Summary: Angel and Co. have to babysit...a de-aged Lindsey McDonald. Written for comment-fic at LJ.


Little Boy Blue

The bad guys are always kidnapping children and young girls (virgins) as sacrifices. Either that, or to eat. For the latter reason, it's not even that young, innocent blood actually tastes all that much better. It's the fact that they're taking an innocent life that turns them on.

Anyway, this is the monologue that's going through Angel's head as he fights off the demons he'd stumbled upon on his way home from fighting even more demons that night (evil never sleeps). These guys had a young boy in their grasp, a tiny kid, no more than three or four, with a shock of blond curls. Right now, he's lying limp in the street, but he's not dead - Angel can hear his heart beating the slow and steady rhythm of the heavily drugged.

He plunges a knife through the chest of the last demon and straightens. A breeze blows the boy's scent to him, and-

Wait a minute. Hold up.

That can't be right.

He steps closer and takes a deep whiff of the kid.

Yeah. Definitely what he thought. Except...It's impossible, right?

This little kid can't be him. It cannot be that unscrupulous, unprincipled, immoral, evil lawyer, Lindsey McDonald, can it?

It can't be, but it is. The nose knows.

Well, what else is there to do but to take him home with him, right? To interrogate, of course. When he wakes up.

Yes. That's the reason Angel took Lindsey home with him, and no other, no matter what Cordelia says.

Not because he's a kid and has nowhere else to go on top of being drugged, and the streets really aren't safe at all, and...Okay, okay, so maybe Angel has a heart after all.

Besides, he's curious.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how he ends up with a three-year-old in his lap eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, complete with a milk mustache. Angel can't even bring himself to scold the kid for dropping crumbs all over his coat and pants because if he does, he has a feeling the tears will start up yet again.

Seriously, where in that tiny little body does the kid keep all that water to cry with?

So what had happened was, Lindsey had woken up, and Angel had been waiting for it. In the dark. Alone.

Turns out, the kid is afraid of the dark, especially what's in it.

Cordy and Wesley had rushed in at the sound of the terrified wails, and of course, it was all Angel's fault that the kid had started crying when he'd swooped (Cordy's word, not his) and scared him half to death.

And naturally, he wouldn't stop sobbing until Wesley had finally "tried something" and put the kid into Angel's arms, after about ten minutes of the others trying to calm him down to no avail.

Then, the heartbreaking weeping had ceased, and the boy had given one big hiccup before melting into the vampire's arms. He had refused to be budged, holding onto Angel with a grip almost superhuman. Cordy, giving in to some feminine impulse, had brought in the sandwich and milk in an attempt to get a smile from the "cutie," which of course, she got. The smile the kid gave her was probably the sweetest in his arsenal - "just like a darling little angel" she had cooed.

Little Lindsey finishes his sandwich and wipes his sticky hands on Angel's coat. Of course.

Angel growls a little, just a tad, and the boy turns around and blinks at him, with those big, pale blue eyes, and it's cute. That is, if he wasn't normally an evil lawyer, it would be cute.

Then the kid has the audacity to snuggle back into his chest. Snuggle. Against Angel.

This makes Angel scowl. Cordy and Wesley stifle giggles at the dark expression on his face.

Angel growls again, which makes the boy blink drowsily up at him again and yawn. Then he curls up against him and goes to sleep.

"Awww," says Cordy in that annoying voice all women seem to get around babies and small animals, "Awww, isn't he the sweetest little thing ever?"

"Um, no?" Not cute. At all.

"Well, Angel, he is quite charming, you have to admit that," Wesley says with a small smile. "Not really the man we've come up against at all. Half the man, you might say," he jokes, "Or even a quarter."

Angel doesn't laugh. It's not funny. And the kid's probably going to end up wetting himself in Angel's lap.

"I'm gonna put him down," he growls, "It better not set him off again."

It doesn't, but the sticky little hand refuses to let go of his coat lapel, even though the kid is completely out of it and making little snuffly sounds in his sleep.

So what else can Angel do but pick him up again and seat himself on the couch with a grumble? The kid's like a limpet. Clingy. And snuggly. (And no one better say anything about the fact that Angel can just pry the kid's fingers open with his vampire strength, or he will eat their face.)

And if he maybe falls asleep, too, well, that's just because he's tired after a long night of fighting demons and having to babysit a former evil lawyer.