesn't strike me as the type who just walks away and…," she shook her head. "I can't really explain it."

Scanning the page, he replied, "No, she wasn't … I was a bit surprised, too. At first … A genetic profile?" He looked up again, brows drawn together in confusion, "Why did she need a genetic profile?"

"That's what I was wondering, too." Biting her lower lip, hating herself for being the bearer of bad news, she touched his hand, trying to tell him without words that she was here for him, that he could lean on her. "When I saw it, I couldn't understand it either. Especially when I read the last line." She pointed at it, "It says, the result isn't conclusive due to relations of the two possible fathers."

She heard him draw a sharp breath and tightened her hold on his arm.

"What," he licked his suddenly dry lips, "What do you mean … *two* possible fathers?"

"That's what it says." She took the sheets from his hands, then framed his face with hers, looking deeply into his eyes, "There were genetic profiles made from two men. I suppose she had a hair from you or-" "I once gave her a strand. I thought it was romantic," Angel told her, his voice sounding strangely breathless.

"Yeah. It was," she smiled a little, but was instantly serious again.

"Who?" Angel asked, even though he had a pretty good idea who had been the other man. He felt suddenly dirty, nauseous, and so many other things he couldn't name. The only thing that kept him sane right now, was this woman, and the contact she held with him. In desperate need to intensify this contact, he covered her hands with his, looking at her intently. "Who is the other man?"

She let her thumbs trail over his brows, her eyes deeply locked into his. "I think you already know. It's your father. The other man she slept with was your father. And because of that Connor's genetic profile wasn't conclusive. They couldn't say who of the two candidates was the father."

Part 9

It shouldn't hurt, Angel thought that night, lying in his bed, holding Buffy who was sleeping beside him, the warmth of her body reminding him of all the good things in his life. She had made love to him after the initial shock had faded, after she'd convinced him that it was not the time to confront Darla and demand answers. Buffy had fed him and loved him and then had fallen asleep in his arms, while he had not been able to. His mind was flooded by images of his father, disturbing images of Darla and his father.

No, it shouldn't hurt, but oddly it did. Not because it had been his father. He had never been close to his old man. And by the time Angel was sixteen there was only hate left of whatever love might have once existed. His father had beaten him so often he couldn't count. He hadn't known then that his father was abusing Katie, but Angel still remembered that he hadn't liked the way Frank Sullivan was looking at his daughter.

What hurt was that Darla - the woman he had admired with all his youthful innocence - had betrayed him. First by sleeping with his father, then by telling him Connor was his son. And it was the second betrayal that hurt most. He had tried not to, but Angel had fallen in love with the little guy already. With his smart ass mouth, with the grin, the sparkling eyes. Angel had gotten a taste of what it meant to be a father, he had liked it … and now it might prove a lie. True, Connor looked like him, but if the boy was his brother - and not his son … Angel had gotten his looks from his father after all.

Frank Sullivan, for all his brutality, for all his drunken excesses, had been a good looking guy. The women had loved him - at first. Like Angel's mother, who had fallen for him in an instant. She had married him even against her parent's wishes, and Angel had often wondered if his grand-parents had seen what his mother hadn't. That Frank Sullivan was nothing but a bastard, a man you couldn't trust, someone you avoided if you could.

But Maggie O'Brien had been deaf and blind to all warnings. Angel still remembered his mother. Her sweet smile, the gentle hands. But he could also remember her black eyes, the bruises, and the way she'd cried at night, when she thought her son wouldn't hear her. Angel had been nothing more than a little boy when she died, but he had never forgotten.

"You're supposed to be sleeping."

He turned his head to look down at his wife who was blinking at him sleepily. "I thought you were."

She sighed, raised a hand and combed it through her mused hair, "I probably felt your heavy thoughts," she replied, only half-joking.

Lowering his head, he kissed her gently, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you with this. I just can't get it out of my head. I love him, Buffy. He is a great boy. And I want to be his father. It sounds strange, I know, but I truly want him."

Reaching out she cupped his cheek, "There's nothing strange. I could fall in love with him easily, too." She smiled, "Maybe I already have. Tonight when I was cooking, I was trying to imagine what it would be like to have him around. To sit at the table and chatter away. I liked the idea."

"Me too," he whispered, his voice hoarse. It was so good to talk about this, about his hopes and dreams he'd had for Connor. "Today in the park, he saw a dog. And they bonded instantly. While driving home I was trying to think of someone who would give me a puppy." He laughed, but it was shaky.

And suddenly he wrapped his arms around Buffy, pulling her close, holding her. "I would like a dog," she whispered, slinging her arms around his neck, kissing his unshaven jaw. "I'm so sorry she did this to you. And I want to kill her. God, how I want to kill her for hurting you."

His arms tightened, "I need answers. And soon. I need to hear her explanation."

"I know," she kissed him again. "But tonight wouldn't have been a good idea. Besides, Connor would be there. He shouldn't be involved in this. He is the innocent part." She paused, raised her head to look at him, "Maybe I could take him for an ice-cone or …a burger … tomorrow. I still have some vacation left. I'll tell my boss that I need a day off for an urgent family matter."

"Okay," he agreed, one of his hands stroking over her back. Buffy wasn't quite certain if it was to soothe her or him. "God, I can't believe I'm saying this, but … I hope my father raped her or something." At Buffy's look, Angel shook his head, disgusted with himself. "No, of course I don't hope it. But it would be - easier, I guess. At least I could …" he blew out a long breath, "I can't believe she uses Connor for this. I was so sure she loved him."

"I think she does. But she is desperate, Angel. She is going to die. I don't thing she lied where her illness is concerned. You only have to look at her. And now," she traced his lips with her forefinger, "there is Connor. She has no relatives."

"But what I don't understand," Angel shifted slightly so that he could look at her more easily, "If she'd told me the truth … I mean … if he is …," he had to swallow the acid at the thought before he could continue, "my brother …" He couldn't say more, he was suddenly tasting nothing but dirt and nausea.

Feeling his turmoil, Buffy framed his face with her hands, "I don't know why she didn't tell you. Why she insists on you being the father - even though she doesn't know. Maybe … maybe she was afraid. Or ashamed. It's not exactly something you'd tell, right. Or maybe," she'd just this very moment realized there was another possibility, "she suppressed it. Maybe she wished so much that you are the father that she …," Buffy sighed when she saw the doubt in Angel's eyes, "I'm sorry, I'm no help."

He shook his head emphatically, "No. That's not true. You are a help. A big one. I think I'd go crazy without you. Just being able to hold you … you have no idea how much better I feel."

"Good," she forced herself to smile at him although she felt like crying, or screaming, or both. She would gladly rip Darla's throat out, Buffy realized with more than just a little surprise. She'd never thought of herself as a violent person. But obviously love changed a lot of things. And she loved this man. Today, tonight, more than ever. "Call her tomorrow. Ask her if you two could talk. And I'll take Connor. Maybe then you'll know."

She felt him nod above her head, but she also felt that he was still tense and far from being relaxed enough to sleep. "I love you Buffy," he whispered against her temple, his soft lips brushing the sensitive skin like a caress. "I'm so glad I found you."

"Me too. We will get through this, Angel. I promise."

This time the brush turned into a kiss. "Yeah. I believe you."

*****

"They look good together," Darla remarked when she watched Buffy and Connor disappear in the crowd. She'd been surprised when Liam had called this morning, especially by the urgency in his voice, but she had agreed. She wanted Connor and Buffy to bond, even though seeing the other woman with her son hurt. But nothing was more important than Connor now, and that he would be happy when she, Darla, was gone.

"Yeah," he agreed. "They do." Determined to get to the point, Angel looked at Darla. "Thank you for seeing me on such a short notice. I'm sure you have a lot to do."

"Not really," she smiled at him sadly, "I came because I wanted Connor to meet you. So that's more or less all I'm doing. Getting you two to know each other."

Angel nodded, looked at the glass on his table, at Darla, then back at the glass. They were sitting in a coffee show near Darla's hotel. Angel had chosen a neutral location with other people around, hoping to be able to keep his temper in check that way. He waited another beat, then said, "Even if he isn't my son?"

Silence. Slowly he raised his head, and realised she'd gone pale. She had been pale before, but now she was white as a sheet, her eyes huge - and filled with pain - in her face that looked suddenly older than before. Her lips had started to tremble ever so slightly, "W- wha- what did you say?" she managed finally.

"You heard me. Don't pretend you didn't." Anger came back at her attitude. Angel was through playing games, he wanted answers, not evasions.

"B-but w-why would you say that?" She ran a shaky hand through her hair, then entwined her fingers. "I told you, he is your son. Liam, he even looks like you."

He gave her another long look, "Like a brother maybe?"

She swallowed once. Twice. When she opened her mouth no words came, and so she had to clear her throat first. Still her voice sounded strange, when she asked, "Y-your brother?"

Slowly reaching the end of his rope, Angel put his glass down with a thumb. "Darla, stop playing games with me. When Connor was born you wanted genetic codes done. Of Connor, of me … and of my good old dad. So, would you tell me why you did it, if it wasn't to find out which one of us was the father?"

"Oh God." The words came out in barely more than a whisper, and the blond pressed her trembling hands over her lips, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Unfortunately," Angel went on, "the results weren't conclusive. So, you never knew the father of your son. Isn't that the truth, Darla?"

"Oh, God," she repeated, her voice muffled by her hands.

"He is not going to help you now," he said, his eyes hard. He was so angry with her right now, he was glad he had chosen the coffee shop to meet. Not just because she had lied to him. But also because Connor believed Angel was his father. Did she have any idea what she had done to the boy? "Tell me, Darla. Why did you do it?"

"He is your son," Darla whispered, uncovering her mouth. "I swear."

He looked at her with disgust, "I'm not buying your lies anymore. You had the tests done-"

"It was only once," she interrupted him. "I was with your father only once. And taking Connor's date of birth I most probably was pregnant already. I just had the test done to be hundred percent certain. Please," she reached over the table to touch his hand, but he pulled away, not wanting the contact. "Believe me," she pleaded, "It was only once."

"Why?" He hadn't wanted to ask, but he suddenly needed to know. Not because he still cared for her. She had killed every possibility of that with her lies. But because he so desperately wanted to believe that it had been more than just a casual fuck. He could still remember the time with her. He'd been so young - and so fascinated by the older woman with her big eyes and the bright smile. He wanted to be able to remember it fondly, not with a feeling of disgust and anger.

She shook her head, giving a short, unhappy laugh, "No real reason. He … It happened. You remember the night I told you it was over? That we couldn't meet each other anymore?" When she saw him nod, she went on, "I went to a bar. They had just fired me. And he was there. And even though I resented him for doing what he had to you, he … looked so much like you, I …," she shook her head again, "And then it happened. In his car."

Angel took a gulp from his soft drink, trying to get the foul taste from his mouth. "So you gave me a good-bye fuck that night, then went off to do it with good old dad." He snorted, "Wow, I didn't expect that. But somehow it fits."

"I'm sorry," she told him.

"Yeah, me too," he replied, and even though his voice sounded anything but, he was. More than she could imagine. He took a deep breath, "There's only one question left. Why did you tell me he was mine? Why did you tell me even though you didn't know?"

Pleadingly she looked at him, "Liam, I-"

They were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone, and with a curse he pulled it from his pocket, "Yeah?"

"Mr. Sullivan?"

Angel frowned, not recognizing the voice. "Yes. I'm Liam Sullivan. Who am I talking to?"

"My name is Dr. Wilkins. I'm the assistant surgeon at the Memorial Hospital."

Angel felt his heart starting to pound. "Hospital?" He saw Darla look at him in alarm. "What happened?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. But I have to tell you that your wife was brought here about ten minutes ago."

The pounding turned into a furious whirl, "My wife? What happened? What happened to Buffy?"

"She was brought in with a trauma to her head. Mr. Sullivan, I don't want to draw any early conclusions, but from the way it looks your wife was attacked."

*****

"Wow."

Cordelia rolled her eyes at her lover, "I hope that's not going to be the way we will communicate from now on. With you talking to me in mono-syllables only." The words sounded harsh, but her voice did not. It was hard to sound that way if you were thoroughly sated. Had her night with Spike been a blur before, it was only a shaky memory now, as she was lying on top of Gunn in the afterglow of a very intense morning of lovemaking.

"Wow," he repeated, but grinned at her. "That's just my way of appreciating the things you do to my body."

"Oh," she grinned back, "Well, in that case, mono-syllables are allowed. And I agree. Wow. Maybe we should separate more often."

"No way," he replied instantly, a slight growl in his voice. "You are the mother of my child, and I was raised to believe that mom and dad belong together, even though my own never acted that way."

"So you're the traditional type, huh?" she joked, silently enjoying his possessiveness. "And I just meant that this reunion was something to be remembered. But maybe we could just pretend to dump each other from time to time."

"Maybe," he agreed, letting a hand glide over her silken hair. He supposed he could be with hundreds of woman and he would still remember her hair. The texture was like nothing else he had ever touched. And suddenly he knew exactly what he wanted, "Marry me, Cordy."

Her eyes grew huge like saucers, "Wha- what did you say?"

Not bothering to repeat the question, knowing she'd heard it the first time, he went on, "I think we could make it work. Not just for the baby. But because we're good together."

"Uh-huh."

"And I don't mean just in bed. Sure, we had our problems, but … we fit. I think it could work. What do you say?"

"Uhm … not very much, I'm afraid. I'm still recovering from shock. Wow, Gunn asking me to marry him. I thought I'd never see that day."

"I love you, Cordelia," he said, amazed, how easy the words came over his lips now. "I just feel this is right."

"Can I think about it," she replied, "I mean, I'm really, really flattered, but I never expected you to … and now, … I'm almost thirty-six years old, Gunn," she explained, not wanting to hurt him. He looked so hopeful, she could never destroy that. "I'm pretty much settled in my life. Marriage would be a huge change. I need to think about it first."

After a moment, he nodded, "That's okay." Then he chuckled, "It's kind of a huge thing for me, too. I never expected to get married. And now it suddenly seems the best that's ever happened to me. So, I understand. But don't let me wait too long."

"I won't," she promised, kissing him soundly. "And just so you don't forget it, I love you, too."

"Oh, I won't forge-"

He was interrupted by his cell ringing on the nightstand. He flipped it open, "Yeah?"

"Gunn. It's Angel. Get your ass to the Memorial Hospital."

"Hey, man, wait a minute, I-," Gunn started to protest, but was cut off again.

"No time. Get over. Buffy was attacked. I need you. Now."

Shock showing on his features, Gunn looked at Cordelia while he asked, "What happened?"

"I don't know," Angel replied, his hoarse voice betraying his feelings, "I'm in my car right now, trying to … fuck, if you can't drive why don't you bury yourself in hot mud …" Gunn heard him take a deep breath. "Sorry," Angel said, "All the doctor told me was that she was attacked. Head trauma. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

"Okay," Gunn was already half-way dressed, the phone pressed between shoulder and chin, "I'll need about thirty minutes. I'm at Cordy's."

It was a sign of Angel's state of mind that he didn't comment. "See you then." With that the line went dead.

"What?"

He turned around to his girlfriend. It still amazed him that she was his girlfriend again. "Buffy was attacked. Angel didn't know details. He wants me to come to the Hospital."

She was out of the bed in an instant, "I'm coming, too. She is my best friend."

His answer was a nod, then he stormed off in search of his shoes.

…to be continued

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