Fiction- Broken Toys- Chapter Two

Title: Broken Toys

Chapter Title: An Unexpected Delivery

Author: Restive Nature

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Angel the Series. They belong to Whedon/ Greenwalt. Nor do I own the rights to Dark Angel, which belong to Cameron/ Eglee and Fox. No infringement is intended and this fiction is for private enjoyment only.

Rating: up to R

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Genre: Crossover

Type: Romance, friendship

Pairing: Wes/ Max Guevara

Summary: She wasn't some fly by night girl. Too bad he and the rest of the gang couldn't, or maybe wouldn't see that.

Spoilers/ Time line: Between season two and three of Angel. Starts of in the summer while Angel is gone to Tibet to mourn Buffy's death. For Dark Angel, pre-series, before Max leaves Los Angeles to go to Seattle to investigate her brother's murders.

Feedback: Always welcome!

Distribution: Ask first please.

A/N: Some of the information on the time line of the time of Max and her siblings escape from Manticore and when the series starts is taken from the Max Allan Collins books, which were written for the television series.

Broken Toys

Chapter Two

An Unexpected Delivery

“So Wes, havin' any luck yet?” Gunn demanded as he sidled up to the desk front. Wesley sighed wearily and looked up from the text that he was currently studying, shaking his head in the negative before reaching for another book.

“The text is quite clear, but the subtext seems to have taken from several languages,” he began to explain, referring to a scroll that they had found in a nest of Vampires that they had cleaned out the prior night. The scroll in question was being held open by two books that Wes had already deemed unusable in the translation process. He had the sinking feelingthough, that it would turn out to be nothing more than the equivalent of a demon's diary and not anything apocryphal. “As soon as I crack the code it was written in, translation should be easier.”

“Nah man,” Gunn chuckled as he turned the note pad that Wes had been using to make notations on ideas or key words to check for, around to look over.

“He meant our little bet,” Cordelia piped up from where she was typing on her computer. She was still convinced that her little 'demons demons demons' website that she liked to use and reference, would have all the answers. “I've got my date lined up. Gunn has his, but...” she trailed off suggestively and Wes could feel the heat of her stare boring into the back of his skull.

“As the actual end date of the bet that we decided upon is still over a week away, I'm not about to jinx myself by discussing my date with either of you,” he retorted quietly. He refrained from rolling his eyes as Cordy chuckled darkly.

“You mean you don't wanna jinx the possibility of actually getting a date,” she clarified. “Because if you really had a girl, or man, we don't judge, we certainly would have heard about it by now.”

“Hey now, Wes datin' a guy wasn't in the bet!” Gunn protested, staring over Wes's shoulder before backing up, literally and figuratively, holding his hands up peaceably. “Not that they anythin' wrong wit' that. Happens when it happens. Wouldn't be the first repressed white boy to figure it out late in life.”

“Late in life?” Wes demanded, seizing upon the last insult as he slammed his pen down upon the book and twisted on his stool to stare between the pair of them. Cordy just made one of her strange movements and looked amused. The muscles in Wes' jaw twitched heavily through the jolly good clenching he gave them and with supreme willpower, he turned back to his books and once his breathing was calm and regulated again, made an executive decision. “Take some of the money we recovered last night and go get some lunch.”

“Both of us?” Gunn demanded dubiously. Wes just threw him a look and Gunn tilted his head, cracking his neck a little. “All right. Don't bust a vein man. What do y'all want?”

As he had suspected she would, Cordy already had her purse and was retrieving the money from the safes petty cash box. They had lucked out the night before. The Vampire's they'd tracked and disposed of, had been taking their victims personal belongings with them after each kill. The identification had been disposed of, thereby making it impossible to return. But they'd had a good stash of cash hidden in a plain box, along with other various items. Wes hadn't felt bad about taking the cash, since it had enabled him to pay the electric bill on his way to work that morning, so they were good there for another month.

Once Cordy stood upright again, tucking the money into her purse, she turned and grinned brightly. “Okay, so Taco's for cave girl up there, I could go for a salad wrap from Chi Chi's.”

“I'm okay with anything,” Gunn nodded. He gestured to his friend and business associate. “Wes?”

“Just a sandwich would be fine,” he commented quietly. “No need to be spending willy nilly on basic necessities.”

“Okay,” Gunn nodded. “After we get back, how 'bout I hit the streets again?”

“That would be fine,” Wes acquiesced tiredly. He gazed after the pair as they trailed out of the hotel, chattering back and forth about where Gunn could try in this latest attempt to hit up some paying jobs.

With another sigh, Wes turned back to the books he'd been studying and bent his head to apply himself to the translation.

He could not say how long had passed before he heard footsteps just outside the main doors. He glanced up but saw no one and when his gaze turned to the garden entry on the other side, saw the same. With a weary look to the stairs in the direction of the room that Winnifred was hiding out in, he still saw nothing. Slightly annoyed, he turned his eyes and mind back to the translation. He was so close to solving it, when he did in fact hear the main hotel door open. He glanced up again to see a young woman moving into the hotel.

“Hey?” she called. “Is this Angel Investigations?”

Wes tried to smile as warmly as possible, even though he was slightly annoyed at the interruption at a key moment. And of course, his fellow employees hadn't returned to deal with this as support personnel in a business should. While Wes loved getting in there and fighting the good fight, he had to admit, he wasn't the most people oriented person. At least he had better skills in that light than say, Angel did. He could console himself with that much.

“It is indeed,” he nodded, reaching for a new pad of foolscap. He already had a pen in hand, ready to take down all the pertinent information of the possible case.. “How can I help you?” He could see that she was dressed in clothing appropriate to the weather, tight clothing, running shoes. She had a baseball hat worn backwards, covering up dark hair and riding gloves on her hands. She was carrying a messenger bag, much like Cordelia's and there were some electronics attached to the strap of the bag. She looked fairly young, though extremely pretty.

“I'm specifically looking for Wesley Wyndham Price,” she told him as she came up to the desk. “I would guess that's you,” she smiled widely and Wes was surprised at how engaging her grin was, smiled in return. A genuine smile this time.

“You presume correctly,” he told her. Her eyes were a glittering brown that held mirth twinkling from them. In all, he could see she was a pretty girl, her features even and without conscious thought, his eyes strayed to her left hand, but with the gloves she wore, it was impossible to tell if she were involved in a relationship that way. But of course, he couldn't distract himself from a client and potential case that way. “What can we, at Angel Investigations do for you? No case is too difficult.”

“Or too strange, from what I hear,” the girl chuckled and then twisted slightly to rummage through her bag. “Sorry to disappoint, but I have a delivery for you.”

“Oh?” Wes blinked rapidly, several times. Not a client then, which was disappointing in it's way. But on the other hand... “Well, yes, thank you.”

“Just need you to sign for it, Wes,” she prompted as she laid her own clipboard on the desk between them. He glanced up sharply at the shortening of his name. Normally he felt that a nickname should be reserved for close friends or family. Or perhaps this was what her employer felt engendered good working relationships between emlpyees and their customers.

But, biting his tongue slightly, he bent his head to sign on the line that she indicated. As soon as he had done that, she double checked his signature against something and then reached into her bag once more. The package she withdrew was slim and rectangular and had no return address. Wes frowned as he looked over the simple brown paper.

“Do you know where this came from?” he wondered, adjusting his glasses slightly on his face. Long used to being careful with unknown items, trained from an early age to be, he wasn't about to just rip into it without knowing at least something about it.

The girl tilted and twisted her head until she pointed at a number in the corner of the address label. “Number 927?” She looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. “Sorry, it's Jimmy's simplified numbering system,” she explained with a slight frown on her face. “Any place that we get enough business with, gets a number assigned to it. That would be a bar, I believe. I'd have to check to be sure, since I didn't make the pick up. I haven't been with this company long enough to be familiar with all of the regulars.”

The only bar that Wes could think of would be Caritas. It was entirely possible that the owner of the establishment, The Host, or Lorne as he had revealed to those he could consider friends, could have sent something over to him. Wes turned the package over and carefully removed the brown paper it was wrapped in, to see a book, with a large purple post it note stuck to the front cover. There was loopy handwriting that was easy enough to discern. It was indeed from Lorne, who noted that a guest had left the book behind and since Lorne knew he wouldn't be returning for it, had decided to send it to Wesley, who would appreciate it.

“Well, this is very fine,” Wes smiled as he looked over the book. It was a nineteenth century volume, quite rare, especially in its good condition. “This will make a fine addition to our library.”

“Glad ya like it,” the girl chuckled, sill standing at the desk, her arms crossed and leaning against the top.

“Oh dear,” Wes exclaimed softly, realizing that he had forgot not only his manners, but the obvious gratuity that messengers depended on. “Let me get you a tip.”

“Oh, that's okay,' the girl shook her head and held a hand up.

“No, no, I insist,' Wesley pressed, for obvious reasons, a pretty young girl, chatting with him, albeit about business, he didn't quite want to let her get away yet. But having just met, well... he just wasn't good at this pick up business himself. He smiled tightly and then moved to the petty cash box, only to find that Cordelia had taken it all. He mentally cursed the ditzy secretary of their business. Office manager indeed! Sometimes her gall was enough to drive a man insane.

Sighing, still crouched at the safe, Wes reached for his own wallet. Grimacing, he realized that he only had a twenty. Money he needed to pick up some food for his own refrigerator.

“It's really all right,” the girl insisted. Wes glanced over his shoulder and saw that she was nervously running her gloved hands over the surface of the counter. “You uh... you don't remember me, do you?”

Puzzled, Wes turned fully and rose from his crouched position on the floor. He slowly advanced back to the desk, taking a harder look at the girl. But he couldn't recall having seen her before. “I'm sorry, but no, not really. Ought I to?”

The girl chuckled. “I always loved the way you talked. Your accent seemed to make things more... I don't know, real. At least with the stories you told us. If that makes sense.” Her eyes were full of amusement again as she reached her hand out. “Max Guevara,” she supplied, but it didn't connect in Wes' mind. “It's been about six or so years. In Colorado?” she prompted.

Wes frowned as he stared down at her hand before reaching to shake it, trying to connect what all she was saying into a proper recall. Stories, Colorado... “The only time I was in Colorado back then was when my father was meeting with some associates,” he recalled. “He brought mother and I to...” His eyes widened then as the memory returned to him and he let out a small, “oh!”

“There ya go,” the girl, Max, grinned brightly at him.

“Little Maxie,” he remembered at last. The girl that his father's associates had taken in to foster. From what he recalled she had been shaddy haired, big eyes and full of questions. She had been about thirteen, which would make her... “you've certainly grown up.”

“Yeah, kids tend to do that,” she chuckled, her laugh rich and throaty. Wes, absurdly pleased to run into a somewhat pleasant reminder of his past, clasped more firmly the hand that she had presented to him, shaking it with pleasure.

“My goodness,” he exclaimed happily. “I certainly never expected to run into you here.”

“Me neither,” she nodded her agreement with that assessment. “ I figured that you had gone back to England to join your family business.”

“I did actually,” Wes supplied as they finally loosened their grips on one anothers hands. Strangely, Wes though politeness demanded a bubble of personal area, was loathe to let her go. He knew then that it would be distasteful to let her get away, especially when he had a valid reason for getting to know her a little bit better now. “It didn't pan out the way I had thought it would and when I was offered the position with Angel Investigations, I rather jumped on it.”

“Well good,” Max nodded. She frowned for just a moment and then looked down to where their hands were still joined. She wiggled her fingers in his and Wes fought against an embarrassed blush. “I hate to say, I'm still on the clock. But... would you be interested in maybe getting coffee later? I'm still kind of new around here and it's been amazing to actually see a friendly face.”

“I was just working my way up to asking,” Wes admitted candidly, a shy smile gracing his face at the pleased relief on hers. “Would afternoon or evening work better for you?”

“Well, my shift today ends at three,” she offered. “And I don't have plans for this evening.”

“Things have been quiet around here,” Wes contributed. “Why don't we plan to meet at four? That should give us both plenty of time to take care of the ends of our days. And there are plenty of coffee houses to choose from.”

“You know, I noticed that,” Max chuckled. “Well great,” she nodded as her pager went off with it's intermittent beeps. She turned her head to check the number that it was listing and then patted her hand on the counter. “Could we maybe meet down at the farmer's market a couple blocks down? I promised my room mate that I'd pick her up some fresh veggies tonight.”

“Certainly,” Wes nodded, relieved that she was putting a plan in motion. “I've been actually meaning to get down there and look at some of the booths they've set up.”

“Well great,” Max chuckled. “It's a date. See ya later Wes.”

“See you Max,” Wes added, his eyes wide as the young woman lithely pranced out of the hotel. He could see as the door slowly closed behind her, Max moving a bicycle away from the wall where she must have leaned it. That had probably been the first noise that he had heard. And then it began to sink in on him. As the other entry door opened, the chatter between Gunn and Cordelia growing louder as they neared, he realized for the first time since Virginia Bryce, he actually had himself an honest to goodness date!