Chapter Text
Evening fell over the small town of Ventura, bathing it in artificial lights and uneasy shadows. The downtown streets were still lively: couples strolled past brightly lit shop windows, and groups of friends laughed as they exited bars, their neon signs flickering softly. The atmosphere seemed peaceful, almost carefree, but for Angel and Cordelia, this calm was nothing more than a fragile veil concealing the ever-present danger.
Angel was running through the dark alleys, Connor held tightly against him, the baby wrapped in a blanket. Cordelia followed close behind, her labored breath a testament to their urgent pace. Their arrival in Ventura had been anything but a calculated decision; they had fled Los Angeles in a hurry, without even taking the time to gather supplies. All they had was Connor and a fierce determination to protect him.
— "We should’ve found a safe place before coming here," Cordelia murmured, her eyes scanning the shadows warily.
Behind them, hurried footsteps and growls from demons and vampires echoed like a warning.
— "We didn’t have a choice," Angel replied, his voice low and tense. "Connor needs food. Diapers. Everything. We couldn’t wait."
They had stopped in this small town hoping to find what they needed quickly, but luck wasn’t on their side. As soon as they had stepped out of their car, they had been spotted. Worst of all, however, was when Angel had recognized a familiar figure in the crowd. Holtz. His face was as harsh and unyielding as the vampire remembered it, and at his side, a woman. Justine.
— "There are too many of them," Cordelia had blurted out, her voice betraying her growing panic.
— "We run," Angel had decided.
And so they did. For several minutes, they had weaved through the town, darting down dark alleys, trying to shake off their pursuers, who seemed to grow in numbers.
Connor whimpered softly, disturbed by the commotion, but Angel held him closer to reassure him. Behind them, their enemies were gaining ground, their heavy, menacing footsteps echoing against the pavement.
— "They’re getting closer," Cordelia murmured breathlessly, her tone laced with worry.
Angel didn’t need to look back to confirm it. He could feel the dark presences, all seemingly driven by a single obsession: Connor.
They turned a corner, coming out onto a busier street. The sound of laughter and passing cars created an almost surreal contrast to their desperate flight. Angel swept his gaze around, searching for shelter, a plan… a miracle. The bright storefronts and denser crowd gave them a chance, a cover… but not enough.
And then, he saw it.
An old pickup truck parked a little further down the street.
Angel slowed down for a fraction of a second, just long enough to notice a small detail that confirmed his instincts: the bumper still bore a distinctive scrape. He quickly searched the back of the truck and found, carefully hidden under a tarp, a stake and a sledgehammer that brought back memories. Yes. This was Lindsey’s truck.
Angel had no time to think. Their pursuers were closing in fast, and the crowd wouldn’t shield them for long. Connor needed to be put somewhere safe. Holding his baby close, he smashed the passenger-side window with a precise blow. The noise startled a couple passing a few yards away, but Angel didn’t have the luxury of worrying about prying eyes.
— "You’re gonna be okay, son," he murmured, settling Connor onto the passenger seat. The baby cooed softly despite the agitation.
He paused for just a moment, his fingers brushing over the baby’s soft cheek. "Be good," he whispered, before covering him with the blanket.
— "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Cordelia asked, still breathless.
— "We don’t really have a choice. They won’t look for him here," Angel replied in hurry. "He’s safer than he would be with us right now."
— "Yeah, but… do you trust him?"
Angel hesitated for a second.
— "I don’t know… Lindsey once risked his life to save children. I think he will protect Connor."
Without another word, Angel grabbed Cordelia’s arm and pulled her along, throwing one last glance at the truck where Connor lay, blissfully unaware of the chaos surrounding him. A hoarse cry rang out behind them, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps.
— "They spotted us — move!" Angel shouted.
They plunged into the crowd, leading their pursuers away from the truck, their silhouettes swallowed by the flickering neon lights of the storefronts.
---
The small town of Ventura was immersed in the quiet of late evening. The streetlights cast a soft glow, and the few remaining pedestrians were making their way home. It was a peaceful atmosphere — almost too peaceful for someone like Lindsey McDonald. Since leaving Los Angeles, he had made a point to disappear into a modest routine, far from the schemes of the Senior Partners. By day, he was just a simple salesman at a music store; his only real distraction was the little country band he had put together, with which he spent his Friday evenings, performing in the local bars, like tonight.
Lindsey stepped out of the small bar where he had just played, guitar in hand, a satisfied smile on his lips. He inhaled the air, thick with the scents of beer, fried food, and a faint trace of the sea carried by the breeze. Here, no one knew him. No one asked questions. No secret files, no lawyers in tailored suits.
"Just a town where no one’s looking for you," he reminded himself as he glanced at the bar’s front window. His reflection showed the image of an almost normal guy—shirt open over a dark T-shirt, a guitar slung over his shoulder.
The night had been good. Not perfect—the sound system had cut out during the last song—but the applause had been enough to quiet his doubts. An ordinary night. One of those where, for a few hours, he wasn’t Lindsey McDonald, former Wolfram & Hart lawyer, but just “Lindsey the musician.”
— "Great gig tonight, man," Danny, the bassist, called out, clapping him on the shoulder and bringing him back to reality. The rest of the band spilled out of the bar, still buzzing from the energy of the concert.
Lindsey nodded. Music had always been his therapy. Now, it allowed him to forget—just for a moment—the scars Wolfram & Hart had left behind and the nagging fear of being found one day.
They walked together toward the parking lot, laughing about the false notes one of the band members had accumulated at the end of the set. But as they approached, the mood shifted.
— "Lindsey, your window’s busted," Danny noted, frowning.
Lindsey stopped short, his gaze locking onto the old red pickup that had followed him from Los Angeles. The passenger-side window was shattered, shards of glass glittering on the pavement.
— "Fuck!" he exclaimed, stepping closer. He glanced around, his jaw tightening. No sign of a thief, no one suspicious in sight. Just passersby laughing, cars rolling by.
— "Did you leave anything of value inside?" Jonah asked, peering through the broken window.
— "No, nothing, luckily… but I really don’t have time to hit the shop this week," Lindsey grumbled.
His eyes narrowed. Something was wrong. That blanket on the passenger seat… that wasn’t his.
— "Wait, what’s that?" asked Jonah, the drummer, leaning over to get a better look.
Lindsey slowly pulled open the door, his heartbeat picking up for reasons he couldn’t yet explain.
— "Is that… a baby?" Jonah blurted out, incredulous.
A baby. Tiny, pink-cheeked and serene, it slept peacefully, its mouth slightly open in a soft sigh. The infant’s little hands peeked out from the blanket, fingers twitching faintly as if reaching for something.
— "You’ve got to be kidding me," Lindsey murmured, unable to tear his gaze away. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. A baby. In his truck.
— "What do we do, man? That’s not your kid, is it?" Jonah joked with a nervous laugh.
— "Very funny," replied Lindsey, glancing around. No sign of a distraught parent, no one screaming about a missing baby. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.
— "So… what now? Do we just wait here? Hope someone comes looking for him?" one of the other musicians asked.
— "We ask around. Maybe someone lost him…" Danny suggested.
But Lindsey already knew it was useless. No one “loses” a baby by breaking a truck window…
They questioned a few people nearby, asking if anyone had seen someone searching for a child. But the answers were all the same—confused looks, shrugs.
— "Man, this is messed up," Jonah muttered, casting a worried glance at Lindsey.
Lindsey stepped back toward the truck. He had picked up the baby in his arms to fix the blanket and check for any injuries. The little one had barely stirred, cracking open a blue eye before snuggling against him as if nothing were wrong. He was so small… way too small to be left like this.
— "Maybe he was abandoned?" Danny suggested.
— "They could’ve found somewhere better than my truck…" Lindsey grumbled. "Either way, we can’t just leave him here."
The night wasn’t safe for a baby, and Lindsey had a bad feeling gnawing at him. After a few more minutes of confused discussion, his friends decided to let him handle it.
Lindsey climbed into the pickup, throwing one last glance at his bandmates before starting the engine.
Next stop: the police station.
---
Lindsey parked his truck right in front of the small Ventura police station, illuminated by a flickering blue neon sign above the entrance. The place seemed almost deserted at this late hour. No patrol cars in sight, just a heavy silence and the glow of streetlights filtering through the dusty windows.
He stepped out of the vehicle and walked around to open the passenger door. Carefully, he lifted the baby. The little one squirmed, letting out a muffled whimper, but didn’t wake up.
— "Alright, little guy, let’s get you some help," Lindsey murmured softly.
Pushing open the police station door with his elbow, he was greeted with a sharp clang and a metallic creak. The inside was just as unwelcoming as the outside: a modest space with a worn counter, hard plastic chairs, and a TV on the wall, broadcasting local news on mute.
Behind the counter, a young policeman—barely out of the academy, judging by his youthful face—raised his head. He was chewing gum slowly and glanced wearily at Lindsey and the baby.
— "Busy night?" Lindsey asked, trying to begin lightly.
The young agent raised an eyebrow, clearly not in the mood for jokes.
— "What can I do for you?"
— "Uh…" Lindsey hesitated, unsure how to explain. "I found this baby in my truck," he finally said, nodding toward the little one in his arms.
The officer straightened, his eyes widening.
— "Wait, what? You… found a baby? Where?"
— "In my truck," Lindsey repeated firmly. "Someone left him on my passenger seat. Broken window, no note, nothing."
The young agent squinted, clearly processing the information.
— "Okay… uh… Hang on a second." He stood up, grabbed a phone, and started dialing. As he spoke in a low voice, he kept glancing frequently at Lindsey and the baby, as if to make sure they were still there.
— "Not gonna disappear, kid," Lindsey muttered, sinking into one of the plastic chairs, the baby still nestled against him.
— "Boy or girl?" the officer suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow without putting down the phone.
Lindsey shrugged.
— "No idea. Didn’t check. I’m not in the habit of undressing the babies I find."
The policeman stared at him impatiently and Lindsey sighed, rolling his eyes. He straightened the baby against him, lifted the blanket awkwardly, and let out an exasperated sigh. This whole situation was just too weird…
— "It’s a boy," he announced simply.
The young officer nodded, jotting it down before continuing his call.
A few minutes later, he returned, looking more serious.
— "Well… We haven’t received any reports of a missing child tonight," he said, eyeing Lindsey suspiciously. "Are you sure about your version of events? A broken window, a baby in the vehicle… Sounds a little strange, don’t you think?"
Lindsey frowned and stood up, his tone sharpening.
— "I brought him here, officer. If I had something to hide, I wouldn’t have come to you."
The policeman cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed.
— "Yeah, yeah… Sorry. It’s just… weird."
— "You’re perceptive… Welcome to my night," Lindsey replied sarcastically.
The officer moved closer to the counter, flipping open a logbook and noting down a few more notes.
— "So now what?" Lindsey asked, still waiting for an actual solution.
— "Okay, well… We can try checking with local hospitals to see if there were any recent births. Sometimes parents panic and do… stupid things," the young officer suggested awkwardly. "But at this hour, it’s going to be complicated reaching anyone. Most services are closed overnight."
Lindsey pursed his lips.
— "So what do we do in the meantime?" he pressed.
The young agent paused, scratching the back of his head.
— "Well… We could call Child Protective Services, but… same problem. It’s the middle of the night… And here… we don’t really have anyone to take care of him. No nurse on duty, no available foster care at this hour… No night shift, just me."
Silence hung between them.
Lindsey blinked, the implication finally reaching his tired brain. "Wait… You want me to… to keep him?!"
— "Uh…" The officer hesitated again, clearly uncomfortable. "It would be… temporary, you know. Just until tomorrow morning. I’ll take your name and address, and we’ll call you as soon as we have any updates. You live in town?"
Lindsey sighed, staring at the ceiling like it might offer some kind of escape. But there wasn’t one.
— "Yeah, I live here," he finally said.
The young officer wrote down his address in the logbook and added in an encouraging tone:
— "We’ll call you as soon as we know more. Promise. Do you have anything to feed him? Take care of him?"
Lindsey shrugged.
— "I’ll figure it out."
The officer shot him an uncertain look but nodded.
— "Alright… Thanks for your cooperation, sir. We’ll be in touch as soon as possible."
Lindsey straightened, still holding the baby securely.
— "Yeah, yeah… Call soon," he grunted before stepping outside.
The night air greeted him again, but this time, it felt colder. The baby stirred, letting out a small sleepy sound against his chest. Lindsey looked down at him, then scanned his surroundings. An unsettling prickle crept up his neck again, as if he was being watched. He turned his head slowly, checking the street, but saw nothing.
— "Don’t be paranoid, Lindsey," he chided himself in a low voice.
But the unease didn’t leave him.
He climbed into his truck, cast one last wary glance at the empty street, then started the engine.
---
Lindsey parked his pickup truck in front of a convenience store still lit despite the late hour.
He opened the truck door, adjusted the blanket around the infant, and lifted him into his arms. There was no way he was leaving the baby alone, not even for the few minutes it would take to shop: the window was broken, it was cold, and that unsettling feeling of being watched was still there, and even more oppressive. Yet, everything seemed normal: just a deserted street with lampposts casting a pale glow. He shook his head, annoyed by his own paranoia, and headed toward the store.
The doorbell tinkled softly as he entered. Few customers were around at this hour. A man rummaging through beer cans. An elderly woman at the counter, counting her change.
Lindsey made his way to the baby products aisle, trying to remember what he needed.
— "Diapers... formula... feeding bottle... and wipes, right? That should be enough for one night."
He reached for a can of powdered milk but froze. How old was this baby? A few days? A few weeks? He had no idea, but the kid was really small... He stared at the can for a few seconds, his hand hovering mid-air, then glanced down at the baby nestled against him, as if silently asking him too.
— "Alright, we'll go with this... I’m not letting you starve."
His instincts urged him to be quick, not to linger here. Slowly, he glanced around. The man in the beer aisle wasn't looking. The old woman was still counting her coins.
Lindsey forced himself to walk calmly to the counter, keeping the baby securely against him.
— "Walking around with a baby at this hour? You’re not exactly the usual late-night customer," the cashier remarked, a sly grin on his face.
— "Helping a friend out in an emergency," Lindsey replied in a neutral tone.
Better to avoid drawing attention.
The young man nodded, seemingly unconcerned.
— "Looks like he likes you."
Lindsey looked down. The baby was peaceful, his face nestled against his chest. He quickly paid and stepped back outside. The night air was colder than before, but the street remained empty. Yet, that sensation of being followed lingered. Lindsey narrowed his eyes, scanning the street. Nothing... no one.
He held the baby tighter and walked briskly to his truck.
---
The door to his apartment slammed shut behind him with a dull thud. Lindsey locked it out of habit, double-checking it afterward. Windows closed, curtains drawn. Everything in place. He glanced around. The symbols on the walls were still there, reassuring. He sighed. Finally home... What a night…
He placed the bags on the table and sat down on the couch, the baby still in his arms. For a moment, he simply watched the peaceful little face. The adrenaline was starting to wear off.
— "So, little guy... Who are you? And what were you doing in my truck?" he murmured.
No answer, of course. But the questions kept swirling in his head. Was this a trap set by the Senior Partners? Or just a twisted coincidence? He sighed. Thinking would get him nowhere.
The baby let out a small cry, wriggling in the blanket.
— "Yeah, yeah, I get it... You’re hungry, huh? Give me two minutes."
He pulled the supplies from the bag, found a clean bowl, some hot water, and read the instructions on the formula can. He had done this many times for his younger siblings.
A few minutes later, he held a warm bottle, the sweet smell of milk filling the kitchen. He sat back down on the couch, cradling the baby with one hand and the bottle with the other.
— "Alright, kid, dinner’s served."
The baby grabbed the teat with immediate instinct, sucking eagerly. Lindsey watched him, thoughtful.
— "You know what? We need to find you a name. Calling you ‘little guy’ or ‘kid’ or whatever won’t cut it for long," he murmured.
He studied the infant for a moment.
— "Eliot. How about that? That was my older brother’s name—real badass, you know? Yeah... that sounds good."
Once the bottle was empty, Lindsey placed the baby against his shoulder and patted his back until a loud burp echoed.
— "Well… Not bad for the first round."
He fetched a thicker blanket and laid Eliot on the bed next to him. The baby looked up at him, but instead of dozing off, he seemed wide awake. He began crying, as if sensing the rough night they'd had.
Lindsey frowned. He didn’t want the whole building to wake up wondering why a baby suddenly appeared in his apartment in the middle of the night.
Slowly, he began to sing. His deep, slightly raspy voice filled the room—a blend of warmth and softness. It wasn’t a classic lullaby, but a song he’d written when he first arrived in Ventura, a few months back.
After a while, Eliot stopped fussing, his big eyes fixed on Lindsey with an unusual focus for such a young baby. Gradually, his eyelids grew heavy, and he finally drifted off, his tiny hand clutching Lindsey’s shirt.
Lindsey kept singing softly, even after Eliot had fallen asleep. His voice became lower as he was singing for himself, lost in thoughts, before finally dozing off.