NOTE: I own none of these Angel characters but I love the show.

A/N: Yes, I updated again. Here's the thing boys and girlies. I'm currently trying to decide which of my stories gets put on shelf for a while or not. If Granted Wish proves to be popular then it will get updated. But if it proves not so popular... I think you know the rest.

                                                   CHAPTER 4

          That following Saturday Angel had decided to spend some quality alone time with Connor. They had hung around the house for most of the day, unable to go out in the sunlight. When the sun finally set Angel decided to strap his son into his stroller and take him on a night time walk.

          Meanwhile Fred had worked up the nerve to pay Gunn a visit, which she hadn't done in a few weeks. She arrived in front of his apartment's door and slowly and hesitantly rung the bell. Gunn appeared at the door a couple minutes later, his bare chest showing.

"Oh, Charles, hi, I—" Fred bashfully covered her eyes at the sight of his chest.

Gunn had to shake his head in amusement, knowing that she had already seen it before. "Hey, Fred. What's up?"

"N-nothing," Fred replied, finally removing her hand. "It's just that nothing is really going on with me lately so I just thought..." she trailed off and sighed. "Never mind. I'll just go." Before she could leave Gunn gently took hold of her wrist.

"No, it's OK," he assured her. "Just come on in."

Fred nodded and stepped into his apartment, taking note that it was nicely decorated even though Gunn was a man who's good taste usually stopped at cars.

"The place looks nice," Fred told him, taking a seat on the couch.

"Thanks," Gunn said, going into his bedroom and coming back out with a white t-shirt on. "So, uh, nothing's going on with you lately?"

"Not a thing," Fred replied, shaking her head a bit. "But with our lives that can be considered a good thing." Gunn nodded and they stood in awkward silence for a while.

          Fred sat conflicted, straightening out the skirt she wore. She had come over there for a reason, not to go over ridiculous small talk. The brown haired book head knew that if she did not say what was on her mind now that she might not get another chance, as Gunn seemed to disappear a lot.

"Listen to me, Charles—" Fred started, working up some nerve. Gunn suddenly groaned out and pain and grabbed his chest. "Charles!" Fred ran to his side and grabbed his arm. "Are you all right?"

Gunn grunted a little, still holding onto a certain area of his chest. "Yeah, I'm—" He groaned again, more sharply.

"That's it." Fred headed over to the phone. "We need to get you some help."

"No!" Gunn suddenly hissed, trying his hardest to hide the pain he felt. "Just... drop it."

Fred made her way back over to him and took hold of his strong arm again. "Is there anything I can do? Maybe I could fix you something to eat?"

          Gunn glanced over at his eyes, the sight of them momentarily making him forget his pain. He had forgotten the size of Fred's kindness and how she became so caring whenever something wasn't right with someone.

"Do you think you could... stay a while?" Gunn asked her slowly, his breath aching.

Fred nodded, a determined look on her face. "Of course I can."

"Thank you." Gunn turned away, heading for his bedroom. "I'll be right back."

          Fred slipped off her jacket and purse and took a seat in the nearby armchair, still wondering what was wrong with him exactly.

          Gunn shut and locked the door to his room so as to be sure Fred wouldn't accidentally barge in. He went over to his mirror and pulled off the t-shirt that he had just changed into, revealing that he had what looked like claw marks going across the right side of his chest. It was like he had just been recently cut by some type of wild animal. Gunn turned around to his back, seeing a smaller cut that looked older and more healed up. The black man slipped back on his shirt and put on as straight a face as he could for Fred.

          Back at Angel's house he sat at his kitchen table, sipping a small mug of blood and watching Connor play with his apple sauce, sitting in his high chair. Angel laughed at the sight of his son sticking sauce to his tiny cheeks.

"Hey, Connor, little lesson for when you turn four," Angel whispered to him. "Don't play with your food."

The baby giggled as if he actually understood and stuck a fist full of apple sauce into his mouth, causing Angel to smile at him again.

Angel, after finishing off the last of his blood, took a wet paper towel and began to wipe off Connor's face, who did not really cooperate very well and started to whine and fidget as the sauce was wiped clean off his face.

"There you go, buddy," Angel said, tossing the towel into the nearby trash basket. Connor started to whine more and soon began to cry. "Oh, it's OK. Come here." Angel lifted him into his arms and began to pat his back. Connor screamed a cry into Angel's shoulder. "Yeah, Daddy hates clean up time, too."

          Angel started to walk around through the house, still patting his son's back, hoping that the movement would quiet him down. Connor kept on wailing, getting Angel's shirt pretty wet. When they made it into the living room Angel took a seat on the couch, the crying baby in his arms.

"Hey, buddy, I got an idea," Angel said, pulling Connor out to meet his eyes. "I've got a song for you. Want to hear it?" Connor just kept crying. "I'll take that as a yes."

          Angel pulled Connor back to him, patting his back more, and began to sing I feel like some hot stuff baby this evening. He quickly got into the song and started to walk around the living room with Connor, dancing a little.

"I feel like some hot stuff baby this evening," Angel sang happily. "I feel like some hot stuff baby tonight!"

          Connor soon quieted down and fell asleep in his dad's arms, leaving Angel to wonder if he stopped crying because he wanted him to stop singing or because his voice was just that soothing. Angel just shrugged and lay down on the couch, Connor drooling onto his shirt.

A/N: I feel like some hot stuff baby this evening! I feel like some hot stuff baby to- Ahem. Please review.