A/N: I know it's been awhile since the last update, but I've recently regained interest in the story.
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Angel couldn't quite fathom how it had happened without his noticing, but his babies were teenagers. November third was the most important day of his year, and this particular one was especially significant. "Thirteen years old," he muttered that November morning as he prepared their favourite breakfasts. "Teenagers. Unbelievable." In truth he was thrilled -- and terrified. His own thirteenth birthday had been a milestone in a lot of ways, none of them good. That day had marked the beginning of his drunken-womanizing-waste-of-air period, one which had culminated in his death and the beginning of an even worse period of existence.

Enough of that, today is their day.

So he turned the radio to his favourite station and whistled along with the easy rock as he topped Darren's Belgian waffles with strawberries. Just as he was finishing up a heaping plate of French toast, the kids began to filter into the kitchen. He beamed at them as they shuffled to the table. "Happy Birthday, guys!" When he got a few mumbled thank-yous, he frowned. "How about a little enthusiasm?" Ivy, who looked the most cheerful, grinned around her toast. "I'm enthusiastic, Daddy. Believe me, this is already my best birthday ever."

"Why's that, pumpkin?"

She grinned even wider but managed to make him feel like an idiot for asking with one look. "Because we're finally teenagers. I've only been waiting for this my entire life!"

"Duh," Libby muttered. Ivy ignored her and continued on while Angel listened intently. All the parenting-of-adolescents books explained that whenever your teen talked, you listened and gleaned any and all pertinent information from their unfamiliar babble and jargon. "And this weekend is going to rock!"

"Yeah, if I can get Uncle Lorne to agree on a band," Bridget said with irritation, and it was then that he noticed the phone that had been glued to her ear all week. "Wait -- a band?" When had they agreed on a band? Cordelia would have said something for sure. "This party is just going to be a few friends over for pizza and music and stuff, right?" Bridget looked at him dismissively. "Yeah, basically, except we changed a couple things."

"What things?" He demanded with suspicion. But Lorne had apparently returned to his end of the conversation and Bridget ignored Angel in favour of her uncle. He briefly wondered how Lorne had even managed to get included in the planning of their birthday party before being drawn into another part of the discussion; this one between Darren and Caleb.

"Yeah, she's totally hot," Caleb was saying. "Is she coming on Saturday?"

"Please," Darren said smugly. "Who're you talking to?"

Angel stared at his sons, completely gobsmacked. Was he seriously hearing what he thought he was? As nonchalantly as possible, he tuned into the pair more attentively. They continued on briefly about Darren's apparent prowess with the ladies before switching gears. "Did you hear about Damian?" Caleb said quietly.

"Ivy's Damian?"

Angel's eye twitched. Ivy's Damian? What the hell did that mean?

"Yeah, he got busted for taking his mom's car."

Darren snorted. "The loser seriously got caught? What a tool."

The blood was rushing in his ears now and Angel was at a total loss for words. He could only look helplessly at the strangers where his children used to sit. Even Libby and Noah were engaged in a very quiet argument, the contents of which Angel didn't like.

"You promised you weren't going to," Libby hissed heatedly. Noah sighed and looked as guilty as Angel had imagined himself looking back when he'd first got his soul. "I know," he replied softly. "But I have to, Lib. You know how long I've been waiting for this." Libby glared mutinously at her brother, but Angel could tell the second that she caved in. Noah looked relieved; Angel felt like an ulcer had suddenly formed in his stomach. He heard Cordy coming down the hall and headed her off before she reached the kitchen. "Angel, what-" She began when he grabbed her arm and steered her towards the basement. He'd be moving out after Cordelia and Marek finally got married in January but for now the basement was still his place, and the one area of his life that he felt totally comfortable in. Cordelia crossed her arms and gave him a look. "Angel, what is this all about?"

"Those are not my children!" He claimed hotly, flinging an arm in the general direction of the kitchen. He filled her in on what he'd overheard and waited for her to be as upset as he. When she only frowned Angel didn't let himself feel betrayed: at least she seemed disapproving, and that meant she was on his side. She expelled a breath and looked to be mulling things over in her mind. "Okay….a band for the party shouldn't be a big deal, but I'll talk to Bee about it. If we have to pay for it then it's a no go." Angel nodded his agreement, but Bridget was the least of his worries. "I want to know what they meant by 'Ivy's Damian'. Do you think she has a boyfriend? She is absolutely way too young for a boyfriend!"

"Calm down. You're right, but you have to calm down. We don't know anything for sure yet, so we'll talk to them."

"Do you think they'll be honest with us?"

"I hope so. We raised them well, didn't we? We should be able to trust them."

This time it was Angel who crossed his arms and gave a look. "Don't you remember what you were like as a teen?" Cordelia smiled. "I was popular, and being popular isn't a bad thing."

"You were ruthless," he corrected. "And I was useless and went out of my way to disobey my father. What makes you think they'll be different? Especially with us as parents."

"Hey, we've both come a long way, give yourself some credit. We made mistakes and learned from them. We just have to make sure they learn from us too." Angel thought once more about the things he'd overheard from his children, and decided that he and Cordy needed a serious game plan if they planned to survive the teen years. "Alright, for now we talk to them and pay more attention to what they do. After that we play it by ear." Cordy checked her watch and nodded. "Sounds good to me, but why don't we have that talk after dinner tonight? They'll be too stuffed with cake and spoiled with the presents to put up too much of a fight."

"Deal." He was pleased by the idea of seeing his kids happy on their birthday, but decided to get started right away on 'paying more attention' -- he was a private investigator after all; may as well put those skills to use.
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It took Noah three attempts to actually ring the bell, and when he did he fought to keep his feet planted on the doorstep of the low-rent apartment that housed his biological father. He heard movement inside and after what seemed like an eternity the door was flung open and he was greeted with the sight of an out of shape former photographer in nothing but old jeans and two days worth of stubble. "What do you want, kid?" Wilson Christopher asked impatiently. "If you're selling anything, I'm not buying."

"I'm not." Noah cleared his throat. "Selling anything, I mean. I need to talk to you for a minute, if that's okay. It's kind of important." He waited while Wilson sized him up and was distinctly uncomfortable to see those familiar green eyes looking at him from a different face. "Make it quick." He stepped aside to allow Noah entrance, and he couldn't help but think that Libby might have had a sharp comeback to that. He could practically hear his sister's voice: Yeah, cuz he's obviously got a full day of getting tanked and watching TV ahead of him.

"My name's Noah Chase." The mention of his last name didn't ignite a spark of recognition in the guy's eyes and Noah was almost crushed with disappointment. "My mother is Cordelia Chase."

"Who? Oh yeah…" Now he looked like he remembered, and apparently didn't like it. "How's she doing?"

"Fine. I just turned thirteen on Monday," he hinted again, praying that this guy would get the message. Noah hadn't ridden forty five minutes on the bus to an unfamiliar part of town for this guy to scratch his head and send Noah on his way with nothing answered. Wilson smiled tightly. "Good for you." Noah shook his head. "Do you get what I'm trying to say here or do I need to draw you a map? You're my father."

Wilson sighed and sank into a frayed recliner before reaching for a cigarette. "Yeah, I figured." He was silent for a few moments and half the cigarette was gone before he spoke again. "Your mother actually let you come down here?" Noah shook his head and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his best jeans. Wilson snorted. "Didn't think so. So why'd you come?" Looking at the man who'd fathered him, Noah was suddenly unsure why he'd bothered. In the beginning he'd come because he wanted to see what kind of man Wilson Christopher was to sleep with random girls in the name of some demon (that information had been in his mother's file). "I wanted to know."

Wilson didn't ask what it was exactly that Noah had come searching for. Instead he went to the fridge and pulled out a beer and unknowingly living up to the stereotypical image Noah had in his mind. "You want a drink or something? I have some pop."

"Okay." He took the can of cola and sipped at it. "Why'd you do it?" He asked suddenly, laying his cards on the table. Wilson cracked the beer open and took a swig. "What, leave your mother when she was pregnant?"

"No, why'd you knock her up for some demon?"

That surprised the man enough to have him sputter on his drink. "She told you that?" Noah didn't answer, choosing not to reveal that Cordelia hadn't said a word to him. At Noah's silence, Wilson ran a hand through his hair and collected himself. "Look, kid, I'm not going to lie to you. I did it for the sex; what came afterwards didn't really matter to me." He shrugged. "It was a really shitty thing to do, but I was an asshole. I thought that the kids -- you -- were gonna be demon spawn."

"Not asshole spawn?" Noah countered dryly, mildly surprised that he'd said it but glad he had. Wilson cracked a smile and finished off his cigarette. "So what happened? Are you demon? You don't look it."

"No, we're human."

"Oh. We?"

"There's six of us."

"Shit. She kept all of you?"

Noah didn't know how to react to that. Was he insinuating that Cordelia had been stupid to keep them? "Yes, she kept all of us," he snapped angrily. "You know she was only nineteen?" He added, simply hoping to make Wilson feel guilty. "And could hardly afford to pay for herself, let alone six babies? While you were, what, taking pictures of models and probably rolling in money." He didn't know where it was all coming from, but Noah just let his anger and sense of injustice bubble out. He didn't bother to mention that Angel and Wesley had been there, he just wanted to make this bum feel even worse. Wilson barked out a laugh. "And look how well that turned out. My career's in the shitter and I bet your mom did all right with herself."

"Yes she did," Noah agreed, his anger mostly spent. "Really good." He decided that he'd got what he came for and stood. "I should go. I guess I won't bother you again." Wilson stood as well. "Hang on, kid," and disappeared into another room, leaving Noah alone to dig through his bag for the photo he'd brought. Wilson returned moment later with a black bag in his hand that resembled a fancy lunch bag. He held it out to Noah. "Here, maybe you can use this. Not like I have any use for it anymore." Inside was an expensive looking, if slightly out dated, camera. Noah was too surprised to speak for a moment, and when he did it came out in a stutter. "Wow, th-thanks." He cleared his throat and handed over the picture of the six of them that was taken on their birthday a few days before. "Thought you might like to see what your kids look like." Wilson took it and spent a long moment staring. Afterward he stuck it in his pocket and took up his beer. "See ya around, kid."

Noah knew he'd likely never see the man again. "Yeah." He let himself out and walked back to the bus stop, the camera bag heavy in his hand.