Sins of the Father
Chapter One
"You're a hard man to track down."
Wesley raised his eyebrows at the words he heard when he answered the phone. Not even an hello, he thought absently.
"Am I?" he asked mildly. "Can I ask who had such a hard job tracking me down?"
She laughed, a hard, embittered laugh that was somehow familiar, like he had heard a softer version once. It irritated him, the laughter and the not knowing. He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair and waited. God, that voice was familiar.
"You haven't changed," she commented.
That would indicate she knew him. Though he still couldn't remember her. He thought back to his Council days and quickly ran though the names of woman he had known then. There hadn't been many, the Council didn't believe in letting women overrun their establishment, especially when women like Gwendolyn Post went bad.
He waited for her to continue, wondering vaguely if Lilah was coming over that night.
The thought of Lilah Morgan sent a thrill of intense lust and hate through him.
The part of him that was still the Wesley that was ridiculed as a Watcher but welcomed into the family of the Angel Investigations team, wondered what the hell he was doing with her.
The part of him that had by now become used to waking up late and drinking into the early hours didn't really care, because when she was there, he was dark and there was no good Wesley telling him this was wrong.
Wesley ignored the fact that if he put a stop to his torrid affair with her; he wouldn't have to live with the conflicting feelings. He ignored this reasoning because, without her, he would be totally alone.
"You don't remember me, do you?" the woman on the phone asked finally.
"No," he answered casually, drawing his mind back from Lilah. "I can't really say that I do."
"Melissa," she offered. "Melissa Roberts."
Ah. Melissa Roberts had been the woman he had met in his Council days and dated for a couple of months about seven years ago. Wesley had thought she was perfect for him. He had seen her - what was it now? Two years ago? - and they had spent the night together, "For old times sake." She had been the bleached blonde Angel had smelt on him at the beginning of his Darla obsession.
"Yes, Melissa, I remember you," he told her. "What do you want?"
"To meet," she answered.
"Why exactly?" he sighed, not really wanting to go out, not when there was a new bottle of whisky in the kitchen and the faint promise of sex with Lilah later in the evening.
"To talk."
"About what?"
"Look, just meet me, will you?"
He thought about declining, but decided that he should get out, he could probably get out and back in time to down half the bottle of Jack Daniel's before Lilah showed.
"All right," he answered after a pause. "Do you know the Lightbulb club?"
"Yes," she replied.
"Meet me there in half and hour."
"Fine."
She dropped the phone.
She hadn't said goodbye either.
Melissa was seated at the bar when he arrived, nursing a cocktail. He cringed slightly at her appearance. Her hair had been blonde when he had seen her again two years ago, but it was even lighter now and it contrasted sharply with her half inch black roots. She was turned slightly so he could see the enormous amount of eye makeup she wore and the garish slash of red lipstick that did nothing for her sickly complexion. Her top showed just too much cleavage to be classy and her short skirt rode up high as she crossed her legs, exposing painfully slim thighs, he didn't remember her being that thin. She wore high heeled leather boots that looked years old, the pointed toes scuffed.
When he had first seen her, walking down the Council hallway, she had been wearing a knee length black pencil skirt, a white blouse and slim black high heels. Her hair had been it's natural mousey blonde and he had thought her beautiful.
When he had seen her in Caritas two years ago, her hair had been bleached blonde and she wore jeans and a white sweater. She wasn't as well dressed as before, but she had still been beautiful.
Either he had been very drunk throughout their two-month relationship and that night, or she had let herself go.
Or maybe he had become used to a more sophisticated type of woman lately. Lilah Morgan was a cold, ruthless bitch, but one couldn't fault her sense of style.
"Melissa," he said.
She turned and raked her eyes over him.
"You've let yourself go, Wesley," she commented.
"I was thinking the same thing about you," he shrugged and sat down. "What do you want?"
"I want you to do me a favour. That's what you do, isn't it? What was it you said… "We help the helpless." Or was it the hopeless? I can't remember. Anyway, I want some help."
"I'm no longer in that line of work," he answered shortly, forcing memories of Cordy, Fred and Gunn away, successfully burying every memory of his friendship with Angel.
"Yeah?" her voice became a sneer. "Well you're not getting out of this."
"What?" he snapped. "Getting out of what? You want a vampire killed, Melissa? Or a demon? Go and get help from someone who cares!"
"Come home with me," she said suddenly, ignoring his outburst.
He was startled momentarily, then chuckled darkly.
"I thought you said I'd let myself go, Melissa?" he asked. "Have your standards dropped then? Because I can assure you, mine haven't."
"I wouldn't sleep with you," she hissed. "That was a long time ago."
"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, it was."
"Just come home with me," she replied, getting up, grabbing her purse and forcing her way through the crowd to the door.
Wesley let her go, then something tugged inside him and he got up. He handed a twenty-dollar bill to the barman and walked away without collecting his change.
She was waiting by a taxi and her satisfied smirk infuriated him. She got into the taxi and he climbed in after her, wondering what on earth had happened to her to change her into this embittered woman who had still been a bright, bubbly young woman only two years previously.
She led him up the stairs of the motel and along the corridor. His shoes stuck to the sticky patches of carpet that remained. He heard the sound of a couple arguing in one room and a radio blaring pop music in another. He waited, leaning against the wall as she unlocked the door. He made to enter, but her hand stopped him. He noticed that the nails of her hand were stubby, the pink polish chipped. He tried to recall how her nails had looked when he had known her, and remembered that they had always been long and immaculate.
"Wait here," she said as she went in and pushed the door closed.
He didn't answer and leaned against the wall again. He sifted through his memories and found the ones of the night he had met her and the morning after.
He had liked her the minute he had clapped eyes on her when he passed her in the corridor of the Council building. She was a research assistant, a fact he used to strike up conversation. He had even summoned up the courage to ask her why she had gotton involved with the Council.
"Why are you here?" she had asked in answer to his question.
"You can meet some very interesting people here," he had replied, thinking it sounding better than the truth, which was he was the eldest boy in his family and tradition dictated that he should become a Watcher.
Her eyes had drifted over him then, a small smile on her face that made him blush slightly.
"I've got a feeling you're right," she had answered.
Then they had spent another two hours talking and laughing and Wesley found himself liking her more and more as the night went on.
The night went on to culminate in him asking her in for tea, which rapidly became sex. It had been fun, he wasn't denying that even now, and it had lasted for a while. Wesley had thought he had been in love with her at the time. Looking back on it, Wesley now saw how truly naïve he had been and, in a way, innocent. She had woken up, accepted the tea he offered her, then showered, dressed and left, taking one of his shirts with her.
"Bye, Wesley," she said, kissing him lightly on the cheek as she left."I'll bring your shirt back later."
When she was gone, the three other male trainee Watchers he shared the house with had crowded around to congratulate him on bagging the most beautiful woman in the Council.
The very fact that his peers were envious and that she was so lovely made him feel that maybe he wasn't as weedy and hopeless as he had always thought and been told.
His relationship with Melissa had taught him not to look too far ahead; the relationship had ended when she left for Spain to work on researching a fire demon that was native to the region. They had talked over the phone every other day, but soon it became once a week, then a month, until they lost touch completely.
Then he had seen her in Caritas and they had talked like they used to, but he still knew her well enough to know she was holding something back. She had changed, the light had faded from her eyes and she seemed worn down, but she still had that same bubbling laughter. He had planned to offer her help, a job; money the next morning because he still had residual feelings for her.
But she had gone before he had even woke up.
What had happened in the last seven years to change a beautiful, intelligent young woman into this poorly dressed shadow of the women he knew, he couldn't possibly imagine, but most of it had obviously happened in the last two years.
His attention was drawn to the sounds inside Melissa's motel room and he looked around the hall once more, wondering again what on earth had happened to her and her good job. He heard a gruff male voice, then the sound of stumbling as the door opened.
"Come in," Melissa said in a low voice.
He walked inside the room and immediately noticed the tall man in the middle of the room. He wore a white shirt that looked about a size too small for him and clung to his muscular chest. His hair was longer and his goatee straggly, but there was no denying who he was.
"Leonard Manning," he stated.
The man glanced at Melissa.
"Is he going to be here long?" he asked her.
She cowered slightly before him and stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm.
"Not long, Lenny, not long," she said.
He pulled his arm away sharply and shoved past her, sending her sprawling onto the bed as he left, slamming the door behind him. Wesley came forward and helped her up; the side of him that still cared about others seethed with anger at the man's treatment of this woman.
"How long have you been with him?" he asked gently.
"Six years," she answered. "I knew him when I knew you and we worked together in Spain, that's where we got together and I've been with him ever since. Except," she lowered her eyes. "Except that night when you and I… I went back to him because I love him."
"He hurts you, doesn't he?" Wesley asked, though it was more of an observation.
She pulled her arm away from him and glared at him.
"No!" she protested. "He just doesn't like meeting men I've… been with."
He folded his arms and stared at the opposite wall.
"He was always a bully, Melissa."
"You should know," she snapped. He winced at that, reminded of the time Leonard Manning had publicly ridiculed him in the middle of the lunch hall. And he had just stood there, blushing furiously, searching frantically for something to say as everyone watched.
"Why did you want me to come here?" he asked after a long silence.
"Lenny and I are moving on. We're going to Florida and we're getting a little house. He said we can get married once we're settled."
"That's all very well and good," Wes answered. "But why would I care if you and Lenny got married?"
"You don't have to care," she snapped in a low voice. "You're not here about that."
She got up and crossed the room to where a pile of clothes and blankets lay on three old chairs pushed together in a line. She murmured soft words and pulled the blankets back. When she stood up again, Wesley saw the tuft of curly brown hair over Melissa's shoulder and the small feet that dangled in the air. He saw the bundle struggle and eventually slump against Melissa.
Wes stood up sharply and backed away from Melissa.
"What the hell is this?" he demanded as the bundle in Melissa's arms squirmed again and lifted its head.
"Charlotte," Melissa said. "This is your daddy."
The small girl blinked big blue eyes at Wesley and he felt a sharp stab of fear as she yawned and returned her head to her mother's shoulder.
"I bloody well am not!" he protested.
"Yes, you are, Wesley," Melissa hissed. "I didn't sleep with anyone after you. Then I found out I was pregnant. She's yours, look at her, for Christ's sake! Lenny said we can't take her with us to Florida and it was about time you faced up to your responsibilities!"
"What about your responsibilities?" he asked, in a low but angry voice. "You're her bloody mother!"
"And I've done my best," Melissa answered, tears evident in her voice. "But you could give her so much more."
"We used protection, Melissa!" he spluttered. "And you told me you were on the pill!"
"I was. I must have missed a day," she answered.
A distant thud caused Melissa's eyes to widen and she pushed Charlotte into Wesley's arms, he didn't answer, he was embarrassed into silence. Still tired, Charlotte snuggled into his arms and leaned her head against his chest. His arms held her gently, instinctively. His breathing came rapidly as he panicked; he hadn't been this close to a child since Connor…
Lenny walked back into the room and took in Wes and Charlotte. He picked up a bag from the floor and thrust it at Wesley.
"Take the brat and get out," he ordered.
Wesley felt his anger rise. He hadn't been treated like this in a very long while.
"Why can't you take her to Florida?" he asked, his voice ringing with authority.
Lenny looked startled by Wesley's boldness. For the first time he noticed Wesley's height and the cold blue of his eyes. Lenny had never really believed this man who didn't bulge with muscles had any kind of strength or control. He never would have believed that the young man he had mocked for years throughout his Watcher training would have the courage to stand up to him.
For a second, his belief wavered.
"Because we don't want her," he answered.
"Are you sure we couldn't take her, Lenny?" Melissa asked weakly.
"No, we can't!" Lenny yelled, rounding on her, his arm raised.
Wesley's hand closed around Lenny's wrist and squeezed a little, pulling it down. Surprised by the Wesley's strength and bravery, Lenny dropped his hand and turned back to him.
Charlotte, wakened by Lenny's yells, stared at Wesley. He ignored her and Lenny and spoke to Melissa.
"If I don't take her, where will she go?" he asked.
"A children's home," she answered quietly. "Lenny said we'd have to put her in a home."
"Is that true?" he inquired.
"Yes, Pryce," Lenny answered gruffl., "So it doesn't matter if you don't take her, we'll be rid of her just the same."
Alone. Complete isolation.
He was all alone in the dark with his thin legs pulled up against his chest, his chin leaning on his knees. He wasn't going to cry or call for his father to let him out. If he could just prove to his father that he was brave, that he was a big boy, his father would let him out and would look at him like he mattered. He felt a whisper of something crawling over his foot and shuddered, surpressing the small sob when he remembered his sister's stories of the mice and spiders under the stairs. The ones that would nibble at you until there was nothing left. He wasn't scared of the dark; he was scared of the silence, the way his breathing and heartbeat seemed obscenely loud.
He was scared to be alone and unwanted.
He looked at this girl who was supposedly his daughter and for a brief second, he thought he saw himself in her eyes when she blinked up at him. That same need to be good enough, that fear to be alone and unwanted. He dismissed it; she was too young to be worried by such things.
"I'll take her," he said.