AN: These drabbles are based off of a song sung by Boiled in Lead called "Rocking the Cradle" the plot of the song involves a man who marries a girl who likes to party, and ends up taking care of a child he knows isn't his.

With ferocious concentration, two-year-old Liam tried to stack plastic rings on a dowel. Backward.

Lindsey smirked, and squatted down next to the boy. "That's supposed to go the other way, you know that, right?"

Liam looked stubborn. "This way," he insisted.

"Suit yourself, it's still backward."

Liam growled, a startling sound no human baby could make.

Lindsey remembered the night Darla appeared on his doorstep. Impossibly pregnant, terrified, furious, and sopping wet from the rain. Telling him her life story, pushing buttons he hadn't even know he owned, to ensure that he'd raise a baby not his own.

Next on Jerry Springer

Lindsey has no idea of what he's going to tell Liam--who at two is already insisting on being called "Li"--about his parents.

There's an overwhelming temptation to make the story as white trash as he possibly can.

"Your Momma was a friend of mine. Your Daddy was a redneck drunk who found Jesus. He dumped your Momma when she wouldn't quit her job as a cocktail waitress."

Something harmlessly sordid that would make Angel's eyes pop out when he found out.

That is, if Lindsey ever got around to letting Angel know that he had a son.

What I Found in My Two-Year-Old Son's Playroom (Out of sequence. Title is from McSweeney's List of Lists.)

--A Folger's coffee can full of worms and mud. (Note to self: Ask David when family picnic/fishing trip was supposed to be.)

--Fourth or maybe fifth hand Value Tales collection featuring the lives of Benjamin Franklin, Abraham Lincoln and Helen Keller. (Note: Must remember to find some books of Shel Silverstein poems.)

--A tableau featuring three plastic dinosaurs, a four car collision, and a platoon of plastic soldiers. (Maybe letting him watch the Godzilla movie marathon was a bad idea...)

--Unidentifiable bits of something ground into the carpet. (What the hell was that stuff anyway? How was he going to get it out?)

Primary Caregiver

"Oh, what a cute baby, how old is he?" Asks the woman in line behind him.

Lindsey smiles at the woman, and tries to keep Liam from grabbing at all the candy bars in the check out line. "Thank you, he's two." Liam uses the moment of distraction to shove a candy bar--with wrapper--into his mouth. "Li!" Lindsey snaps, exasperated. He wrestles the candy bar out of the toddler's grasp, and tosses it into the car. Liam screams.

"Babysitting?" The woman asks, half amused, and half condescending.

"No, he's mine," Lindsey replies, and starts unloading the cart.

Making a Difference

Sometimes, Lindsey tries to figure out what the hell he's doing. He's gone from big shot lawyer with a penthouse and a six figure salary to a single parent making maybe less than a quarter of his previous income. Working toward a degree in education, like he's having a midlife crisis and suddenly "wants to make a difference."

He tries to project that; the happiness of someone living his dream. It'd be a hard sell to anyone who'd known him a few years back, but he tries.

Sometimes, Lindsey suspects he's trying to prove himself. To whom, he doesn't know

The Message

Lindsey listens to the answering machine message for the third time, still not believing what he's hearing.

In his imagination, he's the one to contact Angel. Tells him he has a son. Tells him, or maybe doesn't, about Darla's death.

Angel never believes him at first. Explains to him in the gentle voice used on stupid children and lunatics that vampires don't get pregnant, can't make someone pregnant and can't give birth. It takes actually seeing Liam before he believes--like something in a corny country song.

He somehow never anticipated being contacted by Angel.

"Lindsey, we need to talk..."

Dinner Date (300 word ficlet)

Neutral ground. Lindsey picked the steak house he goes to when treating his brothers and sister to dinner when they visit. Nice family place, with great steaks and killer spareribs. Angel is waiting for him at the entrance. Dark looming shape as out of place as a gargoyle perched on a Baptist church.

Lindsey stared. Didn't quite gape. "You look like hell."

The gargoyle smiles. "It's an improvement then."

That did for the greeting. Inside, they're seated and given menus. Lindsey orders the ribs. Angel orders a beer. "What have you been up to."

"Working. Going to school." Pause. "Raising my son."

"Your son." Angel's tone is unreadable, expression blank.

Two words--Darla's son--hangs between them, unspoken.

That's what the adoption papers say," Lindsey sips water.
"Liam McDonald."

Quick, surprised look at that. "You named him Liam." It wasn't quite a question.

"Darla did," Lindsey said shortly, as the food arrived. He started eating.

"Where is she?"

"I don't know." Which is true enough, Lindsey had no idea of where vampires who staked themselves in order to give birth went when they died. His turn for a question. "What do you want?"

"Answers would be good." Angel leans forward, threatening. "I don't see you as the parental type, Lindsey. I want to know what you're up to."

"I'm not 'up to' anything." Lindsey's voice rose angrily, causing other diners to look in their direction. Lindsey took a deep breath, and then another. "I don't have anything to be up to."

"And you really expect me to believe that, with your track record."

Lindsey shrugged. "I don't care what you believe, Angel."

"What if I told you that this child was the center of several conflicting prophecies?"

"I'd tell you to go to hell," Lindsey said.

Angel smiled.