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Birthday fic for a very special girl!
Today is the birthday of the very lovely, very clever and very brilliant ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
molly_may! I hope you are having a fabulous day with much Spiky goodness and that someone got you some sort of 'Buffy Expert' certificate. avrelia made you one already, didn't she? *facepalm*
Now I (very unusually) come bearing fic! I was attacked by a particularly vicious plot bunny, and this was the result. I really hope you like it. It will probably turn into a series of ficlets (with time and inspiration), but for now this is all. Sorry about the present tense, I'm afraid it couldn't be helped.
Rating: PG-13 I guess.
Setting: Shortly after the fade-to-black in NFA.
Thank you tokathyh for the read through. :)
ETA: This is a stalled WIP. It might get finished some day, since I know how it's going to end, but I have no idea how to get there. So don't hold your breath, sorry.
Only a girl...
It’s dark. The rain lashes down, washing their bloodied faces and making it hard to distinguish their foes. Angel knows that Gunn went down a while ago, but he has no space for grief, no time for mourning. All there is in the world is fighting - thrust, twist, duck, stab, move on. He knows Spike is on his right, Illyria on his left and he keeps an absent note of where the dragon is positioned in the sky. But no matter how many he kills, they just keep coming. No relief for muscles that are now screaming.
Then the dragon swoops down, and as he ducks its deadly flames, he sees Illyria gracefully leap onto the neck. Swearing he tries to jump after them, but it’s no use. Then the onslaught breaks forth again and he must continue fighting.
Suddenly there is a bright light - so searing that Angel automatically cowers and tries to shield himself. A fraction of a second later he realises that the light comes from the dragon that is now swerving dangerously between the buildings in the narrow alley. Seconds later it crashes to the ground in front of them, crushing untold demons under its bulky mass. Illyria is perched proudly on the neck, her hands twisting the head at an unnatural angle, letting the strange light stream forth. Angel senses Spike coming up next to him, limping, his face furrowed in incomprehension. “What the hell is she doing?”
The older vampire shrugs, half-remembered knowledge surfacing. “Tapping the dragon’s magic?”
He notices the black burn marks on Illyria’s unbreakable hide, and thinks to himself that it’s not fair that vampires are so flammable.
A smile breaks out over the God’s face and suddenly the sound of thunder rolls along the ground. Then darkness breaks out in front of them, like a column of smoky ink, licking the wet tarmac. A shape grows out of the black; hesitant and insubstantial at first, then slowly gathering volume until the figure is clear.
Angel stares. It can’t be...
In front of them stands a middle-aged, silver haired man. His face is a blank, and his suit fits like a glove. In his left hand he holds a briefcase. But two large horns grow out of his forehead. Large and solid, they twist backwards in decreasing loops.
Behind him, Illyria says triumphantly: ‘I brought you The Ram.”
The Ram smiles pleasantly and looks around. “How... nice to be here,” it says, before raising an arm. With a wave the demon army, thronging to get past the dragon, disappears. At the same time, the light turns off. “I don’t think we need that anymore, do you?” The Ram continues, glancing over its shoulder at Illyria.
Angel reels inwardly as he blinks in the sudden gloom. He is finally face to face with a Senior Partner. Although he has no doubt that its real face is very different. Question is: Can he kill it? His hand clenches around the hilt of his sword and The Ram looks at him sharply. “Do not think you can kill me, Angel. But...”
They lock eyes, then The Ram continues. “...I will offer you a deal.”
It is only a year since the last ‘deal’ - and look where he ended up. Angel begins to shake his head, but The Ram holds up a hand. “This one is different. If you agree, we will leave this dimension - forever! We will close down every branch, stop the apocalypse - more than you could ever hope to accomplish yourself.”
Angel’s eyes narrow. “What do you want me to do?”
A smile that would have made Lindsey MacDonald look like an honest man. “Only to kill... this!”
The left hand containing the briefcase stretches out, and the case becomes enshrouded in the same kind of strange impenetrable blackness that enveloped the figure before. It swirls slowly and then pulls back, leaving in its stead a large woven basket. A small hand can be seen waving above the edge, but that is all.
Angel freezes. It can’t be...
He can almost feel the wheels in Spike’s brain turn. “Didn’t Darla once...?”
“Shut up!” he replies. Looking at the creature in front of him he asks: “You want me to kill the child?”
“Seems a small price, doesn’t it?” The Ram says blandly. After a small hesitation, it continues. “Kill is actually not quite accurate. We want you to sire her and then keep her alive. As a... legacy of our work here. If she dies, we return. Those are the terms.”
If Angel was still capable of being shocked, this would have rendered him speechless. As it is, he thinks he understands in part what they’re trying to do. Worn out he rubs his face, absentmindedly noticing the blood on his hand. Weariness lies on him like a stone mantle - he had thought that he would now be done with tough decisions. The acts he has committed to get to this point - those whose deaths he has ruthlessly caused - he can feel them weigh him down, almost to the point of blotting out his soul. But none of those were innocent.
He still remembers the feel of the infant Connor in his arms, how he was ready to give up the entire world to save him. Could he do the opposite? Destroy and warp something so pure? He needs to buy time...
“Why her?” he asks, thinking that maybe she is the daughter of a president or king. Maybe an immortal like Eve.
The Ram does a good impression of a shrug. “She is nobody. A little orphan, with no extended family. If not killed now, she will die of leukaemia when she’s 23. Our soothsayers were very definite on that point.”
Angel swallows. There is something wrong - something horribly wrong. He can’t fool himself - he could never do what they ask, and he wonders what this child could accomplish in a few short years, that would make the Senior Partners ready to give up this whole world. He suddenly realises that he needs to protect this child, more than anything else. He shifts imperceptibly, and senses Spike tense beside him. Casting a swift look at Illyria, he can see her crouched like a coiled spring on the immobile dragon’s neck. Slowly he takes a step forward. “And if I decline...?”
The Ram smiles. The smile keeps widening, until its face is nearly parted in two, its teeth lengthening and turning yellow. It is a hideous sight, but Angel ignores it, jumping just as a long, bony hand stretches into the basket. Illyria leaps at the same time, latching onto the macabre being, now more animal than human, wrapping her strong, steely hands around the creature’s neck. Angel snatches the basket and jumps clear, just as Spike lands a kick to The Ram’s middle. It folds and then folds again, smog-like tendrils emanating, before suddenly it’s gone, leaving nothing but empty air.
Angel stares at the void, then his eyes slowly travel down to the baby. She’s shivering, only wrapped in a dirty blanket and her tiny face is twisting into a cry.
Spike looks at him, eyebrow raised. “What now?”
Angel doesn’t know. The night is black and cold, and they have nowhere to go. Then the baby begins to cry.
Carefully he puts down the basket, wraps the baby up as much as he can and cradles her under his coat. Then he looks at his two companions. “I think... this girl is the key to everything!”
Chapter 2.
molly_may! I hope you are having a fabulous day with much Spiky goodness and avrelia made you one already, didn't she? *facepalm*Now I (very unusually) come bearing fic! I was attacked by a particularly vicious plot bunny, and this was the result. I really hope you like it. It will probably turn into a series of ficlets (with time and inspiration), but for now this is all. Sorry about the present tense, I'm afraid it couldn't be helped.
Rating: PG-13 I guess.
Setting: Shortly after the fade-to-black in NFA.
Thank you to
kathyh for the read through. :)ETA: This is a stalled WIP. It might get finished some day, since I know how it's going to end, but I have no idea how to get there. So don't hold your breath, sorry.
It’s dark. The rain lashes down, washing their bloodied faces and making it hard to distinguish their foes. Angel knows that Gunn went down a while ago, but he has no space for grief, no time for mourning. All there is in the world is fighting - thrust, twist, duck, stab, move on. He knows Spike is on his right, Illyria on his left and he keeps an absent note of where the dragon is positioned in the sky. But no matter how many he kills, they just keep coming. No relief for muscles that are now screaming.
Then the dragon swoops down, and as he ducks its deadly flames, he sees Illyria gracefully leap onto the neck. Swearing he tries to jump after them, but it’s no use. Then the onslaught breaks forth again and he must continue fighting.
Suddenly there is a bright light - so searing that Angel automatically cowers and tries to shield himself. A fraction of a second later he realises that the light comes from the dragon that is now swerving dangerously between the buildings in the narrow alley. Seconds later it crashes to the ground in front of them, crushing untold demons under its bulky mass. Illyria is perched proudly on the neck, her hands twisting the head at an unnatural angle, letting the strange light stream forth. Angel senses Spike coming up next to him, limping, his face furrowed in incomprehension. “What the hell is she doing?”
The older vampire shrugs, half-remembered knowledge surfacing. “Tapping the dragon’s magic?”
He notices the black burn marks on Illyria’s unbreakable hide, and thinks to himself that it’s not fair that vampires are so flammable.
A smile breaks out over the God’s face and suddenly the sound of thunder rolls along the ground. Then darkness breaks out in front of them, like a column of smoky ink, licking the wet tarmac. A shape grows out of the black; hesitant and insubstantial at first, then slowly gathering volume until the figure is clear.
Angel stares. It can’t be...
In front of them stands a middle-aged, silver haired man. His face is a blank, and his suit fits like a glove. In his left hand he holds a briefcase. But two large horns grow out of his forehead. Large and solid, they twist backwards in decreasing loops.
Behind him, Illyria says triumphantly: ‘I brought you The Ram.”
The Ram smiles pleasantly and looks around. “How... nice to be here,” it says, before raising an arm. With a wave the demon army, thronging to get past the dragon, disappears. At the same time, the light turns off. “I don’t think we need that anymore, do you?” The Ram continues, glancing over its shoulder at Illyria.
Angel reels inwardly as he blinks in the sudden gloom. He is finally face to face with a Senior Partner. Although he has no doubt that its real face is very different. Question is: Can he kill it? His hand clenches around the hilt of his sword and The Ram looks at him sharply. “Do not think you can kill me, Angel. But...”
They lock eyes, then The Ram continues. “...I will offer you a deal.”
It is only a year since the last ‘deal’ - and look where he ended up. Angel begins to shake his head, but The Ram holds up a hand. “This one is different. If you agree, we will leave this dimension - forever! We will close down every branch, stop the apocalypse - more than you could ever hope to accomplish yourself.”
Angel’s eyes narrow. “What do you want me to do?”
A smile that would have made Lindsey MacDonald look like an honest man. “Only to kill... this!”
The left hand containing the briefcase stretches out, and the case becomes enshrouded in the same kind of strange impenetrable blackness that enveloped the figure before. It swirls slowly and then pulls back, leaving in its stead a large woven basket. A small hand can be seen waving above the edge, but that is all.
Angel freezes. It can’t be...
He can almost feel the wheels in Spike’s brain turn. “Didn’t Darla once...?”
“Shut up!” he replies. Looking at the creature in front of him he asks: “You want me to kill the child?”
“Seems a small price, doesn’t it?” The Ram says blandly. After a small hesitation, it continues. “Kill is actually not quite accurate. We want you to sire her and then keep her alive. As a... legacy of our work here. If she dies, we return. Those are the terms.”
If Angel was still capable of being shocked, this would have rendered him speechless. As it is, he thinks he understands in part what they’re trying to do. Worn out he rubs his face, absentmindedly noticing the blood on his hand. Weariness lies on him like a stone mantle - he had thought that he would now be done with tough decisions. The acts he has committed to get to this point - those whose deaths he has ruthlessly caused - he can feel them weigh him down, almost to the point of blotting out his soul. But none of those were innocent.
He still remembers the feel of the infant Connor in his arms, how he was ready to give up the entire world to save him. Could he do the opposite? Destroy and warp something so pure? He needs to buy time...
“Why her?” he asks, thinking that maybe she is the daughter of a president or king. Maybe an immortal like Eve.
The Ram does a good impression of a shrug. “She is nobody. A little orphan, with no extended family. If not killed now, she will die of leukaemia when she’s 23. Our soothsayers were very definite on that point.”
Angel swallows. There is something wrong - something horribly wrong. He can’t fool himself - he could never do what they ask, and he wonders what this child could accomplish in a few short years, that would make the Senior Partners ready to give up this whole world. He suddenly realises that he needs to protect this child, more than anything else. He shifts imperceptibly, and senses Spike tense beside him. Casting a swift look at Illyria, he can see her crouched like a coiled spring on the immobile dragon’s neck. Slowly he takes a step forward. “And if I decline...?”
The Ram smiles. The smile keeps widening, until its face is nearly parted in two, its teeth lengthening and turning yellow. It is a hideous sight, but Angel ignores it, jumping just as a long, bony hand stretches into the basket. Illyria leaps at the same time, latching onto the macabre being, now more animal than human, wrapping her strong, steely hands around the creature’s neck. Angel snatches the basket and jumps clear, just as Spike lands a kick to The Ram’s middle. It folds and then folds again, smog-like tendrils emanating, before suddenly it’s gone, leaving nothing but empty air.
Angel stares at the void, then his eyes slowly travel down to the baby. She’s shivering, only wrapped in a dirty blanket and her tiny face is twisting into a cry.
Spike looks at him, eyebrow raised. “What now?”
Angel doesn’t know. The night is black and cold, and they have nowhere to go. Then the baby begins to cry.
Carefully he puts down the basket, wraps the baby up as much as he can and cradles her under his coat. Then he looks at his two companions. “I think... this girl is the key to everything!”
Chapter 2.
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I have a sneaking suspicion that Angel's last words are more prophetic than he knows.
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Not saying anything about your suspicion... ;)
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He can almost feel the wheels in Spike's brain turning.
I love that line. That's my Spike-and-Angel. :)
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Oh, and re. Spike-and-Angel, I just remembered what else I was going to tell you in that e-mail. Will write again later. *g*
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Can't wait for more!
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And I can't wait for more either - I know how it ends, but now I'm going to have to work out all the plotty bits in the middle. Meh.
Love the icon btw.
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He notices the black burn marks on Illyria’s unbreakable hide, and thinks to himself that it’s not fair that vampires are so flammable.
Awww! Poor Angel, always looking for the downside of that whole immortal gig!
Sorry about the present tense, I'm afraid it couldn't be helped.
Ahhhh, we've all done it! fun isn't it?
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Can see loads of ideas and themes zinging around the edges of this fic
::squints:: Hmmm, might have to get a big net to catch them, since so far all I can see happening is that this turns into a baby!fic big time. Which is really not something I'm that keen on writing.
I love writing Angel, he's such a... human character!
I like how immediate it is - also I was *way* too lazy to change it!
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Had a look at your user info and you used to like Elfquest! Squee! You must be the first person I've met here who has known it! I actually have a theory that Elfquest was the perfect primer for Buffy (see this post). ;)
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Then darkness breaks out in front of them, like a column of smoky ink, licking the wet tarmac.
Loved this sentence, very evocative. Great start, can't wait for more!
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Funnily enough I never intended to do a 'how did they get out of the alley' story. I just had this image of the baby in the basket, echoing Darla, and then I had to work out how and why and where etc. Happily though the whole thing just wrote itself - it's sort of odd reading through it, because I get that 'Did I write this?' feeling.
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So glad you had a look and liked it! Not sure when I'll be writing more, but don't worry - I'll get there in the end! And I'll definitely friend you back. :)
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*smoochies*
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And thank you so much for the feedback - I'll see what I can do about continuing, although at the moment I'm kinda drawing a blank. Maybe I should put out a bowlful of rabbitfood so I can attract some more plotbunnies? *g*
I'm a longtime fan of your icons, so I've been meaning to friend you for quite a while actually! :)
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hello there!
Re: hello there!
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::friends you back::