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From: "Anne Olsen" <anneo@paradise.net.nz> Subject: (arfic-l) All That Glitters by Anne Olsen Disclaimers in Part 0 Feedback to <A=20 href=3D"mailto:anneo@paradise.netPart">anneo@paradise.net</A> **** Part Twenty "Max, you're okay." Liz sounded very relieved as Max, Jade and = Megabyte=20 materialised in front of her. She got up from under the large tree she = had been=20 leaning against, and walked over to Max. As he looked down at her, Max = noticed=20 her eyes seemed unnaturally bright. She'd been crying, he realised, = though she=20 was trying hard to hide it. "Be back in a moment," promised Megabyte as he disappeared in another = flash=20 of light. "He's gone back for Isabel and Alex," explained Max. "General Damon = thought=20 it might be a good idea if we weren't around when the authorities turned = up. He=20 thinks he's going to have enough fun explaining what's been happening as = it=20 is." Max felt Liz sidle up against him and slid his arm around her, almost = without=20 thinking. It felt so good to be with her again. He'd come so close to = almost=20 never seeing her again that it scared him. As he'd watched Megabyte and = Jade=20 together after Michael and the others had left for London, Max hadn't = been able=20 to get Liz out of his mind. What if Masters had killed them before help = had=20 arrived? What if the truth had come out about who he really was? What = if…what=20 if? One thing he did know for certain was that he wasn't going to go on = not=20 knowing if he and Liz had a future. It was time he acted on his = feelings. You=20 make your own future. Yes, it was dangerous for Liz to be involved with = him=20 because of who he was, but if she was willing to take the risk, well = maybe he=20 should too. After all it was fairly obvious by the fact she was here, = waiting=20 for him that she was more concerned about his welfare than her own. If = she was=20 ready to think of him first, it was only fair that he did the same. "Michael. Where's Michael?" Maria looked around anxiously. Max looked = up=20 guilty as she came out from behind the tree. He'd been so wrapped up in = seeing=20 Liz again that he hadn't even noticed she was there. "Do you have any = idea what=20 it's been like for Liz and I hanging around here, not knowing what's = been going=20 on? Well do you?" As if in answer to her question, there was another flash of light and = Michael, Kyle and Adam appeared next to her. Maria threw herself at Michael, who backed off looking very=20 uncomfortable. "Hey, why don't I get that sort of greeting?" Megabyte re appeared, = this time=20 with Isabel and Alex in tow. Jade grinned and threw herself at the American Tomorrow Person, whose = face=20 quickly began to change to match the colour of his hair. Adam laughed. "I think you asked for that one, Megabyte." "Yeah, whatever. I just left Dad and Sheriff Valenti working out what = they=20 are going to tell the police." Max noticed that although Megabyte had = changed=20 the subject he hadn't pushed Jade away. The redhead leaned back against = the tree=20 Liz had been taking shelter under when Max had teleported in with him a = few=20 minutes earlier, Jade still staying close. "Where's my dad?" Kyle wanted to know. "I need to see him, to let him = know=20 I'm okay." Adam looked hesitant. "But what about keeping a low profile?" "He's the sheriff's son," Max pointed out. "I don't think they're = going to=20 question it too much if he goes in looking for his dad. He can act like = he=20 doesn't know what's been happening. Can't you, Kyle?" "I *don't * know what's happening. Nothing that happened today makes = any=20 sense, and I think it's easier to keep it that way," Kyle said. "Look, I = owe you=20 guys. I'm not going to let on that I know about all that teleporting = stuff. Now=20 where's Dad?" "He's down by the main gates talking to the cops," Megabyte told him. = "It=20 might be safer if you go on your own though. If I teleport you my Dad = will kill=20 me." "Fine by me," Kyle turned to head towards the old factory, then = turned and=20 paused. "Adam thanks for what you did in London, hope Kevin is okay. If = I don't=20 see you guys again…" He stopped, obviously unsure of what to = say. Michael coughed and Max stifled a grin. "Oh yeah, thanks, Michael." Kyle muttered his reply so softly that = Max had=20 trouble hearing him. He then turned and started walking briskly down the = hill=20 towards Masters' former base of operations to meet his father. "I think you were lucky to get that out of him, Michael," pointed out = Liz.=20 "Kyle feels quite uncomfortable around you guys. It will probably take = him a=20 while to come to grips with what he's been through today. He didn't find = out=20 about you did he?" Michael shook his head. "I used my powers in London but I'm sure Kyle = didn't=20 see it. I think he though all the weird stuff came from Adam, not = me." "See, Adam," Megabyte said with a grin. "I always told you I wasn't = the only=20 weird one around here." "Yeah right, Megabyte." Adam grinned back at his fellow Tomorrow = Person. "So=20 I take it the sheriff doesn't know about you guys either?" The last = question was=20 directed at Max who shook his head. "We'd prefer to leave it that way too if that's okay. Megabyte, your = father…"=20 Max glanced down at the factory gates again. Luckily the large tree they = were=20 sheltering behind also hid them from anyone who might be looking out = from=20 Masters' former base. He shivered. The old building looked so harmless = from the=20 outside, quite at odds to how close they had been to losing everything = while=20 within its walls. Still the person behind that was dead now, dead and = gone.=20 Hopefully the threat he posed had died with him. "No, he won't tell," the redhead reassured him. "Dad's good at = keeping=20 secrets. He's had loads of practice over the last few years. When I = left, he and=20 Kyle's dad were telling the cops that Masters had come after us because = of his=20 job." "Yeah, but what about Max?" Maria wanted to know. "Surely the cops = know that=20 he isn't connected to General Damon?" "Yeah, but Max got involved because Masters thought he was me," Adam = reminded=20 them. "If they stick to that story, I don't really see a problem." Max looked around the group again. Megabyte and Jade were leaning = against the=20 old tree, his arms casually around her. Maria had moved closer to = Michael,=20 though he was pretending not to notice. Alex had his arms around Isabel = and Max=20 realised how comfortable his sister looked next to him. Maybe he hadn't = been the=20 only one who had realised you needed to embrace happiness while you = still could.=20 Max looked again at his friends, both old and new, and smiled to = himself. It was=20 reassuring to see them all together again. After the events of the day = he had=20 wondered if that was ever going to happen again. They'd *all * come so = close to=20 losing everything that mattered. Max frowned. Someone was missing. Ami hadn't returned from London = with the=20 others. He turned to ask Adam and noticed the young man was standing = quietly,=20 seemingly staring into space. "Is Kevin okay?" he asked the Australian = "Where's=20 Ami?" "Kevin's fine," Adam reassured him. "He'll be in the hospital for a = while,=20 but he's out of danger. I was just talking to Ami, she going to stay = with him=20 for a while." "Hey, I almost forgot about this." Alex reached into his pocket and = pulled=20 out a CD. "Ami and I got some information from the computer in Masters' = office.=20 Maybe you guys should take it and give it to General Damon." He walked = over from=20 where he was standing with Isabel and handed the disc to Megabyte. = "Masters sent=20 a whole lot of information about the Tomorrow People to someone called = Simon=20 Trent." Adam frowned as a thought occurred to him. "If Masters was working = with=20 someone else, maybe the danger isn't over yet. Do you know if there is = anything=20 on here about Max?" Alex shook his head. "I had a look through the information on the = computer=20 before I initiated the transfer, and I didn't see anything." "You saw all the information Masters sent?" Michael asked, shifting = his=20 position to stand in front of Alex. Max could see what his friend was = thinking.=20 If this Trent had information about the existence of aliens, they would = be in as=20 much danger as the Tomorrow People. "Yeah. Hawkins didn't show up until after I started the file = transfer, at=20 least I didn't think he did." Alex saw the puzzled faces around him and=20 continued. "Hawkins was that young blonde guy working for Masters. = Except he=20 wasn't really working for Masters, at least he said he wasn't. He told = us he was=20 working undercover for someone else but wouldn't say who." "Did = you=20 believe him?" Isabel wanted to know. "Come on Alex, it's important." "He was doing a good bad guy impression when he shoved a gun into my = back at=20 the UFO centre," Megabyte remembered. "I wouldn't trust anyone who = worked for=20 Masters. That guy was one fry short of a Happy Meal." He looked down at = Jade, an=20 expression of anger fleeting briefly over his features. "How do we know = this=20 Hawkins guy hasn't legged it straight over to Trent? After all no one's = seen him=20 apart from Alex and Ami. He must have disappeared after you guys = teleported to=20 the basement." "We don't," admitted Adam, looking worried. "That's why I'm wondering = if=20 maybe we shouldn't come here again." He moved to stand alongside = Max. "But, Adam," protested Jade. "We've made new friends, friends who = know what=20 it's like to be different from everyone else. We can't just say goodbye = and=20 never see them again." Max thought for a moment about what Adam was suggesting and then = spoke up.=20 "I'm sorry, Jade, but I agree with Adam on this one. This whole thing = happened=20 because Masters thought I was Adam, right?" "Looks that way," commented Michael, glancing at Adam, Max and then = back to=20 the Australian again. "If the only information on that disc is about the Tomorrow People, = and we=20 never see them again, there is less chance of that happening a second = time." "But Max…" Isabel protested. "We've finally found others who = know what we're=20 going through. I can't see how it would hurt to at least stay in = contact." Max shook his head. "I know what you're saying, Izzy, but what if = that=20 contact led someone else like Masters to us, to all of us. Jade is lucky = to be=20 alive, what if next time she isn't so lucky? What if Trent's = organisation,=20 whatever it is, gets hold of one of the other Tomorrow People because of = the=20 contact between us? It's not worth the risk." Adam nodded his head in agreement, running his hand through his hair. = "I=20 agree with Max, though my concern goes both ways. If contact with us = caused=20 something to happen to you guys, we'd never forgive ourselves." "Yeah, but what if Alex is wrong and there is information about Max = on that=20 CD?" pointed out Megabyte. "What then?" "We'll worry about that if and when it happens. I'm hoping that = Masters only=20 passed on information about us. Remember it's the Tomorrow People he = wanted to=20 get his hands on. After all, before the mix up, he didn't even know = about the=20 existence of aliens." Adam was trying to take charge of the situation, = Max=20 realised as he listening to the Australian. "Yeah, okay, if you put it that way." Megabyte turned to Jade. = "Sorry, kid I=20 think Adam's right." Jade opened her mouth and closed it again, a look of resignation = forming.=20 "Well I guess this is goodbye, then." She went over to Liz and then = Maria and=20 gave them each a hug. "I suppose I can't even see you guys again even = though you=20 aren't like them." Liz shook her head. "I wish I could say different, Jade, but I can't. = I=20 couldn't handle it if someone got their hands on Max again, I'm sorry. = Look I=20 know it wasn't your fault, that's not what I'm saying but…" Her = voice tailed off=20 as she started to choke on her words. Maria reached for her hanky and sniffed. "We wouldn't want anything = to happen=20 to you guys either you know. Maybe the world isn't ready for = Czechoslovakians=20 yet, either alien or home grown." Liz left Max's side and put her arm = around her=20 friend "Czechoslovakians?" asked Megabyte. "Code word for aliens, = right?" Maria nodded but Michael spoke up before she could say anything else. = "I=20 think Max and Adam are right, for what it's worth. Better to be safe = than sorry.=20 Come on, give me your keys Maria. It's time we left." He looked down = again at=20 Valenti and General Damon talking, grabbed the keys out of Maria's hand = and=20 started walking towards the roadside on the other side of the small hill = they=20 were on. Maria shrugged and followed, a look of resignation on her = face. "Michael's not real big on goodbyes," Isabel explained. "I'd better = go after=20 them. Thanks for helping to save my brother." She gave the Tomorrow = People a=20 brief hug and then turned and ran after Michael and Maria. "All part of the service." Megabyte looked a bit embarrassed. "Come = on Jade,=20 I think we'd better go. Looks like Dad is nearly finished up with the = sheriff.=20 He was going to sort out some stuff in town and call me later when he = wants a=20 'ride' home." "I'd better go after Isabel," said Alex. "Hey if you have any = problems with=20 that disc, or find anything that shouldn't be on it…" "We'll be fine," promised Megabyte. He looked at the disc again = before=20 sliding it back into his pocket. "Hope this thing isn't a sign of more = trouble,"=20 he commented. "Hope not," Alex echoed his words. "See you guys later. Well I won't, = but you=20 know what I mean." He looked towards Isabel's retreating form, waved at=20 Megabyte, Jade and Adam and broke into a trot to catch up with her. Jade walked over to Max and planted a quick kiss on his cheek. = "Thanks for=20 saving my life, Max," she said simply. "I'll always remember you." She = closed=20 her eyes and teleported. "I'd better go after her." Megabyte stood up straight, leaving the = shelter of=20 the tree and walked over to where Jade had been moments before. He shook = Max's=20 hand. [Thanks for everything] Max could feel the emotion behind the 'unspoken' thanks the Tomorrow = Person=20 mentally sent him. Not a problem, he thought. "Coming, Adam?" Megabyte asked his friend. "In a minute. I'll see you at the ship, okay?" Megabyte grinned. "Okay." He closed his eyes to initiate the = teleport. "Hey=20 at least we've learnt one thing from all this." Max looked at him, wondering what was coming. Beside him he could = hear Adam=20 quietly groan in anticipation. "We are not alone." Megabyte looked at the faces in front of him, an = innocent=20 look on his face. "Maybe Mulder does have a point after all." He grinned = at=20 Adam. "Jade's calling. Don't leave me alone in her clutches for too = long, okay?"=20 He concentrated and disappeared, heading for the Tomorrow People's ship = and=20 Jade. Max smiled to himself. "You Tomorrow People take care of yourselves, = too.=20 Maybe one day when the world is ready to learn about the existence of = both of=20 us, we can meet again." Adam nodded. "Hope it's sooner rather than later. Sorry about getting = you=20 into this mess, Max. We owe you." Liz came and stood by Max's side. The others would be waiting for = them down=20 at the roadside, probably impatiently waiting if the truth were known. = "We owe=20 you just as much, Adam," she pointed out as she kissed the Australian = gently on=20 the cheek. "Thanks for bringing Max back to me." Max could swear he saw the young man blush as he disappeared in a = flash of=20 white light. "Come on, Liz," he said as he put his arm around her and headed back = to the=20 others. Max smiled to himself. Megabyte was right, he decided. Even = though the=20 two groups had to part ways, at least now they knew they were no longer = alone. A=20 quote he'd heard once in English class came unbidden to his mind. 'For = knowledge=20 itself is power.' And with that power came the strength for them to face their future, = whatever=20 it might hold. *********** ~Fin~ The next story in the 'Tears in Heaven' series will be 'Where the = Winds Blow'=20 and is a Tomorrow People story. End of Part 20</DIV></BODY></HTML> ------=_NextPart_000_0019_01C15303.214100C0-- - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Ailie S McFarland <aixla@juno.com> Subject: (arfic-l) Hole in my Soul 1/1 Date: 15 Oct 2001 14:28:01 -0700 Title: Hole in My Soul Author: Ailie McFarland E-Mail: aixla@juno.com Fandom: BtVS Pairing: W/O, W/T Rating: R (sex, language) Timeline/Spoilers: Between seasons 5&6 Distribution: Ask and ye shall receive Archives: http://www.geocities.com/aixla/fanfic.html Feedback: Please. ItÆs been ages since IÆve had time to write, and IÆm in feedback withdrawal! Disclaimer: Oz is not mine. Sigh. I wish he was. IÆd treat him right. And if she was good, I might share him with Karen. *L* The song is ôHole in My Soulö by Aerosmith. //I'm down a one way street With a one night stand With a one track mind Out in no man's land The punishment sometimes Don't seem to fit the crime// The alley was cold, dark. Oz shivered in the dampness and pulled the threadbare coat tighter around his bony frame. How many pounds had he lost since this all started, ten? Twenty? HeÆd stopped keeping track weeks ago. His health was the last thing on his mind at this point. Things had finally started to get better. Oz had started to be able to sleep through the night without nightmares. Sometimes those dreams had come in the form of torture at the hands of the scientists at the Initiative. Sometimes his mind tried to reconstruct the events surrounding VerrucaÆs gruesome demise. Most of the time the nightmares had been of Willow, and what her insides would look like as the wolf feasted on them, or fantasies of ripping Tara limb from limb as she was forced to watch. But with meditation and a great deal of soul searching, those things began to pass. There had been a point where he could go almost an entire day without thinking of her. Without missing her smile, her companionship, her kisses. And when those thoughts did occur, they were not quite a longing, but rather a fond remembrance of days gone by. Whimsical thoughts of a past love, almost a past life. //Yeah there's a hole in my soul But one thing I've learned For every love letter written There's another one burned So you tell me how it's gonna be this time// And then it started. The first time Oz had been deep in meditation. After almost two years of practice, he was now quite skilled at blocking the outside world. In fact, an entire room of his apartment in Bangkok was dedicated to this art. When he entered that space, everything was left at the doorway. Here there was only himself and the air he breathed. But on that particular day, something changed. ôOz.ö Barely a whisper. Just a tickling in the back of his mind. But it was there. WillowÆs voice, inside his head. ~ Odd. ~ Oz thought to himself as he gathered himself and tried to return to his relaxed state. It had been a long time since any thoughts had been able to pierce the veil of his meditation, let alone thoughts of her. //Is it over? Is it over? 'Cause I'm blowin' out the flame// The rest of the session continued without incident, and Oz decided it was just ôone of those things.ö Until it happened again two days later. This time he had been walking down the street, heading toward the market. His thoughts were nothing more complicated than trying to remember if he had enough milk at home, when she intruded again. ôOz.ö Louder than the first time, WillowÆs voice startled him enough to cause him stop and turn around, looking for her. ôOz.ö Again, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere. ôCome home.ö ôWillow?ö he whispered, aware that he was now attracting stares from passers-by. ôWillow?ö But there was no response. //Take a walk outside your mind Tell me how it feels to be The one who turns The knife inside of me Take a look and you will find There's nothing there, girl Yeah I swear, I'm telling you, girl// The occurrences became more and more frequent as time went by. Oz was unable to sleep through the night without hearing his name called at least once. ôOz, come home!ö He tried calling Willow and TaraÆs room once, but the voice that picked up the connection half a world away was unfamiliar, and unable to help. He supposed he could have called the Rosenberg home, or maybe Giles or Buffy ... but what good would that do? They would just put him in touch with Willow, and she would be worried about him. After all, he was hallucinating. Willow had made things perfectly clear the last time they spoke. Someday they might find each other and be friends again, but this was not the time. And besides the fact that she had no reason to do this, she also didnÆt have the capability. At least, she hadnÆt the last time Oz had seen her. So this was obviously in his head. He just wasnÆt dealing the way he needed to. Somehow, he would find a way to get through this, alone. //There's a Hole In My Soul That's been killing me forever It's a place where a garden never grows There's a Hole In My Soul Yeah, I should have known better 'Cause your love's like a thorn without a rose// Oz tried everything. Her voice invaded every meditation and mantra he attempted. Even his music couldnÆt drown out her call. As time went on, the voice only seemed to get stronger. ôOz, come home. Please!ö Eventually he turned to vice. Alcohol, drugs, one night stands with women whose names he couldnÆt remember the next morning, although whether he had known them at all was questionable. And for a while, the fog he surrounded himself in seemed to do the trick. Oz was in bed one night, weeks after this all began, and not alone. As he released himself into the nameless female form below him, he looked into her eyes and gasped as they changed from brown to a deep green. WillowÆs face stared back at him. ôOz,ö phantom lips formed the words. ôListen to me.ö ôNo!ö He wasted no time dismounting the confused girl in his bed. Barely taking the time to cover his nakedness, he ran out into the street. //I'm as dry as a seven year drought I got dust for tears Yeah I'm all tapped out Sometimes I feel broken and can't get fixed I know there's been all kinds of shoes Underneath your bed Now I sleep with my boots on But you're still in my head And something tells me this time I'm down to my last licks// And so now he sat in the alley; cold, wet, and alone. There was really no other choice. The voice in his head just wouldnÆt stop. She wouldnÆt shut up. So he would have to silence her himself. OzÆs hands shook as his infirm fingers struggled with the child-proof cap. ôOz? Oz can you hear me?ö The pharmacy bottle fell to the ground as his hands went to his ears. ôNo. No! Shut up! Leave me alone!ö ôThere isnÆt much time. ItÆs difficult for me to ...ö ôDifficult? Difficult?ö People began to stare as Oz staggered out of the alley, shouting to the stars. ôMy life. My life now! You have no right, no place! Get out of my fucking head bitch!ö ôOz ...ö ôShut up!ö Twin lights sped toward him. It wasnÆt what he had planned, but it would do. And he couldnÆt wait anymore. Oz finally succeeded in drowning the voice. WillowÆs last call was lost in the blaring horn of the truck. //'Cause if it's over Then it's over And it's driving me insane Yeah, is it over? Yeah, it's over And I'm blowing out the flame// Tara arrived home to find Willow staring into the flickering flame of a black taper candle. ôHoney.ö Willow jumped as her loverÆs hand brushed her shoulder. ôOh, Tara.ö She tried to smile, but her eyes betrayed their weariness. ôI didnÆt hear you come in.ö With a knowing, sad smile, Tara sat down beside her. ôAny luck today?ö Willow shook her head. ôNo. I thought I finally reached him, but ... it was strange. It didnÆt feel like him. Does that make sense?ö ôOf course it does,ö Tara murmured as she pulled Willow into her arms. They stayed that way for quite some time before Tara spoke again. ôYou should get some sleep.ö ôNo,ö Willow pulled away, her eyes determined. ôSomething was different this last time. I have to try again.ö TaraÆs brow furrowed with concern. ôWillow, you canÆt do everything. YouÆve gotten so strong, but ... but maybe heÆs just too far away for you to reach.ö Willow started to inturrupt, but Tara continued. ôI know you want him here. He was BuffyÆs friend. And he deserves to know about all this, about Dawn. And ... and he might be able to help with the spell. But youÆre killing yourself trying to do this. Maybe itÆs just too much.ö WillowÆs eyes hardened as she pushed TaraÆs comforting hands away. ôItÆs not to much.ö That had come out much harsher than she meant it to be, so she backtracked a bit. ôNo, I mean, I think I finally reached him. ItÆs like, I can talk to him maybe, but he canÆt talk back yet. Or something. But last time I felt like we connected somehow. And then ... usually I just lose my grip on him, or something. Instead it was like he hung up on me, like we got disconnected. And IÆm scared that ... that maybe something happened to him.ö ôShh, baby. ItÆll be alright.ö Tara tried to console Willow. ôI guess so,ö she sighed, resigned. Willow allowed herself to be led to the bedroom. But even as they made love, she couldnÆt shake the feeling that something irreparable had been done that day. Later, as she watched Tara sleeping, for a moment she thought she saw him lying there in her bed ... still as death. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Ailie McFarland ~*~*~*~*~*~*~ That'll put marzipan in your pie plate, Bingo! ________________________________________________________________ GET INTERNET ACCESS FROM JUNO! Juno offers FREE or PREMIUM Internet access for less! Join Juno today! For your FREE software, visit: http://dl.www.juno.com/get/web/. - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Michele R Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@neo.rr.com> Subject: (arfic-l) ADMIN: Alternate Realities Web Site Update 10.21.2001 Date: 21 Oct 2001 15:32:52 -0400 10.21.2001 The archive has been updated :-) (And not a moment too soon, huh?) Well, to ward off the shock, before you wander over there and wonder what's going on, not only has the archive been updated, but it's also been given a complete and total make-over. Nothing stays the same forever, and it was due for a change. The look, fit and feel of the site has changed, and will probably take some getting used to. The archive is actually linked as a separate section (appropriately named, "archive"), and for those of you are enjoy the crossover universes, those have been moved to the section, "projects." The adult archive is not up and functioning yet, but will be in another week or two, please bear with me. There is some new fiction: The Closet by Amethyst Maiden (New Series Tomorrow People) An awesome 'coming of age' story. It blows my mind every single time that I read it. Okay, it's slashy, but nothing NC-17. Kudos to Amethyst Maiden! Found My Reason by Ailie McFarland (Angel: The Series/Buffy, the Vampire Slayer) Oz finds new meaning in his life. Hearing the Click by Michele Mason Bumbarger (Stargate SG-1/New Series Tomorrow People Crossover vignette) The story that birthed 1,000 plot bunnies . . . or something like that. My new obsession mixed with my old obsession and this vignette was born. Here Until Death, and After by Nicole Gray (All Souls/New Series Tomorrow People Crossover) So, you ask, who exactly is Joey, anyway? Well, if you want his opinion, that's a very good question. The Mom of Us by Ailie McFarland (Buffy, the Vampire Slayer) Willow's musings during her preparations in the sixth season episode, "Bargaining." Walking Wounded by Amethyst Maiden (New Series Tomorrow People) Kevin muses about the changes in his life. Worlds Away by Michele Mason Bumbarger (New Series Tomorrow People Fan Fiction) Now, finally, at long last, posted in its entirety. Check out the archive, in the section "New Series Tomorrow People Fan Fiction" for the full story (all thirty-five chapters of it). Have fun, enjoy, thanks for your patience and your patronage! Michele Mason Bumbarger Archivist, Author and Webmistress - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Ailie S McFarland <aixla@juno.com> Subject: (arfic-l) I'm in Love with a Girl Named Fred Date: 22 Oct 2001 23:12:56 -0700 ?Title: IÆm in Love with a Girl Named Fred Author: Ailie McFarland E-Mail: aixla@juno.com Fandom: AtS Pairing: O/F? Spoilers: Up to Angel S3, but no biggies. Archives: http://www.geocities.com/aixla/fanfic.html (someday. IÆm so behind) Distribution: Oh! Well, if it helps at all, IÆm gonna say yes. Disclaimer: Oz doesnÆt belong to me. If he did, none of you would ever see him again. Ever. Fred doesnÆt belong to me either ... I think she is me. Aside from the physics stuff, of course. IÆm just a musician. *S* AuthorÆs note: OK, I have mono, and am severely drugged up. So maybe this idea will make no sense to anyone but me. *L* Also, this is a rough-rough draft. I just wanted to get peopleÆs ideas on it because IÆve never tried to write Fred before. So any input will be *extremely* appreciated! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ You can only travel around the world for so long. No matter how many cool things you see, or how many interesting people you meet, eventually you have to go home. Or at least someplace where badly spoken English is the predominant language and you can find a Chinese restaurant right next door to a Taco Bell. Not to get all ôCheersö on you, but sometimes itÆs nice to go where everybody knows your name. And so when the travel-lust wore off my first thought was to head to Sunnydale. But the idea of living in the same city as Willow and Tara was just a little bit too much, at least for right now. So thatÆs how I ended up here in L.A. Of course, nothing is as I left it. When the cabby dropped me off at what I thought was Angel Investigations, all I found was a burnt out shell of a building. Things can change when youÆre gone for two years. Of course some things never change; the ad that eventually led me to the hotel was clearly CordeliaÆs work. Always trying to drum up business. ItÆs a nice place, great actually. It occurred to me that it was a little big for just Angel, Cordelia and Doyle, but nice. I was so busy admiring the architecture that I didnÆt notice the brunette behind the counter when I entered. ôUm ... hi?ö she seemed a little nervous. ôThis is uh ... I mean welcome to Angel Investigations. Are you ... can I do something to ... help you?ö I smiled, trying to set her at ease. ôHey. Actually I was looking for Angel. Or Cordelia?ö ôOh! Well, nobodyÆs here.ö She had a soft southern accent, which became more pronounced as she started to backtrack. ôI mean well, obviously thereÆs someone here because IÆm here and youÆre here and I didnÆt mean to imply that youÆre a nobody. YouÆre obviously a client and thatÆs important because we like to help people, and I hope I didnÆt insult you or anything by ...ö ôWhoa, whoa,ö I started to worry that the poor girlÆs head was going to explode. ôItÆs okay. Actually, IÆm just a friend. I was passing though, thought IÆd say hi.ö Her face showed obvious signs of relief. ôOh. Oh good. Because they left me to hold down the fort for the afternoon, and IÆve never done that by myself. And I wouldnÆt want to mess it up.ö ôYouÆre doing fine,ö I assured her. She was actually quite cute. Her long brown hair was pulled into pigtails, and her glasses kept slipping down off the bridges of her nose. Those factors combined with the fact that her face was so animated when she spoke would lead most people to believe that sheÆs younger than she really is. But one glance at the book she had been reading when I walked in told me differently. Some kind of complex astrophysics or something. Definitely not for the layman. Realizing that she wasnÆt exactly sure what to say next, I took the initiative. ôIÆm Oz,ö I offered, extending my hand. She smiled, and shook my hand vigorously. ôFred.ö Then it was my turn to smile. ôIÆm in love with a girl named Fred.ö Fred gave me a slightly alarmed look. ôItÆs a song, from a musical. See, thereÆs Prince Dauntless the Drab and he falls in love with Princess Winifred the Woebegone, so he sings this song æIÆm In love with a girl named Fred.Æö ôMusical?ö ôItÆs a long story. See, I play the guitar, and when I was in high school I let someone talk me into playing pit for the spring musical. Bad idea. Men dancing in tights is never pretty.ö Fred giggled at that. She has a little girlÆs laugh, where she kind of ducks her head and lets her hair fall into her face. ItÆs endearing. Actually, it reminded me of another girl I once knew, one to whom I had said ôYou have the sweetest smile IÆve ever seen.ö So I quickly changed the subject. ôAny idea when theyÆll be back?ö Fred furrowed her brow in thought. ôWell Cordelia had to run home for something, and Wesley and Gunn are out looking for some kind of broadsword, I think.ö Wesley, as in former watcher Wesley? Odd, but I didnÆt have a chance to ask about it. ôActually Angel is here, but heÆs sleeping. Not that he usually sleeps all day, I mean, itÆs almost three oÆclock in the afternoon and no good detective would be sleeping this late. ItÆs just that ... we had a ... stakeout, late last night, and he ...ö I leaned over the counter. ôItÆs okay, Fred. I know about Angel.ö Once again, visible relief. ôYou do? Oh good, because IÆve never been a very good liar.ö ôWell I like honest people, so weÆre okay then.ö She lowered her voice to a whisper, leaning in close to me so I could hear. ôSo what do you suppose itÆs like, having a monster like that inside of you? æCause looking at him youÆd never know, you know?ö It was an interesting question, one I had to think about for a moment before I answered. ôActually,ö I said carefully, ôItÆs pretty hard.ö She gave me a quizzical look. ôIÆm a werewolf.ö For a moment she looked like she didnÆt know if she was supposed to laugh or not. ôWas that a joke? I never can tell anymore.ö ôNo joke.ö What was I doing? Telling someone whoÆs basically a complete stranger all the details of my life? But I felt as if I could trust her for some reason. ôOh, well I have a secret too.ö Fred paused to take a deep breath. ôI spent the last five years trapped in a demon dimension where humans are used as slaves.ö Not what I was expecting, but after two years in Sunnydale and two more traveling to some of the strangest places in the world, I could believe it. ôWow. That kinda sucks.ö ôYeah, it did. But then Angel showed up and ... well, everythingÆs better now.ö I wasnÆt really sure what to say next. I mean, after you share some of your most intimate secrets you canÆt really go back to ôhowÆs the weather?ö Luckily, I didnÆt have to think long. ôOz?ö Angel was sleepily descending the stairs, rubbing his eyes as if he wasnÆt sure he was seeing clearly. ôHey,ö I answered. ôPassing through, thought I should stop by.ö He reached the bottom and extended a hand. ôOf course. How are you?ö We started into the usual pleasantries, but my mind and eyes kept drifting back to the girl behind the counter. She had already buried herself in her calculations. But once, just once, she looked up and her eyes met mine. And she smiled. ~*~ Ailie McFarland ~*~ That'll put marzipan in your pie plate, Bingo! I may be a cold blooded jelly doughnut, but my timing is impeccable. ________________________________________________________________ GET INTERNET ACCESS FROM JUNO! Juno offers FREE or PREMIUM Internet access for less! Join Juno today! For your FREE software, visit: http://dl.www.juno.com/get/web/. - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Michele Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@hotmail.com> Subject: (arfic-l) ADMIN: Invitation to Join Meandering Muse Date: 23 Oct 2001 13:50:58 -0400 Invitation to Join Meandering Muse This is an invitation to join a new mailing list at Yahoo!Groups (http://groups.yahoo.com). Meandering Muse is a fan fiction support community dedicated to the writers of fan fiction. The purpose and goal of this list is to provide authors a place to join with one another, share ideas, develop plots, and overcome writer's block. This is a place for the discussion of projects currently being worked on and a place to post works in progress. The list however, is not only for authors, but also for readers of fan fiction. The only requirement for joining this list is a willingness to share your writings and a willingness to provide feedback on what others have written. Community participation is a central focus of this list. For more information about Meandering Muse, you may visit the homepage at Yahoo!Groups: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/meanderingmuse To subscribe to Meandering Muse, send a blank email to: meanderingmuse-subscribe@yahoogroups.com To contact the List Owner, send an email to: meanderingmuse-owner@yahoogroups.com. ********************************************** Michele B. Archivist, Author & Webmistress Alternate Realities Fan Fiction Archive http://www.alternate-realities.net ********************************************** _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Michele Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@hotmail.com> Subject: (arfic-l) Rescued Part 0/3 Date: 25 Oct 2001 10:35:54 -0400 Rescued A Forever Tomorrow Story By Michele Mason Part 0 - Author's Notes & Disclaimer This is the first in a series of vignettes and short stories for Forever Tomorrow that will be slowly posted over the upcoming weeks. All of these vignettes were completed quite some time ago, but have been gathering dust in the hopes that the stories which fall in between the vignettes would someday be written. Well, I'm an optimist and I haven't given up completely on writing those stories, however, I am not holding my breath that they will make it from outline to posting any time within the next five years. With that in mind, Caroline and I have decided to go ahead and share what we can with the world and our loyal readers. Please keep in mind that as these vignettes slowly make their way to the light of day that they do contain some minor spoilers regarding plans that Caroline and I made for Forever Tomorrow. But, I'm hoping that it's not too much that couldn't already have been inferred from what we've already posted. Now, with all that firmly in mind, I want to make a few more notes on this story. With respect to the "established" timeline of Forever Tomorrow, this story takes place in February of 2000. That places this story nearly two years after my first Forever Tomorrow story, "Perceptions." Ami Jackson (The Tomorrow People) is training as a Watcher under the watchful and paternal eye of Joe Dawson (Highlander: The Series). A final footnote is that the events depicted here, (ie the back story regarding Duncan and his friend, Dominic) will probably never be written. It was never planned as a full story in and of itself, and was only meant to be explained in detail in a vignette from Joe Dawson's POV. I believe that most of the details can be extrapolated, and I won't go into them here. Disclaimer: Chances are, if you recognize them, then they aren't mine. Duncan MacLeod, Rachel MacLeod, Joe Dawson, Richie Ryan and Methos and other characters from Highlander: The Series are all the property of Panzer/Davis, Rysher Entertainment, and Gaumont Television. The characters of Ami Jackson, Jade Weston and any other Tomorrow People you might recognize belong to Roger Damon Price, Thames/Tetra Television and ITV. Dominic is a figment of my imagination and Cat Fraser belongs to Caroline Fales. I'm not making a profit off of this, trust me on that one. For more Forever Tomorrow stories or to refresh your memory, you can visit: http://www.alternate-realities.net/archive/forever/forever-index.html. //Words written in slashes like this\\ represent emphasis/italics. All feedback should go to mbumbarger@hotmail.com. I hope you enjoy. Michele Bumbarger Posted: 10.25.2001 ********************************************** Alternate Realities Fan Fiction Archive http://www.alternate-realities.net ********************************************** _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Michele Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@hotmail.com> Subject: (arfic-l) Rescued - Part 1/3 Date: 25 Oct 2001 10:39:51 -0400 Rescued A Forever Tomorrow Story By Michele R Mason Notes & Disclaimer in Part 0 ***** Part One Glenfinnan, Scotland 2000 Duncan reined the horse in, squinting into the twilight. He closed and opened his eyes slowly, already knowing that what he saw would neither change nor fade. A figure appeared where there had been open space, and after carefully checking the surroundings, the figure headed toward him in determined strides. Duncan wondered at what point in time that seeing a figure materialize out of thin air had become as commonplace as breathing. These days, he didn't even blink when the bright light of teleportative energy appeared near him. Of course, it hadn't always been that way. Duncan MacLeod had spilled his fair share of coffee and drawn his katana far too many times before developing the ability to treat it as a normal everyday occurrence. Once upon a time, he would have laughed at the person who suggested that people could teleport. That had been before he met the Tomorrow People, the next step in human evolution. Before he got to know and grow fond of the extraordinary young men and women with psychic abilities plucked right from the pages of a science-fiction novel. As the figure drew closer, Duncan dismounted. She was dressed for the highland winter, so her being here was planned and deliberate. Bundled in a ski coat, her long, dark hair held back by a simple head wrap, she met his eyes across the distance. He held the reins, not speaking, simply watching her approach. She'd grown up in the intervening years. All of the Tomorrow People had. When Duncan first met her, she had been a quiet, simple, nineteen-year-old college student. Confident in her abilities as a Tomorrow Person, but unsure of her place in the world. Back then, her hair had been plaited in hundreds of tiny braids and she would have never approached him with the determined, purposeful strides that she used now. The more things change . . .he mused to himself. "Let me guess," Duncan remarked dryly when she was within earshot. "Joe and Richie are worried." "And Cat, and Adam. But it's to be expected when you run off without even a by your leave." Her English accent was clipped, as was her reproach. She only came to his chest, but as he met her dark eyes, Duncan felt as though they were eye level. However, the next moment, her voice and her stance softened. "Of course we're worried, Mac. We're your friends." Dominic Friar had been his friend as well. Thoughts of Dominic made his chest tighten. Logically and rationally, Duncan knew that he had done the right thing--that Dominic would have wanted it this way. But his heart and his soul--the agony of Dominic's Quickening haunted and gnawed at him. Duncan pushed the thought aside, as he noticed the small, worried frown forming on her face. "I was expecting Cat. Or Joe." "You and Cat would argue." She shrugged, shifting so that her back was more to the wind. "And it's less expensive for me to be here than Joe. Teleportation doesn't give you jet lag." "You've been hanging around Richie too long, Ami. You're developing his sense of humor." Ami smiled. It was a soft, sweet smile that touched her dark eyes. "There are worse things you could accuse me of, Duncan MacLeod." "Well, now that you've seen I'm alive and well, are you going to pull your little disappearing act and report back to Joe?" "Already did, Mac." Ami winked. "Jade and Cat are talking to Joe right now." Teleportation he had grown accustomed to. There was tangible evidence of that particular behavior. He could see teleportation. Telepathy, however, still took him by surprise. "You're not going to get rid of me that easily, Mac." "Ami, I don't need a babysitter." "No, but you do need a friend." Duncan MacLeod, four hundred year old Immortal, didn't have an answer for that. He settled for offering to buy her dinner. * * * * * "It definitely has atmosphere," Ami took a drink from the heavy wooden tankard while her eyes explored the dimly lit, natural wood interior of Glenfinnan Inn. She hadn't known exactly what to expect when Mac offered to buy her dinner, his manner as mysterious as Methos. Actually, Ami hadn't known what to expect when she agreed to look in on the Scot at Glenfinnan. Duncan MacLeod was a master of brooding and self-martyrdom, and when he didn't want to be disturbed, he usually made certain that he wasn't disturbed. After his encounter with Dominic Friar, he had packed up and flown to Europe. He'd been to Paris, Madrid, Rome, Athens, and lastly Glenfinnan. He didn't call, didn't write, and did a pretty good job of avoiding all the Watchers Joe assigned to him. Both Joe and Richie toyed with the idea of visiting him -- but they knew that if Mac was in one of his moods, he wouldn't take kindly to their intrusion. So, they cornered Ami and Jade, at least as much as they could corner a Tomorrow Person, after deciding that Cat's temper and outspokenness were just a bit too heavy handed for what they wanted done. For the past three days, the two of them had kept a close watch on the Immortal, never making contact. His routine remained the same: in the morning, he ran five kilometers and in the afternoon, hidden among the ruins of Glenfinnan Castle, he practiced sword forms. During the evenings, he would ride out on horseback, have dinner, usually alone, although sometimes with Rachel, who owned the inn, and then he would retire to his room with a book. "He's reading when Rachel MacLeod is within arm's reach?" Methos had looked up in surprise at that revelation. "He really is wallowing in it this time." The 5,000-year-old Immortal had added a few additional remarks that made Jade's cheeks turn red, and earned him a harsh cuff on the head from Cat. Of course, Ami had to agree with Methos. Duncan MacLeod was an extremely attractive man, and normally wasn't one to ignore a beautiful woman who wanted to keep him company. Well, unless Amanda was in town, acting for all the world like a she-cat protecting her brood. If Mac wasn't paying attention to Rachel, he really was upset. However, noticing that his routine never varied, and that he wasn't building his own guillotine, Ami decided to stop playing cloak and dagger and simply confront him. He hadn't been surprised; and he had delivered on his promise of good food and a charming atmosphere. "Rachel works hard to give the place what she calls a 'historic' feel." Mac tore a chunk of bread from the loaf between them. "Right down to the lighting." "Or lack of," Ami corrected, facing him in the flickering candlelight of the numerous candelabras. "It worked, though. She really did give this place atmosphere." "Well, not exactly." Duncan bit the bread and chewed slowly, his light brown eyes holding hers. Ami waited patiently; she knew Mac was teasing her, hoping she would become absolutely agitated by his silence and demand to know more. Instead, as she met his gaze calmly and continued to eat, he finally smiled and swallowed. Taking a drink, he continued. "Well, for starters, it would be much darker. We'd never have wasted all these candles. And it wouldn't smell so good, either." Ami paused, fork halfway to her mouth. "It wouldn't smell so good?" "Of course not. We didn't bathe very often back then." Mac speared a slice of beef with his knife. "The dirt protected us." "From what?" "Bad spirits." Mac winked at her. "Duncan MacLeod, I heard ye had a dinner guest, but I had ta see it with me own eyes ta believe it." Ami looked up in surprise at the woman who leaned against the table. This was Rachel MacLeod, and she understood the reason behind Methos's rather crude remarks. The woman was beautiful, with stunning red hair and bright green eyes. "Hello." "Ah, Rachel MacLeod, Ami Jackson." Mac handled the introductions with gentlemanly flourish. "Ye do keep the most interesting company, Duncan." "Tell me about it," Duncan muttered. Ami shot him a dark glare, but was unable to say anything as she realized that Rachel was now speaking to her. "I dinna suppose ye'll be leavin' tonight, Ami. I'll see ta a room for ye. Next time, have Duncan send word. The men folk, they never think of these things." Ami watched her hurry away, then swung her attention back to Duncan. "How many generations removed is she?" "Lots," Mac proceeded to eat the meat from the knife. "But she's clan MacLeod. This is Glenfinnan, home to the clan MacLeod, you know?" "I know." Ami helped herself to another piece of bread. "And you were born here in 1592 on the shores of Loch Shiel." Even as she spoke the words, they boggled her mind. The fact that the man seated across from her was 408 years old, but didn't appear a day over thirty-five never ceased to amaze her. "You've been paying attention." Mac pushed his chair away from the table, and stood, holding his hand out to her. "Come here, I want to show you something." Curiosity getting the better of her, Ami took the offered hand and followed the Immortal. He stopped in front of an open wooden case. The case held a tartan and a rather large sword. "That's the MacLeod tartan. And that's," he indicated the sword, "the MacLeod sword. It was carried by the chieftain." Mac reached out a hand, his fingers hovering only centimeters from the sword. "I was a chieftain's son and as a child, I always dreamed of the day that it would be mine." The candlelight danced across his face, illuminating the slight frown to his lips. Pain flashed across his face as his eyes took on the familiar glaze that marked an Immortal's submergence into very vivid memories. "Mac?" Ami placed her hand lightly on his arm, drawing him back. "Mac?" He looked to her, seeming to shake himself free of the memories, but not of whatever sadness went with them. With a forced smile, he patted her hand. "I'm all right. Just remembering." Ami wrestled with her desire to follow this path down which Mac had begun to wander, and her concern for her friend's emotional state. She didn't know anything about Mac's life before he became Immortal, or even how he had become Immortal. It wasn't something he talked about. Richie and Joe both clamed up the first time she inquired, insisting that it was Mac's story to tell. She thought that maybe Cat knew, but then again, Cat had grown up with the legends of the MacLeods; and Cat probably got her information from Connor. Mac made the decision for her. "Our dinner is getting cold." They continued to talk and banter the rest of the evening, but Ami didn't fail to notice the distance in the Immortal's eyes. She knew that he was only half with her; the other half was lost in the past, with the boy who dreamed of being a clan chieftain. *** TBC ********************************************** Michele B. Archivist, Author & Webmistress Alternate Realities Fan Fiction Archive http://www.alternate-realities.net ********************************************** _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Michele Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@hotmail.com> Subject: (arfic-l) Rescued - Part 2/3 Date: 25 Oct 2001 10:41:15 -0400 Rescued A Forever Tomorrow Story By Michele R Mason Notes & Disclaimer in Part 0 ***** Part 2 * * * * * * Duncan MacLeod stared at the words on the page before him. They blurred and shifted, forming an endless tide of incomprehensibility. He had been reading the same paragraph for the past hour. He snapped the book closed with a groan of frustration. Reading clearly was not going to be his soothing recourse this evening. He couldn't focus. Not for lack of trying, but the ability to make sense out of the words on the pages eluded him. The same way his place as Clan Chieftain eluded him. The same way the ability to accept and make sense of Dominic's death eluded him. Dominic had been a friend. Duncan trusted him, loved him like a brother. He could still see the man kneeling before him, sobbing like a small child. Duncan still heard Dominic's frantic pleas for Duncan to end it all. Duncan hadn't wanted to kill him. Never mind that Dominic had long ago tired of the Game. Never mind that the witch trials he had survived, that being buried alive and lost as sea for hundreds of years had set his mind on edge. Never mind that Dominic's mind melded reality and fantasy and his moments of lucidity were rare. Duncan hadn't wanted to kill him. Duncan MacLeod had sought a way to help him. He read the Chronicles that Joe allowed him to read; he thought back, with great guilt and anger, to all the patients he had observed Sean Burns with. He tried to reason with Dominic, when Dominic could reason at all and wasn't brandishing his sword at whatever crossed his path. He tried to pull the man back from the depths of lunacy into which he had descended. But in the end, Duncan MacLeod had failed. He had failed and he had to kill. He failed Dominic in the same way he failed his father and mother; like he failed Darius and Tessa and Fritz. Never mind that James Horton was no longer a threat, or that he had Kalas's Quickening. Two wrongs did not make a right; his failure still left blood on his hands and his soul. And still there were those he called friend. Methos, Richie, Joe, Amanda, the Tomorrow People. They supported him and stood by him. Joe who spared his life when it would have been easier to take it; Methos who pulled him back from the edge of the Dark Quickening. Even the Tomorrow People, with their inability to kill or to understand the dark nature of Immortals, supported him. Ami and Jade had been watching him for three days. He pretended not to notice them; he hadn't really cared that they were there, reporting back to Joe what he had for breakfast and where he had it. His heart knew that they were there because they cared. They wouldn't have given their surveillance of him the time they did had it been other wise. Lacing and unlacing his fingers, Duncan's eyes roamed to the wall. A painting of Castle Glenfinnan decorated the center of it, hanging over the only bed of the room. However, it was neither the wall nor the painting toward which he directed his attention. He considered what lay beyond the wall, in the next room. Without plausible explanation of how she could simply disappear into the night, Ami had settled into the room for the night. She was a friend. He could talk to her. "Ami, I don't need a babysitter." "No, but you do need a friend." Yes, he did. But how could he talk to her about this? The Tomorrow People didn't kill. They were full of hope and light, and not weighed down by the darkness that always hovered around Immortals. "I was a chieftain's son and as a child, I always dreamed of the day that it would be mine." She hadn't pressed him to explain. The questions danced in her eyes, but she kept silent, waiting to see where he would lead the conversation. She held her tongue, waiting to see if he would lead the conversation anywhere at all. He hadn't. And she hadn't pushed him. "No, but you do need a friend." Duncan laced his hands together and continued staring at the wall. * * * * * * * Ami propped the pillows up behind her back, opening the book across her lap. Occasionally, she would glance up at the opposite wall, and with a long-suffering sigh, shake her head and return to reading. She could sense Duncan MacLeod on the other side of the wall. Not the way she would sense another Tomorrow Person; nor was it the way she sometimes sensed the thoughts and emotions of non-telepaths. Immortals seemed to have a strong psychic projection field; when their emotions were strongest, it was quite easy to sense them, or at least their emotions. And Duncan MacLeod's emotions held all the calm and tranquility of a hurricane. Ami turned the page. Guilt, anger, rage, sadness. They cycled through him and warred with one another. Had she been new to her abilities, and unaccustomed to blocking and filtering outside influences, she might have broken down and cried. As it stood, it remained difficult for her to maintain concentration long enough to read one paragraph after another. Ami wondered how anyone could manage to keep themselves alive for four hundred years with that level of warring emotions. Of course, Mac's emotions hadn't been like that before Dominic showed up in Seacouver or before he had been driven to show her the MacLeod tartan and sword. Another page. Sadness. Endless sadness. Ami wondered if Duncan ever allowed himself to truly feel the pain. She wondered if he ever cried. She had seen him angry, ready to rip something to shreds. Ami had seen him happy, and laughing; but the sadness he locked away, he kept it hidden as if he was afraid to allow anyone to see it. Including himself. The knock on her door startled her. Ami closed the book. "Yes?" "Ami, it's Duncan." His voice sounded heavy. "May I come in?" "One minute." She crawled out of bed and into her bathrobe. "I couldn't sleep and I noticed your light was on," Duncan explained as she opened the door. Staring at him, as he stood in the doorway silhouetted by the dim light from the hallway beyond, Ami felt her breath catch. Sometimes, Duncan MacLeod had that effect on her; she was relatively certain that there weren't many women whom Duncan MacLeod didn't have that affect on. He was incredibly handsome, particularly with his hair loose and flowing over his shoulders. Too handsome. Ami gave herself a mental shake. This was Duncan MacLeod after all. "That makes two of us." Ami stepped aside, allowing him entry. "I usually read myself to sleep, but I wasn't having much luck tonight." "What were you reading?" the smile didn't reach his eyes. Ami closed the door. "Dean Koontz." "No wonder you aren't having any luck," Mac commented dryly, settling into the armchair across the room. "I don't think that Dean Koontz writes bedtime stories." Ami gave a slight laugh. "Maybe not. But it's an interesting book. I almost didn't put it down to answer the door." "Glad to hear I'm at least slightly more important than Dean Koontz's latest novel." He settled back in the chair, his eyes focused intently on her. "I hope you don't mind being stuck here for a few days." Ami sank to the bed. "There are worse places to be stuck. I would rather that I'd been able to teleport back home, but what's done is done." She leaned forward, folding her hands together, and winked at him. "Besides, if I'd teleported back, I would have missed dinner." "And being here gives you an opportunity to keep a closer eye on me?" Mac propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, head resting on his hand. "I'm not keeping an eye on you, Mac." "So what do you and Joe and Jade call it?" Ami stared at him, his words sinking in. He had known that she and Jade were there all along. "You knew we were watching you? And you didn't say anything?" "Better you and Jade than one of Joe's people. I really haven't been in the mood for Watchers." Ami shook her head. This man never ceased to amaze her. "So, what can I do for you, Mac?" "Talk to me." He spoke softly, his eyes almost pleading. "I've been talking to myself for most of the night, and I don't like what I'm hearing." He shifted, sitting up and leaning back. "Do you want to hear about it? About how I became Immortal?" *** TBC ********************************************** Michele B. Archivist, Author & Webmistress Alternate Realities Fan Fiction Archive http://www.alternate-realities.net ********************************************** _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Michele Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@hotmail.com> Subject: (arfic-l) Rescued - Part 3/3 Date: 25 Oct 2001 10:42:30 -0400 Rescued A Forever Tomorrow Story By Michele R Mason Notes & Disclaimer in Part 0 ***** Part 3 The words surprised Duncan even as he spoke them. He hadn't known what drove him to knock on Ami's door in the middle of the night. He had only known that he was tired of being alone with his own tortured thoughts and demons. Seeing her face, even exchanging a few words with her had reminded him that he wasn't completely alone. "Only if you want to talk about it." Ami spoke up slowly, but he didn't have to be telepathic to read the curiosity in her dark eyes. And he couldn't blame her for that. How many years had he known her, gone out of his way to protect her whenever possible, but never shared much of his past with her. "It changed my life." He stood and walked to the window. It was easier to stare off into the night, to stare at the stars than to look at another face. He didn't really want to see her face, not until he finished. He'd seen the looks of incredulity and pity often enough. "I died. On the battlefield. I fought bravely and savagely, but not well enough. I fell on that field and I died. When I woke up, I was an outcast. I was called a demon, a devil and worse. My father threw me out of the village, out of the clan. I had nothing left. I didn't understand what happened, but I had nowhere to go. I hadn't a clue of what had happened to me." "Mac, you don't have to--" He shook his head, not looking in her direction. "I have to. Sometimes I have to talk about it. To remember it. It's a part of who and what I am. And who and what I was." Slowly, he turned, facing the young woman still seated on the bed. "One day, I ran into my father on the road, returning from a hunt. That was when I learned I was a foundling; I wasn't even truly his son." "What did you do then?" Duncan blinked at her. None of the pity he expected. Her words were compassionate, but not full of pity. She stared at him with genuine interest and expectation. "When did you meet Connor?" Duncan shook his head, and crossed the room. He sat beside her on the bed and folded his hands. "I didn't meet Connor for a long while yet. But when I did--I finally had some answers, and some understanding of myself. "It's always hard coming back here." "Remembering?" Ami prompted. Duncan nodded. "Immortal memories are vivid. Sometimes you get caught up in them." That was an understatement. Usually, he was swept away by the intensity of his memories and the sensations associated with them. The Immortal stared for a moment at the young person on the bed beside him. A deep understanding and empathy lurked in her dark eyes. Of course, Duncan realized in his current state, she was probably noticing every one of his emotions. "I'm sorry." She frowned. "Sorry? What for?" "This can't be easy for you. Dealing with me. With my emotions." "Duncan," Ami took his hand, her voice warm. "You're my friend. And I'm not fragile." "Trust me, Ami. I have never thought that you were fragile." Duncan paused, placing his free hand atop hers, holding her hand between both of his. "Defenseless, maybe. But never fragile." "Defenseless?" Ami tilted her head, her voice slightly sharp. "In my world, yes." Duncan had expected the sudden defensiveness in her voice. He got it often enough from Cat and Jade. The Tomorrow People didn't see themselves as helpless or defenseless, but they were only mortal--they could die; and in his world of swords and violence, they were somewhat defenseless. "Then, I guess I should be happy to have you to protect me Duncan MacLeod." He searched her eyes with his own, searching for any sign of sarcasm or annoyance. He found none. "I hope you meant that as a compliment." "Maybe." She flashed him a mysterious smile and gave him a wink. Then her smile faded, and she sobered. "Who protects you from you?" The odd question left him momentarily speechless. "What do you mean?" "You spend your whole life protecting others, Mac. You live by this code of honor that even you can't hold up. There's a reason that Methos calls you boyscout." Ami shifted, turning so that she faced him more completely. He flinched at her reference of boyscout, but remained seated. Ami wasn't the sort to start speaking without reason; he owed her the decency of listening. "But who protects you from you? Who do you turn to when you start to feel like you can't go on? What do you do?" "I deal with it." Duncan surprised himself by averting his eyes. He was normally the one giving these little lectures; he was accustomed to be on the receiving end of one. "I'm Immortal, this is the way I am. I go on." "You feel guilty and depressed and you hold it all in. Like now. Like about Dominic." Duncan flinched, shrinking away from her. "I don't want to talk about Dominic." "Because you feel guilty for doing what you had to do?" He stood, his heart tightening. He didn't need to hear this; he didn't want to hear this. Not from anyone. Not from Joe, not from Methos, and not from Ami. That was why he'd gone to Europe, why he had come to Glenfinnan. He could deal with this on his own. In his own time. "You canna understand." "I understand guilt, Mac." Duncan took a deep breath, reigning in his angry outburst. He clenched and unclenched his fist. How could she ever expect to understand? She had never raised a weapon against anyone in her whole life. She never would. She couldn't. As Megabyte was so fond of saying, "We're sort of hard-wired against it." "I don't want to discuss this, Ami." Three strides carried him to her door. "No. You would rather go back to your room and hate yourself for a few more hours." If there had been anger or bitterness in her voice, he would have kept walking. If she had screamed the words, or snapped them, it would have given the impetus to yank the door open and leave her room. However, she whispered them, her voice rich with compassion and sympathy. He paused, trembling, his hand on the doorknob. "I didn't want to kill Dominic. I had to." "And now you have to forgive yourself." "But I canna!" Duncan whirled around to face her, his hands clenched by his sides. "Ye dinna understand. Dominic was my friend. I loved him like my own brother. And I--" He shook his head, fighting off the memory of Dominic kneeling before him; Dominic crying and pleading like a child. "You did what you had to do." Her voice remained low and soft. She moved towards him, slowly and deliberately. Ami's hands captured his, forcing the fists to unclench. "Mac, Dominic came to you and asked for your help--" "Taking his head was help?" Duncan didn't try to fight the tears that burned his eyes. His heart pained and throbbed in agony. "Was there anything else that you could have done?" She stroked his hands, his arms, all the while her voice remaining soft and calm. "Was there, Mac? He came after you twice; he went after Joe and Richie. What more could you have done?" "I coulda helped him." "How?" He stared down at her through his tears. "I don't know." "Listen to me, Mac. You couldn't have helped him. You tried. You searched and searched for every opportunity and you found nothing. You did nothing wrong. You did what Dominic wanted you to do." "Then why do I feel like I failed him? Like I've failed everyone before." Her hand brushed lightly against his cheek. "Who have you failed?" He turned away from her touch, from the quivering inside of him that yearned to break down the barriers and allow her inside. There was too much darkness inside of him, too much that she could never and would never understand. He would not burden; he refused to burden anyone. "Ye dinna understand. I have to go now--" Duncan didn't know whether Ami moved quickly or teleported. She was between him and the door so quickly, that he hadn't been able to anticipate her motion. "No. You're not leaving. Not yet. Not until you talk about this." "I dinna want ta talk!" He heard the richness of the brogue in his voice. It alerted him to how easily and how quickly he was loosing control. Loosing control of himself, loosing control of the situation. Duncan had to leave soon; he had to get away from her before-- --Before what? Before she managed to punch more holes in the armor he wore? Before she saw even further into the darkness of his heart and soul? Before she insinuated herself so deeply into his soul that he would bare all to her? Duncan trembled, turning away from her, away from the dark eyes which cried out in understanding and threatened to swallow him. "I canna talk about this, Ami. Please." "Is it so frightening to let someone in?" He felt her hands on his shoulders, on his back. "Mac, you know I can feel your pain. You can't hide it from me. And if you keep it inside, it's only going to get worse." He moved away from her, attempting to place some distance between them. He needed a moment to collect himself, to control the ebb and tide of the emotions within him. However, he only made it as far as the bed, sinking to it and covering his face with his hands. He inhaled sharply, taking long deep breaths. Duncan tried to think of anything but Dominic and all the guilt he felt over all the years. He thought about the good times, the happy times, and slowly felt the vestiges of control returning. He felt her settle beside him. He felt the warmth of her body, and caught the faint hint of soap on her skin. Duncan felt her arms encircle him, her voice a soft whisper. "You can't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, Mac. It's too heavy, even for you." Duncan lifted his head from his hands, meeting her eyes. "Ami, I think that--" One hand went to his lips, covering them with her fingers. "No. I'm not finished yet. You think that you have to protect everyone and everything you come into contact with. You protect Joe, you protect Richie, although I'm pretty sure he's good with that sword or he wouldn't be alive anymore. You race halfway around the world at the drop of a hat to rescue Amanda and she has six hundred years on you. And I've lost count of the number of times when I would have rather been dealing with my Mum instead of you." She paused a moment, smoothing back his hair as though he were a small child. "You can't protect everyone all the time. And we don't expect you to. You can't keep trying to save the entire world, because it just isn't possible. Every now and then there's going to be a problem that's bigger than Duncan MacLeod, and that's the way it is. "The only person you have ever failed is you. You didn't fail Darius, or Tessa, or Fitz, or anyone else. You failed you. And the reason you failed is because you try to live by a code so rigid that it's out of your grasp. You're Immortal, Duncan, but you're not a superhero." He stared at her, momentarily swept away by her words. His mind struggled to find some argument in her words, but failed. Deep inside, he acknowledged that she was right; her words made perfect sense. "I canna help what I am, Ami. I canna help--" "Let it go, Duncan. It's behind you. Let it go and forgive yourself." " 'Tis much easier ta say the words than follow them." "Try." The softness of her hand against his cheek was an unexpected catalyst. He turned his face into that palm, tears streaming from his eyes. He tried to speak, but instead only a ragged sob came from the depths of his soul, from the shadows of his heart. He didn't want to cry; he didn't want her to see his weakness. He didn't want anyone to see his weakness. Duncan tried to pull away from her, far away. He had to get away; he had to below. But she was stronger than he expected, and she drew him close, her arms wrapped tightly around him. Or perhaps she wasn't strong at all--perhaps some small part of him wanted and needed to be held. Perhaps he had been waiting to be rescued all along. End ********************************************** Michele B. Archivist, Author & Webmistress Alternate Realities Fan Fiction Archive http://www.alternate-realities.net ********************************************** _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Michele R Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@neo.rr.com> Subject: (arfic-l) ADMIN: Test of Auto Archive Date: 27 Oct 2001 09:24:33 -0400 Just a test to see if the auto archiving at egroups.com is working. - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: gsi16228@gsaix2.cc.gasou.edu Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Le Jour des Morts, (1/?) Date: 31 Oct 2001 00:37:40 US/Eastern Title: Le Jour des Morts Crossover/Fusion with: Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Authors: Persephone_Elysian Email: Persephone_Elysian@yahoo.com Archive: Elysia (www.angelfire.com/id2/avalon); Anyone else please email and permission will be gladly given. Rating: At the moment R-ish... Will mostly likely take a turn down NC-17 lane before this is over with. Fear not, the appropriate ratings will be listed should this happen. Warnings: Violence, language, creepy things, eventual lemon. Pairings:1x2/2x1 Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is the property of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, Twentieth Century Fox, (currently) UPN and other such companies. No infringement is intended. Any other characters not found in either series, belong to me. Please ask permission before you use them. Thanks: A big round of thanks to Anne Olsen, Psycho Babble, Keya,and Chele for beta-ing this. Special thanks to Anne (for helping me get all those Brit-isms down) and to Psycho Babble (for urging me to hurry up and get to Hee-chan already). Author's disclaimer: This idea has been kicking around in my brain for half a year now. I knew I wanted to do a Buffy/GW story but wasn't sure how to get it around the way I wanted it. This story is part fusion, part crossover. For those of you who have read my other Buffy/Gundam Wing/Angel crossovers, 'Endymion's Repose' and 'And So It Goes' should find this quite different from either of those stories. This is a look at the Buffy verse from a different perspective. As such, I've bent and played with the Gundam Wing timeline just a smidge (as well as making the pilots 16 instead of 15 and giving a new spin on certain characters and their histories) while trying to incorporate the mythology and feel of the Buffy-verse. This work is part crossover and part fusion. I'm not sure how successful I've been but I thought I'd post what I have so far to list as a Halloween treat. ^_^ Feedback is craved and will be adored with the proper amount of gushing. *** Le Jour des Morts A 'Gundam Wing'/'Buffy, the Vampire Slayer' fusion/crossover. By Persephone_Elysian Prologue 21 December, A.C. 179 Colony L-2 'This is truly the night of the long knives, 'Helen thought grimly as she half-led, half-carried her stumbling charge through Byzantine streets, one hand clutching an armful of shaking girl and the other wrapped around the smooth grip of her 9mm. Every so often the pair paused, the girl seeming to bend just a bit, her face red with some exertion unknown to those around her save for her grim-faced guardian. Helen winced as fingers dug into her arm, already resigned to bruises and rapidly coming to the conclusion that if she couldn't find them shelter and very soon, those bruises would have contusions of their own. Bruises in themselves were nothing new; after all, you could hardly serve as Watcher to the Slayer and not expect wounds of some sort. That was part of the job description. The squeamish had no business accompanying the Vampire Slayer into darkness, only those willing to lay down their lives in service of the Cause did. Helen would and had voluntarily gone into literal and figurative hells for Luna Rohan, the current Slayer, without flinching. She had given herself over to the idea that she might well die in battle. Her concern focused more on Luna and seeing that she had all she needed--to fight, to survive. The irony of their situation was not lost on Helen. She had trained Luna, aided her forging into a weapon against the darkness, honing natural reflexes and instincts to a razor's edge and none of it mattered now. No, Luna was engaged in a very different sort of struggle at the moment, one that none of her skills could help her with. Not for the first time in several hours, Helen felt fear flutter in her chest, pecking at her resolve. "Helen," Luna whimpered, stopping for another of those interminable pauses that made Helen's heart catch and her eyes jump around the streets, finger toying with the safety of her pistol. The girl seemed to squat down just a bit, grunting as her hands flew to the curve of her engorged belly, concealed from the cold atmosphere and prying eyes by a thick black overcoat. Her charge's round, delicate face was pinched, cream skim the color of milk and sheened with sweat. They were coming faster, these pauses, far too fast for her comfort. It meant they hadn't long and their pursuers were still out there. For the first time, Helen felt real and genuine panic rise in her throat, choking in its weight. She wasn't trained for this... Demons, vampires, the odd sorcerer, yes, but she was not equipped to deal with a pregnant Slayer being pursued by not only by a nest of vampires but Watchers intent on bringing the Slayer back to Earth, back to Headquarters, perhaps to face death. And all because Luna Roan had been blessed or cursed, to be the first Slayer in recorded history to conceive. Oh, there had been such an uproar in the Council when Helen had been forced to report what Luna herself had reluctantly revealed. She had deliberated on just how to broach the subject for nearly a month before realizing that there was no way to and she'd best come clean before the changing shape of Luna's body did it for her. Just as quickly as the Slayer's condition had been revealed the order came down from the Inner Council that the Slayer was to abort the fetus with all haste. And she supposed it had been just her luck to be in charge of the one Slayer since Buffy Summers nearly two hundred years earlier to openly defy the Council, then break with it. Luna would not give up her child and the Council could not 'afford the wasted time' it would take her to give birth. The order turned into an ultimatum: rid herself of the child or they would find someone to take her place. And there was only one way to replace a Slayer.... Helen shuddered at the thought. And so they had left Earth, moving from space port to space port just one step ahead of both the Watchers and the vampires the Slayer was now in no condition to battle. It was too late to abort the birth as she had been instructed all those months ago before they fled the Council's control but she didn't trust Luna's or the child's fate to her superiors. Not yet. Not until Luna was back in full health. "Nearly there," Helen made her voice light, despite the fact that she had no idea where 'there' was. They'd been walking through this godforsaken place for several hours already, searching for a spot, some small refuge for Luna to quit her pains and this child to be born. Helen feared if they didn't find that place very soon, her Slayer might not survive the pain racking her small form. At five feet and barely a hundred pounds, Luna Rohan was not built for childbearing. Her wispy frame belied the true power in her limbs, her tiny form strengthened with the power of the Slayer. And it was that strength that carried her now when her petite body should have fallen over in agony. True, she had gained some weight but none of it had stuck to her bones, instead going to her womb until her belly seemed monstrous in proportion to the rest of her body. She should not have had to spend these last couple months shuttling from place to place, never able to rest for more than a few days at a time. 'No,' Helen thought with bitterness, Luna should have been given a room in Headquarters in London and the best medical care the Watchers could afford. She had served the Council well for nearly a year before this and this was how they rewarded her. All the blood she'd spilled in their name, all those injuries, and vampires slain... Surely that should have afforded her some consideration, some sort of sympathy, not this relentless hounding that might well be the death of Luna. And if she were being honest, she could admit to herself that might very well be what the Council wanted and intended. No Slayer since Buffy Summer and her counterpart, Faith, had ever gone rogue; the Council had taken great pains to ensure that. If they felt it would serve their purpose, they might well make Luna an example for future generations of girls. As for herself... Helen harbored no illusions as to what steps the Council would take against her. She had disobeyed orders and worse, aided the Slayer in disobeying, too. A reprimand was the least of her worries. Oh, well. There was nothing to be done about it now. She'd made her bed and she would damn well lie in it. Her first priority was shelter, followed on its heels by getting her Slayer some sort of medical attention. If there was any such thing in this hellhole, she glanced around the grubby streets and buildings that would have been condemned anywhere else. In retrospect, they'd made a mistake--she had made a mistake in allowing Luna her way and bringing the two of them to the L2 cluster. L2 was notorious amongst the colonies as a haven for criminals and the poorest of the space colonials. Those who came to L2 did so because they had no choice and nowhere else to go. 'Like us,' Helen thought. Luna had thought that the Watchers with all their respectability would have difficulty coming into a place like this. How she wished her charge would understand that respectability was little more than a patina. The Watchers were devoted to their fight against darkness and would do anything, sacrifice anyone to win a war that had been going on so long now that no one remembered the beginnings of it. As she had feared, their hunters had followed them into this murderous nest and picketed the few shuttle ports of the colony with their people. Unlike the ultra modern L1 or the lavish L4, L2 was run down, a dead end with few escapes available. Those who dwelt in Earth slums lived like kings compared to some of the denizens of this place. Aside from a few parts of the cities, L2 was a veritable backwater hell of its own making. Again another pause as Luna stopped in the street, her nostrils flaring as her face strained. "Helen. I think...the baby.." "Try to hold on," Helen repeated her earlier inanity. Hold on? How did one hold onto a child trying to force its way into the world? Might as well ask space to warm over and become breathable. "That... is...easy," Luna hissed through her gritted teeth, "...for you to say...ohhh." This had gone on long enough. They had to find shelter and they had to find it now. Anyone who came after them could wait until this child was born or else they'd have a bullet in their head to answer to. Taking her charge by the shoulders, Helen guided her off the street and over to one of those dingy, barely functional buildings. Balancing, she knocked on the door, restraining the urge to hop from foot to foot in impatience. The door opened a crack, a dirty face peeking out at them. A dirty *young* face, Helen realized feeling her stomach drop. "Yea?" Realizing this was as much of a greeting as she was likely to get she put on her best smile. "We need a room. Are your parents around?" "Ain't got parents," The child's voice was defiant, daring her to make something of that. Helen blinked, at a complete loss as to how to proceed. Luckily for her, Luna did. "We need a room," she grunted, thrusting her stomach out at him. "We can pay you for it." That grubby face brightened then darkened again. "And 'ow do I know you won't call the police on us later?" 'Us?' Helen thought dully. 'More than one?' "We won't report you. We're not seeking that sort of attention ourselves at the moment. Please, we just need one of your rooms for a few hours and then we'll be gone." The door closed and the scrabbling of an ancient lock became audible before the door was jerked back. Helen guided Luna inside, wrinkling her nose as the smell of unwashed bodies hit her nose. So many unwashed bodies, she thought, her eyes drifting over the children in the room or peeking through the staircase at them. There were at least twenty children here, the youngest not more than four. Thin, rangy little bodies with not an ounce of fat on them and hungry, fearful eyes staring at them, tracking their movements as they tensed to scatter. "Oh, God," Luna breathed and Helen was unsure if that was some soft agreement or another statement of pain. "'E don't get many visit'rs," the boy who'd opened the door explained. He jerked his hand at them. "C'mon, you can have the room upstairs." "I'm not sure she can make it upstairs," Helen muttered but followed, more or less hauling Luna upwards now. A swift look at the Slayer's face told her she could expect little help there. It was all the girl could do to move with her help. The climb upward was slow torture, fraught with more pauses that were coming in faster succession. She had thought to ask the boy to find a midwife or doctor of some sort but was beginning to understand that they'd never get there in time. She'd have to make do on her own. 'This is insane,' part of her screamed. She'd never done anything remotely like this. She'd been taught to slay demons, not deliver babies. 'Get a grip,' she ordered herself with as much sternness as she could muster. Women had been delivering babies for thousands upon thousands of years. If they could do it, then she'd managed somehow. The room the boy led them to was Spartan, empty of any furnishings save for a natty mattress on the floor but it was clean. Thank God for that mercy. After helping Luna down onto the bedding, she glanced down at the child, "Could I trouble you for some water and towels?" "This ain't the Sheridan," he replied sullenly. "And it'll cost ya." Brat, she glowered at him. "Fine. Whatever you want. Just get me what I need.... Why are you still standing there?" "I ain't moving unless you pay," the child thrust his chin out stubbornly. Helen resisted the urge to smack him then and there. "This is important." "So's this." After seeing the children downstairs she supposed she couldn't argue with that. "Half," she relented. "You can have the rest when you get me what I need. And...What's your name, boy?" The boy thought it over. "Deal. And I ain't got a name... at least not one pronounceable in polite company." He flashed a quick grin then disappeared, the floor creaking and groaning as he leaped down the stairs at a full run. Helen stared after him, before shaking her head and turning back towards the grunting, red-faced mother. She knelt down beside the mattress, smoothing back some of Luna's soft honey brown hair, her hand slick with perspiration as it moved those sticky locks out of her face. Her amethyst eyes were fully dilated, bluer in appearance than violet at this moment; such an agonizing shade of sky colors in her focused gaze. Reaching down, she unwrapped one of the Slayer's hands from her stomach and entwined her fingers in it with a gentle squeeze to get her attention. Helen smiled on the edge of tears herself as she watched the girl trying to hold back the pain, denying voice to the sensations that were ripping her apart. "It's all right," she soothed. "You can cry out if you need to. I don't think anyone will mind." "I mind," she huffed, her voice hitching as another contraction hit her. "So stubborn," Helen stroked her hair, seeking not to cry out herself as Luna's small hand clenched around hers in a crushing grip. "Always so stubborn. You don't have to be strong all the time." "Yes... I do. Part of the job descripti--owww," she whimpered, raising up on her hands just a bit. "Bollocks to the job then." "You must be--really scared to say ...something like that." 'I am,' she thought. 'Oh God, Luna, I'm so very afraid.' "I am. I don't want to worry you but this is new territory for me." "Same here. Guess we'll get through this together, huh?" It was an attempt at a laugh that was swallowed up in her greater efforts. "Can't be any worse than slaying some vamp, right?" "Yes, but the vampires are usually trying to get in, not out." "Geez, Helen, lighten up a bit. It's not like I'm gonna die here or anything," Luna rasped, eyes rolling upward a bit though the Watcher couldn't tell if it was in annoyance or in a very real struggle to remain conscious. "I mean, wouldn't that just suck? Dying in a place like this before I could get back and tell the Council how full of it they are? Who says vampire slayers can't have a career and a kid, right?" "Absolutely." "Okay, now you're scarin' me. Did you just agree with me on something?" Helen laughed, a soft sound filled with tears unshed. "I suppose I did. Enjoy it while you can. I'm quite sure it won't happen very often." Luna started to speak but it was a shrill cry of pain that left her mouth, not the snappy comeback she'd expected. The girl rocked forward, nearly falling backwards again as her stomach caught her. Tears spilled down her thin face, the amethyst of her eyes glittering like stones in a stream. Helen put her arms around the girl, preventing her wobbling body from falling either way, the smell of sweat and blood tickling her nose. The damp warm body against hers spasmed and jerked, small sobs of pain filling the air around them. Helen held her tightly, swaying back and forth, speaking but not speaking. There were words, Helen was certain of that, but nothing intelligible. At least, nothing that made sense to her well-trained ear. Still, Luna responded to it or seemed to, burying her face in Helen's shoulder and clutching her Watcher with bruising intensity. Everything narrowed down to that connection, the feel of Luna's body twitching in her arms, soft whimpers followed by loud cries of agony that cut through her until she had to shut her eyes, hiding her face in her charge's sweat-slicked hair and prayed. For something, anything, for this torment to end. Words that she had not spoken in years ran around in circles in her mind and she found her eyes drawn to the glint of a silver cross lying against Luna's chest. It twinkled at her in the dimness and her eyes followed that light, the glint expanding into a glow as she unfocused her eyes and let her lips throw silent entreaties out, punctuated by the occasional sound of comfort. It was the slamming open of a door that roused her, her gun coming up to bear before she herself had realized it. "That was a very stupid thing to do," she informed the boy from before, his small body frozen with one hand still attached to the doorknob. "I could have killed you." His hand flexed, then he let go, as if now confident that she wouldn't shoot him where he stood. "Nah, not you. You're too soft to shoot a kid like me. Couldn't live with yerself." "Don't tempt me." He shrugged, pushing swoopy blond hair out of his eyes, nearly dropping the ancient bucket he held in his free hand. "You can shoot me but I guarantee Lucky Lindy ain't gonna help you if you do." "Who the hell is Lucky Lindy?" Helen snapped, her patience at an end as Luna muttered and tossed in her arms. "That'd be me." A dark-haired woman stepped through the doorway, stopping to touch the boy's shoulder before pushing him gently to the side. Lank black hair was swept up in a tight ponytail and the sheer volume of make-up and fishnet gave her more insight into this woman's stock and trade than Helen wanted to know. "I'm Lindy," she announced, popping a wad of chewing gum and slipping out of her threadbare jacket. "So I've gathered. Why are you here?" The gun never wavered, as it moved towards the more immediate threat. The boy rolled his eyes. "Oh for... Look, you need help, right? I'm mean, she's gonna drop a kid any moment now." 'An accurate, if not the most polite or tasteful description,' Helen conceded, her lips thinning as she nodded. "Lindy's a whore," the boy began without preamble. "She's had experience. Lots of it." "I'll bet." Lindy rolled her brown eyes. "God, Solo, remind me never to let you explain anything ever again." She turned her attention back to Helen. "What he means to say is that I've been a midwife before. Not that I haven't had those other kinds of experiences." "You're a midwife?" "Uh huh," Lindy replied cheerfully. "Sometimes the other girls get careless, get good and preggers and can't afford aborting drugs. I've delivered two or three kids, including Sol' here." "Help deliver," Solo corrected, crossing his eyes at her when the girl stuck out her tongue in his direction. Helen stared at her, digesting this rather remarkable bit of news. For all her claim to 'experiences,' Lindy was probably no older than twenty to twenty five. As if sensing Helen's skepticism, she piped up, "Nana Allison taught me how. She used to let me help her. I took over when she died." "She's the best help you're gonna get," Solo concurred. "Unless you're planning on delivering the brat yerself." The idea of trying to deliver a baby, any baby, was nearly enough to send her back into her earlier panic. She glanced at Luna, but found no aid there. The Slayer's eyes were closed, her small body sucking up harsh, rasping breaths. 'Make a decision, Helen, before the decision is taken from you.' "All right. If you can help--" "There's a little thing of a fee," Solo began before Helen waved him off. "I'll pay the both of you whatever you want. But if anything," she waved the gun in front of their suddenly apprehensive faces, "and I mean anything, goes wrong here, neither of you will leave this room. Understood?" "We got it," Solo muttered. "Geez, relax and give the lady some room to work." *** As much as Helen was loath to admit it, Lindy was very good at what she did. The girl was quick and efficient, taking charge after a few seconds of clear distress. Moreover, she knew how to keep Solo in line, mostly by having him run back and to fetching items, half of which Helen felt certain Lindy didn't even need. As for herself, she took up position near Luna, holding the gun in one hand and the Slayer's clammy hand in her other. It was a gesture not lost on either Lindy or Solo and perhaps it was her imagination, but it seemed to spur them on. The labor itself was a long process, with periods where Lindy actually pulled Luna to her feet and made her walk around. To speed up contractions, the girl had explained. It was an awkward affair, with Lindy slipping an arm around her to keep her upright. Occasionally, the Slayer stopped in the midst of the room, squatting just a bit as her eyes narrowed in concentration. It hadn't taken long after a few of these sessions for the contractions to well and fully come on with Lindy's glib announcement of 'the rugrat's comin!' filling her ears. Helen had never been part of a birth, had never really thought of having children and what she had seen thus far had not impressed upon her the immediate need to remedy that. Until Lindy's bloody hands emerged with a squirming bundle, a few smart smacks rapping the lungs clean. And what a sound those lungs produced! She would be old and gray before the sound of that howl stopped ringing in her ears. Luna very near collapsed, Solo clasping her by the shoulder in a genuine attempt to keep her upright. Helen flashed the boy a smile of gratitude before turning her attention back to her charge and the tiny body wiped fresh of blood being handed her way. "It's a boy," Lindy said, a twinkle in her tired eyes telling Helen that even she realized how inane that helpful observation was. "Helen... Oh, my God," Luna's voice was shaky. Her charge's face was drawn, gray but there was something radiant about her nonetheless. "Look at him, just look at him." Tiny perfect hands flailed out as the child cried, a glimpse of smoky blue violet peeking through a sheen of tears before his pale head turned, seeking to burrow closer to the female holding him. Luna appeared confused, trying to turn the child back towards her. The babe's cries amplified until Luna seemed well and truly frightened. "What's... What's wrong with him?" "He's hungry," Lindy replied with resigned patience. "I think he's hoping you're gonna give him a bite, Mommy." "Oh!" Luna started fumbling with her shirt, and Helen was actually scandalized by the sight of the Slayer trying to pull it upward. She got up, snagging Solo by the wrist, dragging the protesting boy halfway across the room before calling over her shoulder. "Tell her what to do, Lindy, then come talk to me a minute." Just outside the door, Solo yanked away from her, rubbing his wrist and glaring at her. "What was that for?" Helen didn't bother with a response instead leaning against the wall, using what was left of her energy to fight back the wave of dizziness threatening to swallow her. A few minutes later, the door opened and closed again. Helen opened her eyes and directed her attention towards Lindy, who despite the remarkable composure with which she had handled the birth was now visibly uncomfortable. "If you're getting any ideas--" Helen shook her head. "One more service and you can have more than a week's wages." The girl visibly straightened, with Solo creeping up behind her. "What else can I do for you?" Nervousness replaced by greedy professionalism. "The baby." "What about him?" Helen felt her hands curve around the grip of her gun, the well-worn handle bringing home the reality of the situation and what she was about to do. "I want you to take him. I'll pay you whatever you want." "What? Why--" Lindy was shocked, her face for once telling the story of her years. "Ask me no questions," Helen barked. "Suffice to say, Luna and I cannot stay here. And a baby would slow us down. There are people ... looking for us. If we dawdle, they will find us. For the sake of the mother and that child in there, I am asking you to take the child and find him a home until such time as we are at liberty to return and reclaim him." "But surely--" "No. Just yes or no. There is no more time," Helen seethed. Lindy's face hardened. "Sure but I'm not gonna be the one to tell that kid in there. You couldn't pay me enough for that." "I'll do it," she nodded, straightening. Her insides quivered at the thought of what she was about to do--separating a mother from her newborn? It sounded heartless. It *was* heartless but what choice was there? If they stayed, their pursuers would find them and God only knew what the Watchers would do with the child. And if they tried to escape with the baby, it was equally likely he would not survive the attempt. There was no win in this situation, no hope save the slim chance of a return later, once the Council had been pacified and shown that Luna could be both the Slayer and a mother. For his own sake, the child had to be left here. For both their sakes, she had to steel herself and force Luna to reach the same conclusion. 'God, please help her to forgive me,' she smoothed her suit, trying very hard not to think of Luna's radiance just minutes before. 'Because I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive myself.' ***End of Prologue. This message was sent using GSWeb Mail Services. http://www.gasou.edu/gsumail - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: gsi16228@gsaix2.cc.gasou.edu Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Le Jour des Morts, (2/?) Date: 31 Oct 2001 00:39:44 US/Eastern Title: Le Jour des Morts, (2/?) Crossover/Fusion with: Gundam Wing and Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Authors: Persephone_Elysian Email: Persephone_Elysian@yahoo.com Archive: Elysia (www.angelfire.com/id2/avalon) anyone else please email and permission will be gladly given. Rating: At the moment R-ish... Will mostly likely take a turn down NC-17 lane before this is over with. Warnings: Violence, language, creepy things, eventual lemon. Pairings:1x2/2x1 Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is the property of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, Twentieth Century Fox, (currently) UPN and other such companies. No infringement is intended. Any other characters not found in either series (such as Luna or Sophie or Grace, belong to me. Please ask permission before you use them. Thanks: A big round of thanks to Anne Olsen, Psycho Babble, Keya,and Chele for beta-ing this. Special thanks to Anne (for helping me get all those Brit-isms down) and to Psycho Babble (for urging me to hurry up and get to Heechan already). Author's disclaimer: This idea has been kicking around in my brain for half a year now. I knew I wanted to do a Buffy/GW story but wasn't sure how to get it around the way I wanted it. This story is part fusion, part crossover. For those of you who have read my other Buffy/Gundam Wing/Angel crossovers, 'Endymion's Repose' and 'And So It Goes' should find this quite different from either of those stories. This is a look at the Buffy verse from a different perspective. As such, I've bent and played with the Gundam Wing timeline just a smidge (as well as making the pilots 16 instead of 15 and giving a new spin on certain characters and their histories) while trying to incorporate the mythology and feel of the Buffy-verse. I'm not sure how successful I've been but I thought I'd post what I have so far to list(s) as a Halloween treat. ^_^ Feedback is craved and will be adored with the proper amount of gushing. *** Le Jour des Morts A 'Gundam Wing'/'Buffy, the Vampire Slayer' crossover/fusion. By Persephone_Elysian Chapter One London, Great Britain Earth AC 195 The monsters were fast, claws slashing outward and sending her tumbling over garbage cans into the wall of the alley. Grace Ward, the Vampire Slayer, rose on unsteady limbs, one hand clinging to the dirty brick next to her. Her side was burning, the other hand clamped over a livid set of scratches across her abdomen. She eased her hand back, disturbed by the way her blood spilled over her fingers, the blue of her shirt made stiff and crimson. Keeping on eye on the pair hovering just mere feet and inches from her, Grace tried to catch her breath and ignore the fear threatening to overtake her. This whole thing had been a mistake from the beginning. She should have listened to Harry's warnings about tracking Krelid demons and about how vicious the buggers could be in a fight but no, she had to play the mighty vampire slayer, savior of London and pride of the Council. She'd let her ego, her pride in cleaning the vampire population out of London, go to her head and walked right into the lion's den. 'A den of some kind,' she thought, remembering the horror of realizing she hadn't just tracked down one demon but two. 'Two with young,' she grimaced, still seeing all those dozens and dozens of eggs tied together in a silken knot like a spider's nest. She and Harry had torched the nest. At least the city would be spared a horde of baby demons running roughshod over it. Had there only been one demon, she could have handled it. But she hadn't counted on Daddy slithering in behind her Watcher à And now Harry was dead. One blood-slicked hand swiped at the tears that threatened to come. It simply wouldnÆt do to show weakness in front of the monsters and there was a very real possibility that if she started crying now she wouldn't be able to stop. Balancing on one foot, she let go of her side and hefted the battle-axe beside her into her hands once more, amazed at how heavy it seemed all of the sudden. Or maybe it was just her hands felt numb, far too numb. She squelched down her rising panic. She was the Slayer, the Chosen one of her generation and she would not show fear. Not in front of the monsters, not for any monster; they should fear her and not the other way around. It hadn't always been like this. Once when Grace had been a little girl, she had feared the monsters. Somehow she had always known them. They lurked in the pantry or under her bed and behind the curtain in the lavatory. They stalked her and she hid or ran. Until the day Harry came and explained her destiny, until she had understood that she need no longer fear the monsters, that it was they who should run from her. She had hunted them then, hunted them with an intensity and devotion that had made her Watcher proud. She had pursued and slayed the vampire community, destroying its power in her city. She had rooted out and systematically destroyed any stragglers and she had freed the night. She had made it so that people could walk down a London street at night without the fear of something otherworldly attacking them. Because all the monsters knew the Slayer walked and she ruled her city with an iron fist. Onlyàonly this pair didn't seem to understand that. Somehow, they had slunk into her city and attempted to breed. It wouldn't be tolerated. She had never allowed any vampire to get the better of her and she wouldn't let this pair ofà of animals do it either. With effort, she raised the battle-axe and forced her feet forward, a few tottering steps then into a broken run, adrenaline forcing her tired legs to pump harder. The axe fell forward towards scaled purple fleshà àand sunk deep into the macadam as the thing moved, fast--faster than she could react. She had a second to stare at her weapon, mouth opened before something shifted and then cut through her flesh. Something coppery and hot filled her mouth, spilling over and down her chin as she looked down to see a clawed hand sticking out of her ribs and wriggling. It should have hurt but it didn't. She didn't feel anything except a sinking disappointment and sense of guilt. Disappointment that the monsters had taken back the night and guilt for failing her post, for leaving her city open. Those tears that had threatened moments earlier now came, mixing with the bitter taste in her mouth as another large hand clamped down on her head. The alley echoed with the sound of a loud twist followed by the soft thud of a body. *** Elsewhere, Duo Maxwell was sleeping. Or trying to but those damn voices were preventing anything resembling restful sleep. With his body slumped over a desk, face buried in the depths of a trig book, Duo's mind was focused somewhere other than the complex calculations that had been swimming before his eyes. The images came swiftly at first. A crucifix, a cemetery, and a book with a gold title that he couldn't quite seem to make out. And other things, too. Faces. So many faces, most of them female. They were trying to tell him something but the words were indecipherable, not rising above a droning whisper of sound. So many girls and all of them seeming to line a narrow passageway, staring as he went past their eyes blank and skin grayish in the dimness. The hair on the back of his neck rose as he realized those empty eyes were tracking him even though the girls themselves hadn't moved an inch. "Umà hello?" he ventured, pausing in front of one, a slender dark-skinned girl who regarded him with something close to disdain. He started to say something else when he caught sight of her throat and the gash running along most of it, blood trickling down from the severed vein. He swallowed, backpedaling a few spaces. And then he was elsewhereàagain. This time he was in an alleyway, several thumps and moans of pain making him flatten himself against the wall, reaching for his gun. Only it wasn't the cool steel of his revolver that he came away with but the rough length of wood. He blinked, studying it. A stake. He tested the point. A very sharp stake. What the hell was going on here? The sounds that had drawn his attention before had stopped and now the silence rose with deafening anger. He stared down at the stake then clutched it in his hand, marveling at how right it felt as he crept closer and around the lip of a building. The space between was empty save for a body under a street lamp. Another girl, this one only a little older than he was, her black-haired head resting just inches away from her battered body. He looked away, then steeled himself to walk forward, making a slow circuit of the area before coming to a stop near the corpse. He squatted down, whispering. "God, who were you?" "The Slayer. Or rather she was. Now she's just dead like the rest of us." Duo nearly fell forward onto the still bleeding corpse. As it was, his shoe managed to slip in the pooling blood and he grunted as his backside connected with the concrete beneath him. He twisted his head around for a look, hand tightening on the stake in his hand as he prepared to leap back to his feet. Leather and lace filled his vision. White lace, the kind that clung in all the right places and made the wearer have an air of virginal sensuality; the kind of lace that thinned towards the hems until diaphanous sheerness. White high heels--of the stomp your heart variety, the strap going high around the ankle to cinch. The leather jacket was a bit of surprise. Definitely didn't match the image he was putting together in his mind. Nor did the crossbow held loosely in one hand. Something told him that it wouldn't take much for that lazy grip to tighten and train on him. Just a flick of one delicate looking wrist. China blue eyes studied him, a hint of weary compassion and surprise registering in them. She wasn't tall, this girl staring down at him, the space of breath between her body and his crouched form. He hadn't heard her creep up on him and he cursed. 'I can just hear Heero now,' Duo rolled his eyes. 'Baka' would be the kindest word out of his taciturn partner's mouth. He needed time, time to figure out what was going on and time to retreat. This girl with her wicked looking weapon was too close for comfort. Thanks to their impromptu staring match, Duo could safely say that this girl was somehow different than the others he'd seen so far. There was a warmth, a spark of intelligence that he wanted to trust, if anything in this whacked out dream of his could be trusted. The silence, almost companionable, stretched and ached to be filled. "Nice dress," he commented at last, not able to think of anything else to say. The girl rolled her eyes, swiping a curling blond lock out of her face. "Why does everyone tell me that?" "Because it's true?" Duo offered. "Are you gonna shoot me with that thing or can I get up?" She shrugged. "This is your dream. I guess it all depends on if you're going to give me a reason to shoot you, or if you're going to play nice?" It wasn't exactly a threat. More like a veiled promise of unpleasant things to come should he choose to disagree. Rising slowly, he spread his hands apart, the hand gripping the stake, not releasing the weapon but keeping it where the girl could see it. Her eyebrows quirked as she noticed the move. "Not a total spaz," she commented, her smile suddenly mischievous. "You're not who I was expecting. I mean, the braid kind of fooled all of us for a sec there but you're really not a girl, are you?" "Do I look like a ... Don't answer that," Duo sighed. He couldn't even begin to count the times he'd been mistaken for the 'fairer sex' and it still annoyed him as much now as it had the first time, the only difference was he'd stopped smashing people's face in to prove a point. "Good thing, too," the girl replied as if she'd heard him. "Blood and this dress just don't mix. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about here. Besides, do you have any idea how long it takes to get blood out of whites? You might as well throw them away and before you even have that thought, can it. I'm not here to play out some sort of porno flick for the benefit of raging male hormones." "I didn't even ask!" "I'm just covering all bases. Heads off any misunderstandings we might have later. You know, you get the wrong idea and I have to pound you for the remainder of this dream instead of doing what I came here to do." "Why are you here? And before you accuse me of anything else, could I catch a name there?" Duo crossed his arms, then winced as he scratched himself with the tip of the stake. The girl clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "Cute and clueless. I can see why they think you might need help. I hope I wasn't this bad when I was first called. She appeared to think about that for a second before adding, "But I probably was." He waited, rubbing his offended flesh. "Oh, yea. I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers. The Slayer." "But I thought you said she--" Duo began, glancing back at the corpse... that was no longer there. He jerked his head around, searching. Bodies didn't just get up and walk away, he reasoned. Therefore the dead girl had to be around somewhere. Right? "Where did she go?" Buffy grabbed his arm, preventing him from a more thorough search and forcing him to meet her firm gaze. "She's gone. She isn't needed anymore. But you are." "Me?" He pulled away and rubbed the back of his neck. "Lady, I don't even know what the heck is going on here. I mean, I was studying trig--" "Do they still teach that?" Buffy's pert face wrinkled in disgust. "Is it too much to ask that while battling the forces of darkness, the Slayer not have to sit through math?" "Um, I--" "I mean, it's not like we don't have enough to worry about, right? Vampires and demons are hard work. Saving the world on a yearly basis... you think that'd earn you some sort of break but nooooooooo," Buffy continued on, not stopping for breath. Duo stared, blinking every once in a while. After a minute or two, Buffy seemed to notice. "What?" "I just suddenly realized how Heero feels most of the time." "Huh?" He raised his hands in a time out signal. "Okay, this is gonna seem really silly but ... What *the* hell are you talking about?!" "Oh," Buffy seemed embarrassed somehow, pink flooding her cheeks. "Guess I'm getting ahead of myself, huh? Now, how did Giles handle this?" Buffy appeared to think for a moment, chewing her lip in concentration. Then she shrugged as if to say 'to hell with it'. "You're the Slayer." "But I thought you were the--" "There's more than one," Buffy sounded irritated. "Just usually not at the same time although that's another of those rules they tell you not to break that gets bent a lot. But I'll backtrack a bit. Every generation has a Chosen One, a Slayer. You tracking so far?" Duo nodded, not trusting himself to speak yet. This dream was turning out far crazier than any nightmare he'd ever had. At least in his nightmares he was fighting or piloting his mobile suits, not dealing with some nutty blond babbling on about 'Chosen Ones' and 'Giles' and stuff. "The Slayer...slays. Vampires. Demons, too, but mostly vampires." "There's no such things as--" "--vampires," Buffy finished with him. "Been there, done that. Look, vampires are real and we can stand around arguing about it but it won't change anything. I can be just as stubborn as you can, Duo Maxwell. The point is your number came up and you've been called. And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it." "Called by who?" he asked, truly exasperated now. "The Powers that Be? God? I don't know. No one ever gave me a good answer on that one. There are a lot of things they don't tell you," Buffy's face changed, seeming older, some ancient hurt bubbling out of the depths of her eyes and threatening to overwhelm both of them. Duo felt his throat close up and ache at her statement. There was something so familiar about it that he felt her pain, knew it even without knowing the direct circumstances for it. He opened his mouth, searching for something, some word that lighten those eyes just a shade-- --when a hand gripped his shoulder, tugging him upward to stare into a different set of blue eyes. Duo lurched, sleep-choked eyes tearing up and he was forced to rub them before he could focus properly. "Huh? Buffy, what the--" "Buffy?" Heero's eyebrow lifted, his tone holding a hint of curiosity. "What's a Buffy?" "Heero?" Duo knew he sounded uncertain, but damned if he didn't find himself glancing around, part of his mind wondering what had happened to the alley and the blond girl he'd been speaking to. Check that--having an 'Alice in Wonderland' encounter with needing only a Mad Hatter and a tea party to make the tableau complete. "Wha-at had happened?" "You fell asleep. What's a Buffy?" Duo rubbed his cramped neck, making a face at the small bit of drool soaking his trig book. "A girl. Oh man, ewwwww. Do you have any idea how much this book cost?" Something flickered in Heero's eyes and there was a brief pause. "You were dreaming about a girl?" "Yeah, and that was one fucked up dream, let me tell you," Duo continued on, oblivious to both the pause and any change of statement in his partner. He stretched, wincing as bones popped and muscles stretched back into proper alignment. "Oh God, I feel like shit. Is there any aspirin?" Heero rolled his eyes and rummaged around in one of the desks. "Maybe if you'd do your homework when you're supposed to instead of waiting 'til the last minute, you wouldn't have to stay up all night finishing your homework." "Yeah, yeah. Nag, nag. I work better at night anyway. I'm a night owl or haven't you noticed?" Duo teased, covering the half-hopeful spark in him that wished Heero would take notice of something about him...anything about him. The war had been on for almost six months and it had taken less than two for Duo to realize he was crushing, majorly so, on Heero Yuy. It was the first inkling he'd had that he might be anything other than heterosexual. It wasn't that he'd given up girls... No, he still found himself checking out the opposite sex and the micro-mini Sela Marsden had been wearing the other day had almost caused an embarrassing problem. It was just... No one interested him the way his homicidal, taciturn partner did. 'What is it about a man with a gun,' he thought mournfully. 'Maybe you're wondering if he whips out other things as skillfully as he does that revolver,' part of him snickered. Duo sincerely hoped it was just hot in the room because he really wasn't in the mood to try to explain why he was suddenly and completely blushing. "What I've noticed is you slumped over your books most mornings and then complaining about how your back and neck ache afterward," Heero replied dryly. "If you went to bed when most normal people do, you wouldn't feel so terrible." Either he chose not to comment on Duo's sudden embarrassment or he was unaware of it. Probably the latter, Duo acknowledged. He would have the good fortune to crush on someone who treated bombs like tinker toys and had the emotional maturity of a five year old on occasions. "I'll keep that in mind, *Dad,*" Duo rolled his eyes. "Lighten up, please? I stay up all night and still manage to earn the same grades as you, thank you very much." Heero glanced at the laptop his bed. "There might be a reason for that." Duo froze, blinking first at the laptop, then at him. "You didn't?" Heero stared back, inscrutable as always. 'Damn him,' Duo felt his temper rise. He was not dumb despite what some people seemed to think and it'd be a cold day in hell before he wanted or needed someone to do his work for him. Street life aside, Sister Helen had taught him the value of doing a job for yourself and he wasn't such a mental lightweight that he was unable to handle anything this school threw at him scholastically. "God damn it, Heero I don't need you to fix my grades for me. I--" "I didn't." "--can score just as high as you can. Higher! I demand that you stop doi-- What?" Duo stopped mid-rant as his partner's words sunk in. "Then why did you...why would you say...?" Not a muscle twitched one way or another. "Gotcha," he deadpanned. Duo was somewhat taken aback. Yes, he knew Heero had a rather wicked sense of humor. He'd been witness to the Japanese pilot running mental circles around a few of their thicker classmates but he'd never been on the receiving end of Heero's dry sense of humor before. Or had he? He scratched his head. With Heero it was hard to be sure. Maybe he had and Heero had been laughing at him before now and-- 'Whoa, whoa, calm down,' he ordered himself. It wouldn't do any good to get angry with Heero. He wouldn't get a response for one and for another, Heero was being friendly. More or less. Or what constituted friendly for the Perfect Soldier. Best not to tempt fate and spoil the mood. He rubbed his face, feeling the tingle of blood rushing forward as he did so. "I'm too tired for jokes like that, Heero. Next time, give me a warning label so I don't fly off the handle, okay?" Heero shrugged. "If you're tired, then why don't you go to sleep? Or would that be too easy?" Duo stuck his tongue out at the sarcasm lacing Heero's words. "For your information, Monseiur Yuy, I am going to bed but not because you told me to. I'm actually pretty damn tired for some reason, wonky nightmares aside." "I'm not surprised you had a nightmare." Duo glanced his way, brow wrinkled in confusion when a cardboard pizza box was thrust his way. The still warm scent of cheese and mushrooms wafted towards him and he inhaled greedily, lifting the box to snag on of the pieces left over. "I don't know how you can eat that stuff," Heero twitched, very nearly shuddering. "And next time you order a pizza, don't leave the box on my bed. The last thing I want are grease stains on my sheets." "Awww, but think of how well they'll go with the blood stains there," Duo teased, then sobered as he chewed a cooling slice of pizza. It was stupid and pointless to get upset over these things but the truth was he was beginning to hate being partnered with Heero if for no other reason it meant he had to see his partner bleed. More than bleed. He had to see and tend to wounds, broken bones, and near death brushes that hurt him more inside than he cared to admit. They were soldiers and soldiers got hurt, that was just part of the game but he couldn't rationalize that to himself of late. Not where Heero was concerned. Heero's life was important, not for the war or for his Perfect Soldier skills. Heero mattered...to him. And as much as he hated watching Heero bleed, it was far worse when he wasn't there to watch his partner's back. Then he had all the wonderful joy and pleasure of wondering--wondering if he'd even see the suicidal jerk again. 'Love sucks,' he decided morose with realization. "Duo?" Heero leaned over a bit, apparently trying to get a better look at his downturned face. "You okay?" Duo went still, his mind and body registering Heero's close proximity. He peeked out from the fringe of his bangs, realizing all he had to do was turn his face up just a bit and they'd be... 'Bad Duo, bad,' he scolded himself. 'Mustn't do things that will land you in an early grave outside the mission. Bad...bad... Oh shit, he's staring at me now. Look elsewhere, dummy, before he gets a clue.' His gaze slid lower. 'Idiot,' his mind shrieked as his eyes took a downward stroll. 'That's worse than before.' Duo drew in a quick silent breath and prayer before closing his eyes and willing his voice to be steady. "I'm good, Heero. Just gonna finish my pizza here and go to bed. 'Cause I'm tired. Reallllly tired. In fact, I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open." There were worse things than having a partner who was too cute for his own good, he reflected later as he prepared for bed, but not by much. *** "Welcome back, Duo," Buffy greeted him. The blond girl was sitting on a weather-beaten tombstone, her legs swinging back and forth. Gone was the silky virginal dress from before and in its place were dark jeans and a tank. A silver cross hung between the hollow of her breasts. "Why am I back here?" He demanded. "Heero woke me up-- I know this, youà It's all a dream. You're not real." Buffy smiled, a cold smirk that marred her pretty features as she tilted her head. "Really? Then why don't you tell that to him?" Duo turned his eyes towards where she was pointing, somewhere just to the left of them when something barreled into him hard and fast. He hit the ground with a grunt, arms rising in a protective measure, struggling against the heavy, strong body that sought to pin him down. Dirt flaked onto his face and he looked up, his eyes widening in horror at the smudged, animalistic face leering at him. Yellow eyes stared down at him, a pink tongue licking curled lips with razor edge teeth grinning down at him. The à thing's face seemed to lower, Duo's struggles becoming more frantic. "Buffy... Buffy, a little help here," He shouted, squirming as the thing's hands locked around his wrists, spreading them where they would do little good. No response. Duo cried out a few more times but if the blond girl had been there, she wasn't anymore. The thing above him chuckled, the statement on its ridging, twisted face one of clear enjoyment. This thing was *enjoying* his terror. It was feeding off of it. Duo swore and fought harder. A hand closed around his throat, almost gently turning his head to the side, exposing a clear swatch of fleshy neck. Goosebumps rippled and streaked over his body as the body over his seemed to move closer until he could nearly feel the thing's cheek resting against the hollow of his throat, its tongue tracing the line of his carotid artery just before it-- Breath exploded in his lungs as he jerked forward, his body going from prostrate to upright in 9.10 seconds. He stopped just short of banging his head against his knees and sat there, body straining for air, as if he had been running very hard and fast for a long time. Resting an elbow on his upturned knees, he ran a shaky hand through his disheveled, sweat-damped locks. It was still dark in this place but he was no longer in a cemetery, clawing at some hellish thing intent on taking his life. No, this was his room. He was back. Heero was sleeping obliviously in the bed across from his. That alone should have made him feel safe but it didn't. An awful feeling churned in his gut, a sick sense of realization that told him he would never feel safe ever again. "Oh man," he whispered. "That's it. No more pepperoni and mushroom pizzas after nine ever again." ***End of Chapter One. This message was sent using GSWeb Mail Services. http://www.gasou.edu/gsumail - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: gsi16228@gsaix2.cc.gasou.edu Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Le Jour des Morts, (3/?) Date: 31 Oct 2001 00:41:45 US/Eastern Title: Le Jour des Morts, (3/?) Crossover/Fusion with: Gundam Wing and Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. Authors: Persephone_Elysian Email: Persephone_Elysian@yahoo.com Archive: Elysia (www.angelfire.com/id2/avalon) anyone else please email and permission will be gladly given. Rating: At the moment R-ish... Will mostly likely take a turn down NC-17 lane before this is over with. Warnings: Violence, language, creepy things, eventual lemon. Pairings:1x2/2x1 Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is the property of Bandai, Sunrise, Sotsu Agency. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon, Twentieth Century Fox, (currently) UPN and other such companies. No infringement is intended. Any other characters not found in either series (such as Luna or Sophie or Grace), belong to me. Please ask permission before you use them. Thanks: A big round of thanks to Anne Olsen, Psycho Babble, Keya,and Chele for beta-ing this. Special thanks to Anne (for helping me get all those Brit-isms down) and to Psycho Babble (for urging me to hurry up and get to Heechan already). Author's disclaimer: This idea has been kicking around in my brain for half a year now. I knew I wanted to do a Buffy/GW story but wasn't sure how to get it around the way I wanted it. This story is part fusion, part crossover. For those of you who have read my other Buffy/Gundam Wing/Angel crossovers, 'Endymion's Repose' and 'And So It Goes' should find this quite different from either of those stories. This is a look at the Buffy verse from a different perspective. As such, I've bent and played with the Gundam Wing timeline just a smidge (as well as making the pilots 16 instead of 15 and giving a new spin on certain characters and their histories) while trying to incorporate the mythology and feel of the Buffy-verse. I'm not sure how successful I've been but I thought I'd post what I have so far to list(s) as a Halloween treat. ^_^ Feedback is craved and will be adored with the proper amount of gushing. *** Le Jour des Morts A 'Gundam Wing'/'Buffy, the Vampire Slayer' crossover/fusion. By Persephone_Elysian Chapter Two Great Russell Street, London, England Three days later... Lord Anthony Eaton clasped his hands behind his back as he stared out the high, arching windows of the Council's Inner Sanctum, the window dewy with light precipitation. From his niche he could see the city, brilliant with a million individual lights, each as different as the people walking the streets below him. The Houses of Parliament glistened and beyond that, Eaton thought he glimpsed the loom of Big Ben in shadow. And beyond those the city seethed with life, moving on without thought or care. Life carrying on in spite of the war, the British people valiant in the face of deteriorating situation. All around them war raged, consuming the Continent as Oz and Rebel forces fought for supremacy. Thus far, the Isles had been spared but how long that would continue was anyone's guess. The British people were already steeling themselves for the worst, sending their children out of the cities and boarding up their houses. Precautions, perhaps unnecessary, that would do little should an army of mobile suits march on the city. And for the first in their history, there was talk amongst the Council of abandoning Great Russell Street and their ancestral home. It galled his pride, but even he was forced to admit the harsh realities of the situation. But that thankfully was not the matter up for consideration tonight. A very different war was brewing underneath the outer shell of human battles, a war the Watchers had fought for centuries and would continue to fight so long as there was a Watcher with breath left in them. The people sitting so patiently behind him, waiting for him to call the meeting to order, all understood this. Each of them in this room had taken on oath to protect humanity and to aid the Slayer in her battles against those dark forces that sought dominion. And now the Slayer was dead. And another girl had not been called. He leaned his head against the damp glass pane, a chill settling in his stomach. Grace Ward had died... and not one of their trainees had been called. Such things were not unheard of. There were many girls who had the potential to become Slayers but the Council only chose to train those whom the signs and augurs clustered more thickly around. Magic was at best an imperfect means of divining the Slayer and on occasion, they missed the right girl. At best an untrained Slayer was an unknown quantity; many did not survive their first few months but those who did often, thanks to intensive and rigorous on the job training, carried out their duties for longer periods. Years instead of days or months. It was as they had been gifted with a special flexibility and adeptness for survival in lieu of proper training. Legendary Slayers were often born from such circumstances, forged in a baptism of fire and blood. A day ago, a few hours ago, his thoughts had centered upon that, hope fluttering in his chest that this might prove so. Grace had been an exceptional Slayer, quite in line with Council and losing her was a blow, not just to the city but to them all. There was no time to mourn her loss, or to pay respects to her for a job well done. She was dead and the business of living moved on. A soldier had died, yes, but the war still continued and there was no time to stop. Not for the Slayer, not for anyone. The fight was larger, more important than any one person's life. Even the Slayer's. Yet to all intents and purposes, a Slayer had not been called. Magical webs had been cast and had turned up nothing. But then, Lord Anthony thought with uncharacteristic bitterness, they had been searching in quite the wrong places. For some inexplicable reason, some higher power had seen fit to disrupt and subvert the natural order of succession. Or perhaps some lower power? He couldn't discount the possibility of demonic intervention or perhaps a spell cast by some nefarious sorcerer? A possibility but then why have a Slayer at all? If something could cause a disruption like this, then surely they could stop the succession outright? If so, steps would have to be taken before this mistake was corrected. "Lord Anthony?" Susan Krimmler, his secretary, stood at his elbow, neat and proper as always in her red check pantsuit. Her gold-rimmed aviator spectacles glinted at him in the soft light, making it difficult to read the statement in her dark eyes as she presented him with a letter. Recognizing the seal, he took the letter, giving her a sharp, dismissive nod before turning his attention fully towards the cream-colored letterhead. 'Well, that settles that,' he thought, carefully refolding and pocketing the letter. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he turned away from the window, taking his seat at the head of the table. It was a gesture not lost on his audience. He cleared his throat. "Lord Palmerdale has been regrettably detained. Therefore I will have to convene this meeting without him. I'm sure you all know why we're here." "Of course, we bloody well do, Anthony. It's because we're a ship without a rudder," Joshua Travers snorted, his balding head. "Or should I say a Council without a Slayer." A small murmur of agreement erupted and floated around before Eaton held up his hand for silence. As one, the group quieted, their sharp eyes missing nothing as they rested on him. He studied them, his eyes moving down the table. At full capacity, the Inner Council consisted of fourteen members, thirteen regulars with an honorary chair reserved for the Slayer. Tonight they were nine but the numbers were irrelevant. What mattered was the perceived will of the Council. Those not in attendance were virtually represented by those present, so that everyone did in fact have a vote, even the Slayer who rarely, if ever, was in attendance. "I'm afraid I shall have to correct you, Joshua. The Council does have a Slayer," Eaton's eyes slid down to meet Andrew O'Donnell's at the end of the table. The blond man nodded at him, his shoulders squaring in readiness. There was another pause. "You've found her then," Travers sounded skeptical, as if he didn't see how such an important event could have passed without his noticing. "No." "But you said--" "I said the Council has a Slayer," Eaton replied, his voice frosty. "All right, Anthony, you've had your fun," Lucille Morton spoke up, tilting her gray head towards him. "But don't you feel it's time to let us in on your little secret. What has happened?" Thank God for Lucille. Where Travers tended to be hotheaded, nearly to the point of rudeness, Lucille was a light touch. Never raising her voice or losing her temper, she managed to win more with one politely worded suggestion than Joshua did with all his arguments. And from the way he was glaring at her, Eaton surmised that Travers knew it as well and was not appreciative. "What has happened, my dear Lucille, is that the Slayer had been called. Andrew, if you please," Eaton swept his hand down the table towards O'Donnell, then sat back, grateful to no longer be the center of attention. O'Donnell fidgeted with his tie, then cleared his throat, seeming nervous to find himself the center of attention. Averting his eyes, he dragged forth a sleek laptop, connecting a wire to it with trembling hands before composing himself enough to turn his attention back to the table. "My fellow Watchers," he stumbled, reddening further. 'Get on with it,' Eaton rolled his eyes, drumming his fingers. Was he going to have to do everything himself? And how the bloody hell had someone like O'Donnell been appointed to the Council anyway? He watched as O'Donnell's hands flew across his keyboard, precision perfect even as the idiot operating the body stammered on. And that, was the secret to O'Donnell's appointment--not any great knowledge of the arcane but of modern technology. Where Anthony embraced texts and tomes with an appetite that nearly rivaled his preference for fine wine and beautiful women, O'Donnell made love to his keyboard and his internet with the skill of a master, coaxing from that damned machine in one minute more than he could in an hour. "Ladies and Gentlemen," O'Donnell began again, fumbling with a remote control. A flat, tall silver screen descended and they turned their attention away from the scarlet Irishman. "I give you the Slayer." "I don't see what the fuss is -- Good lord," Travers gawked at the picture being displayed. "Is this some sort of joke?" Lucille swiveled in her chair, her smooth face marred by uncertainty. "Anthony?" He understood the cause for their consternation. Hours ago, he'd felt quite the same but he'd had time to absorb the shock as it were and found himself almost enjoying the sight of his unflappable peers rattled. The face was oval, battered and bruised with a rope of chestnut hair bound in a loose braid spilling down one shoulder. Had the face only been visible, he might have been fooled into believing they had found their girl, but no, he had a full body shot here. Even if that body was tied up in this picture. It was perhaps not the best picture in the world, the poor resolution revealing it to be nothing less than a security camera shot but it had taken all of O'Donnell's skills to hack it out of the Oz database. But for all that it was clear that this was not a girl but a boy. "Meet our new Slayer," Anthony spoke up. "His name is Duo Maxwell. And before you ask again, let me assure you this is no joke. Our Chosen One...has been chosen to be a boy." "This is ridiculous--" Travers began. "This is unprecedented," Eaton corrected. "This is no laughing matter. For reasons as yet unknown to us, the Slayerhood has been passed onto a boy." He paused. "And from what we have been able to deduce not just any boy. Andrew?" Looking as though he'd been caught stealing from the till, O'Donnell muttered something. "What was that, Andrew? Speak up, so that we all can hear you." "He's a terrorist," O'Donnell hurried. "A Gundam pilot." "Pilot 02 actually," Eaton spoke above the sudden eruption of low talk. "Our details are sketchy but thanks to the augurs we were given a name. From that Mr. O'Donnell was able to piece together Maxwell's identity. We should actually thank Maxwell himself for that. Had he not managed to be captured by Oz forces a few months ago, we might not have been so quick to identify him." "He's in prison?" "No, he escaped shortly thereafter, apparently with an accomplice whom we can only assume may have been a fellow pilot. He disappeared after that." "Then we will need to perform a locator spell to--" "Already done," O'Donnell interrupted. "We've located him in America. Salem, Oregon to be exact." Lucille narrowed her eyes. "All very neatly done. Why are you not more upset about this, Anthony?" "My dear Lucille, why should I be upset?" "Because the natural progression of things has been distorted. That is a boy and--" "I would be far more upset, if there were no Slayer at all. Wouldn't you?" he steepled his fingers, peering over them at her. "We-ell, yes but how did this happen? It isn't natural," she straightened in her chair. "There was no warning, no--" "Until we find out more, I can only assume that one of two things has occurred. One," he ticked off, "Those powers we serve had a purpose in sending us to this boy, one that we have yet to divine." "And the other?" grumped Joshua Travers. "That some power or creature managed through mystical means to subvert the line of succession. If this is the case, then steps will have to be taken to protect the line from magical interference, something that is already being investigated. In the meantime, I fear we are left with little choice save to accept this boy for what he now is. The Slayer." "There is something we can do," Lucille crossed her arms. A hush fell over the assembled. "You refer to the election of a new Slayer. I see. You would be willing to take the boy's life?" "I--" "Think very carefully. The taking of the Slayer's life is not to be done lightly. Could you bring yourself to hold the knife?" Her jaw hardened. "If need be." Anthony studied her, then smiled. "Fortunately, Lord Palmerdale feels that will not be necessary. He instructed me that we should, for the time being, treat this boy as we would any of the girls sent to us. As the new Slayer, he must be afforded the same consideration. Until such time as that privilege is revoked." "I want you all to know that we are working on piecing together why this has happened and hope to present you with a more complete report very soon," he rose. "Now, I think that covers everything--" "Not quite," Lucille interrupted. "You seem to have forgotten one crucial element--his Watcher. Which one of us is it to be?" "Afraid you'll be leaving our prestigious company soon?" Travers sneered at her, dislike evident in his pudgy face. "No, I only wish to know that the Slayer will be receiving someone competent, Joshua, which I feel certain means you will miss out on the chance to visit America any time soon," The sweetness in that tart reply stung, far worse than the actual insult itself. "If you please," Lord Anthony interrupted, gesturing for silence. "Neither of you has any worries. It will be some time before either of you leave this esteemed company." He let the sarcasm inherent in that last statement sink in before continuing. "As for Maxwell's Watcher, someone has already been selected." "And that would be?" He didn't bat a lash, not even in the face of the storm he knew to be coming. "Sophie Jameson." They actually allowed the name to fall and sink in for a whole five seconds before exploding into a collective cloud of outrage, he had to give them that. Under the circumstances, he supposed their reaction was not wholly unreasonable. Had he been where they were, he certainly would have objected--for a number of reasons. However, he wasn't in their shoes; there was a bigger picture here that they failed to grasp with their petty bickering, one that would have to be explained before they grudgingly gave their consent. And they would give it, his mouth set in a firm line. "Absolutely ridiculous!" "What in the world--" "Why would you even consider--" "Quite out of the question--" He let them jabber on for a few minutes before rapping his knuckles smartly on the table, the sound doing more to snap them to order than raising his voice would have. "That is quite enough of that, thank you. This matter is not up for discussion." "Anthony," Lucille's voice was scathing. "How can you even consider this? You know her background--her family has proven unsuitable in the past--" "And more than that," Travers interrupted, "she's young and untried. She's only been in the field for a year. Most Watchers have five or more under their belt before they are even considered." "She is inexperienced, I'll grant you that. However, her education and skills are impeccable even at a beginning level. Given time, I feel certain that she will prove to be an asset to us all." "Given her family history, I fail to see why we would care to utilize this asset," Travers replied. And that, my dear Travers, is because you are an idiot, Eaton repressed the urge to roll his eyes. "It is precisely that history that makes her the best candidate. As has already been stated, we are dealing with an unprecedented and difficult situation. Ask yourself this, would you prefer to have your name attached to a Slayer who for all intents and purposes might not make it a month?" He let the silence grow pregnant, watching as they worked it out as he and Palmerdale had earlier. The situation was such that no Watcher in his right mind would want to be attached to it. After all, suppose this boy proved a colossal failure his first time out? Suppose he proved to be Slayer in name only, the same fluke that had chosen him, also causing him to lack the full gifts of the Chosen One. There were simply far too many unknown variables. "Ah, I see," Joshua Travers' voice was rough with approval, his dark eyes bright with a ferret-like cunning. "Two birds with one stone. If the boy lives, then we have nothing to worry about and if he dies, then this will finish the family forever." "Exactly," Eaton crossed his arms. "All that remains is to hand her the rope and let her hang or save herself with it." *** Los Angeles, California United States Sophie Jameson wiped the back of her neck, skin slick with perspiration as the afternoon sun rose higher. Pulling at the collar of her blazer, she wished she had chosen an outfit more appropriate for the outing Mariana had had in mind. As it were, she felt very out of place in this strange land of sun worshippers, scantily clad bronze bodies racing down the Boardwalk past her perch on contraptions she could barely stand watching, let alone try out. Her eyes traveled over the booths and outlet stores dotting the strip before they landed on her young charge. As if sensing her attention, Mariana looked up from the Chinese girl she was deep in conversation with and waved. Sophie raised her hand to return the gesture when she saw just as quickly as she'd had it, the young girl's attention was lost. Fingers flexing around the book in her lap, she tried not to feel frustrated or left out, two things she couldn't help but feel around Mariana. Or the girl's Watcher, Charles Lowell. It wasn't their fault, she supposed. Charles had been nothing but gracious by accepting her into his company even if she had the nagging feeling that had there not been the force of a Council order behind it, he might not have been as generous. She could even understand the man's reluctance; it was hard enough training a potential Slayer but adding to that a young would-be Watcher... 'Not would-be,' she chastised herself. 'Will be.' She would be a Watcher, the best one she possibly could. She would have to if she wanted to get anywhere in the Council. She tried to focus on the book in her hands, one of Charles' volumes of arcana but found it difficult to concentrate. Her gaze drifted back to the young girl who would be...might be the Slayer. There was nothing outwardly remarkable about her, nothing to indicate that this girl might be anything other than normal. Only the signs surrounding her told a different story, told of a potential that might bloom into something else someday. It was possible that Mariana would never be the Slayer; augurs were, at best, imperfect. All they knew was there was a distinct possibility that this girl might become the Slayer, no more or less but it was enough. Enough to warrant her training, enough to warrant the assignment of a Watcher to her. Should she not be chosen within a certain period of time, Charles would be recalled and Mariana would go about her life, a little wiser perhaps. And there would be others, other girls in other places needing Watchers, needing guidance and protection that the Council would provide. The practice was age old, for the Watchers had long ago decided that it was better to find as many potential Slayers as possible and train them rather than allowing untrained girls take up the mantle and throw their lives away. It did happen sometimes and on a few occasions, the lack of training had not made a whit of difference. Still, it was best to give Fate a hand when needed and a push if necessary. Or so the Council believed. And because the Council believed, so did she. 'Who are you trying to convince of that?' asked a niggling voice always present in the back of her mind. 'The Council or yourself?' She grimaced, shushing that hated, questioning voice. She couldn't afford to have doubts, not about herself and certainly not about the Council. Doubting the Council that had started the trouble in the first place. But then surely Great Grandfather Rupert had never thought that his family would pay for his mistakes in the first place. It wasn't easy, being the member of a clan blacklisted by the Council and very nearly expelled from that illustrious company. It was even harder trying to prove one's own worth in the eyes of a centuries old institution that was as unforgiving of disobedience as it was mistakes. No, the Council might find it in their hearts to forgive an error. Watchers who lost Slayers were forgiven, but her family... her family could not be forgiven for saving a Slayer. 'No,' she caught herself. There were other ways that Buffy Summers might have been saved and the Slayer was never truly in danger... Not from the Council. Great Grandfather had not seen events in the same light and with the same determination that had guaranteed his rise through the Council ranks, Rupert Giles had done the unthinkable. He had sided with the Slayer in her rebellion--against the dictates of the Council. And even though he had eventually been taken back into the fold, the Council had never forgotten that. Or forgiven it. Their anger had not been able to touch Rupert Giles but it carried with his descendents the very near equivalent of a curse. No Giles had been selected to sit on any Inner Council since his death, nor had another Giles been appointed as the Watcher to the Slayer. At best, the members of her mother's family had been relegated to research positions, positions where they were ensured to work hard, and out of sight with little to no chance of rising above their place. Indeed, it was only because of her father's family and the Jameson name that she had been afforded the most grudging of consideration. She had taken that consideration and wrung from it what she could, using it to ensure that she had not only the best education a Watcher could ask for and the chance to get out from behind a desk. Her mother would never have been given the opportunity to learn from a field Watcher, or come into contact with a possible Slayer but she had and it had been a bloody hard climb to get this far. It was highly unlikely that climb would become any easier, but she had steeled herself for that. She harbored few illusions on receiving any mercy or aid from the Council itself. There were families in the Inner Circle, families that had known and interacted with the Giles' family for centuries that had with Rupert's 'betrayal' turned on them. Although she tried hard not to, she resented it, resented the fact that her family was paying for the actions of one man, that two hundred and so odd years later, they were still paying. Her mother had never understood why she wanted so very much to be a part of an organization that treated their family so badly. Indeed, there were times she herself was hard pressed to explain it. All she knew was she wanted it wanted so much to prove her worth, that she was different, that she could handle the honor and the weight of being a Watcher. And this place, this land of sun worshippers and silicone, as unlikely as it seemed on first glance, was an appropriate starting point. California, Los Angeles in particular, had proven in the past to be a veritable epicenter of demon activity. Buffy Summers had been based in Sunnydale, not more than two hours away, during her tenure as Slayer. Of course that was before the Hellmouth had been rendered inactive, finally allowing its beleaguered inhabitants the peace they had been denied for so long. Without the Boca del Inferno, the town had been useless to the demons and vampires that had long congregated there and it had taken little on the part of the Slayer to convince them to move elsewhere. Many had come here, hoping to be lost in the mortal crowds or join up with already existing demon communities. The City of Angels might very well have gone to hell had it not been for the efforts of the soul-cursed vampire Angelus and his crack team of demon hunters. Although the Council had disapproved of Angelus in principle and of the former Watcher, Wesley Wyndham-Price, in his employ, they had recognized the service he performed was a valuable one. With Angel trying to make amends in Los Angelus and keeping the demon population in line, the Council and its Slayer had been free to move to other trouble spots. It was the best, perhaps only reason, that the Council had not sent operatives to slay the vampire, once known as the terror and scourge of Europe. She couldn't help but wonder what exactly had become of the soul-cursed vampire. About a century ago, he had vanished, perhaps off the face of the earth. The Council had put feelers out but if he still walked the Earth, then he was being very discreet and careful not to be discovered. Sophie thought it altogether possible that the vampire had departed for space and even now shuffled from Colony to Colony. And why not? The Colonial experience at best was a dangerous, uncertain one. There were people who needed protecting out there, both from demons and from each other. From everything she'd read and gleaned about Angel, she rather thought that sort of situation would suit him rather well. He had always struck her as a man of action, as someone who was as passionate about his causes as she was about her work. There was an intensity about him in the old photographs and footage in the Council Archives that appealed to her. And it was not helped by the very apt descriptions of 'the one with the angelic face' that had turned out to be all too true. She could see why Buffy Summers, against the council of her Watcher and common sense, had fallen in love with him. Angel was reminiscent of the archetypal dark, Byronic hero--brooding, damned and yet still seeking redemption. His lure was that of the forbidden, the promise of forbidden fruit. Yes, she understood Buffy Summers in that one respect all too well. Her feelings towards the legendary Slayer were far more mixed. While she recognized and respected everything Buffy had accomplished during her tenure as Slayer, she also resented the girl's part in the downfall of the Giles family. Had there not been a Buffy Summers, then maybe she would not find herself in the difficult position she now inhabited. Had Rupert Giles been assigned to a Slayer like Faith or Kendra, perhaps things might have turned out very different. It was pointless to speculate on such issues but it stopped her mind from wandering those murky paths on restless nights. "Sophie?" Her fingers spasmed in surprise, the book sliding from her grasp at the brisk Lowland brogue. She was fortunate enough not to have made any other movements that might have betrayed her shock...that moment of fleeting panic before her mind connected the voice. Lowland Scots, the voice very near erased of anything save the faintest of accents. In this strange place, so far removed from Britain, there was only one person she knew with a voice like that. "Hello, Charles," she greeted him, her eyes darting towards Mariana before turning her attention to him. Let it not be said that she was in dereliction of her duties. Charles Lowell with his smart tweed suit and dark bow tie was the epitome of upper crust British society, almost rebelliously so in the face of the brash Americanism that surrounded them. He made no attempt to blend; standing stiff and contemptuous of hordes of loud citizens decked out as far as minimalism and decency would allow. In this setting, he stood aloof, the Council's living presence personified and it was enough to make her straighten, body snapping to unconscious attention. His eyes darkened in approval, and although he wrinkled his nose at the drab gray bench before him, he nevertheless sat down, running a nervous hand over his balding head. It was an innocuous gesture, insignificant to almost anyone else but to Sophie it bespoke agitation. Charles was...nervous? No, excited was more like it, she decided running a careful eye over his taunt form, his ink blot hands rubbing absent circles on the brown cloth of his trousers. Something was up, presumably something important if it had Lowell so flustered. "Charles?" She slid closer, keeping her voice low. "Has something happened? I thought you were researching in--" "The Slayer is dead." A chill went down her at those words, so inevitable and yet still so hard to believe. "When?" "Nearly four days ago." Sophie frowned. Four days? Usually Watchers and operatives in the field were notified of a change in Slayers as soon as a new one was called. Why would they be kept out of the loop so long-- Her eyes widened, her gaze fluttering towards the girl she had accompanied here earlier. "Mariana?" Lowell shook his head, taking her hand and patting it. "No, no. She hasn't been called." He studied her, his dark eyes raking up and down her face as if he sought to discern something there. The hand holding hers tightened and she tensed, sensing more to come. "Charles?" "I... I have news. From the Council," he added. "You are to be reassigned." Something akin to panic made her swallow, throat closing up. "But... But-- I... Have I done something, Charles? Have I done something wrong?" "No, no, my dear. Some might even say you've done something right," he tried to smile but there was something cold and puzzled about his statement. As if he had to deliver news he neither fathomed nor agreed with. "Charles, what--" "It is my duty and honor to inform you that you, Sophie Jameson," The words were formal, even for Charles Lowell, "have been selected as the new Watcher to Slayer. You are to report to the Council at the earliest opportunity to receive further orders." Puzzled, she blinked at him, trying to make sense of the words he had spoken. The pieces were there but the picture they formed couldn't be right. "Excuse me, but what?" ***End of Chapter Two This message was sent using GSWeb Mail Services. http://www.gasou.edu/gsumail - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: aixla@juno.com Subject: (arfic-l) Stone Cold Heart 1/1 Date: 31 Oct 2001 02:51:15 -0800 Title: Stone Cold Heart Author: Ailie McFarland E-Mail: aixla@juno.com Fandom: BtVS Spoilers: ôFloodedö (slight for ôAll The Wayö) Rating: PG-13 Archive: http://www.geocities.com/aixla/fanfic.html ~ or ~ http://home.earthlink.net/~aixla Distribution: Oh! Well, if it helps at all, IÆm gonna say yes. Disclaimer: Not mine. Never has been. Never will be. AuthorÆs Note: IÆm expecting to get Jossed on this one (not with the Oz part, but with the general concept). Actually, IÆm mad at myself because I have seen this coming and had the idea for a while, but never got around to putting it down on paper. Now IÆm writing the obvious. Sigh. REQUEST: I got WillowÆs Latin from an online dictionary. If you speak the language and realize IÆm not making sense (which IÆm sure IÆm probably not) please e-mail me to let me know! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ The knock at the door caught Willow by surprise. Buffy was on patrol with Spike, Dawn was staying with at a friendÆs house, and Xander, Tara, and Giles were helping Anya do inventory at the Magic Shop. In fact that was where she needed to be herself, so as she opened the door Willow resolved to get rid of whomever was on the porch as quickly as etiquette would allow. Of course, all that flew right out the window when she realized who was standing in front of her. ôOz?ö ôHey.ö He was slightly shaggier than she remembered, sporting a crop of red hair that almost covered his ears. It appeared he had decided to revert to his natural hair color, although Willow couldnÆt be sure since she had no idea what that natural color might be. As she fell into his friendly embrace, she realized he felt the same as well. His scent had changed slightly; he smelt more of nature and incense than smokey clubs and guitar strings. Still, being this close was enough to stir that little bit of her that would never quite get over their relationship. A slightly awkward silence fell as Oz stepped over the threshold and Willow closed the door behind him. ôSo,ö she grasped for words. ôWhat are you doing back in Sunnydale?ö ôA little bit of business,ö he replied, rocking back on his heels. ôBut it can wait. I was hoping we could do some catching up first.ö Willow smiled. ôOf course. Come in.ö She led her guest into the living room of the SummersÆ home. ôCan I get you something?ö Oz settled himself on the couch. ôYeah. CoffeeÆd be nice. Been driving all day.ö Buffy had consumed the last of the coffee on her way out the door that morning, but a little thing like that wasnÆt going to keep Willow from serving her guest. ôInfervesco scaphium.ö She had no sooner spoken the words when two steaming mugs of the dark liquid materialized on the coffee table. Pleased with herself, Willow sipped from hers and smiled at Oz. But Oz did not return the smile, and made no move to raise the mug from the table. ôWhatÆs wrong?ö Willow tilted her head to the side, concerned. Oz cleared his throat. ôActually, thatÆs why IÆm here.ö ôFor coffee? æCause thatÆs pretty much a worldwide phenomenon.ö ôNo.ö He took a deep breath. ôGiles called me last week.ö ôHe called you?ö Willow was confused. ôHow could he do that? None of us knew where you were.ö Oz avoided her eyes. ôAfter what happened last time, he agreed to help with some research, keep his eyes open for anything that might help with my ... new situation. So I always made sure to keep him updated on my whereabouts.ö ôBut you didnÆt bother to tell me?ö The hurt was evident in her voice. ôWhat, you didnÆt trust me or you didnÆt want to be bothered by me?ö ôNeither. I just figured IÆd disrupted your life enough. And that you and Tara needed your privacy.ö Realizing that he had made somewhat of a valid point, Willow let him continue. ôHeÆs worried about you, Willow. I am too.ö ôWorried about ...ö She thought back to the conversation she and Giles had in the kitchen a few weeks prior to this. ôIs this about Buffy? Did he tell you what I did?ö Oz nodded. ôAnd what, you donÆt think it was a good idea? You think sheÆs better off in the ground or in some hell dimension than here with her family?ö Her voice rose in anger. ôItÆs not like I rushed into it or anything. I planned it for months. I did tons of research. I weighed the consequences and the outcomes and decided Buffy was worth the risks. And it wasnÆt just me. Xander, Anya, and Tara were all on board.ö He tried to calm her. ôI donÆt doubt that. And IÆm not here to pass judgement on what you did. I wasnÆt here. I donÆt know what happened.ö ôThatÆs right. And neither was Giles.ö Suddenly realizing that Oz was somewhat in agreement with her, Willow paused. ôThen why are you here?ö ôBecause he says youÆve changed. That since this succeeded you seem to think you can do anything and everything with magic.ö ôWell not everything, but a lot. ö Willow admitted. ôIÆm much more powerful than I was when you left.ö Oz sighed. ôI know. But just because you have that power doesnÆt mean you can do whatever you want with it.ö ôI know what IÆm doing.ö Anger was making her restless, so she stood and strode across the room. ôI donÆt doubt that, either.ö ôReally?ö Willow turned to face him. ôYou came half-way around the world to tell me that?ö Now it was OzÆs turn to be frustrated. ôNo, I meant ...ö ôIf you donÆt think I can do it then you obviously think IÆm incompetent.ö Silence fell as Oz tried to think of a different way to reach her. ôHowÆs Amy?ö ôWhat does that have to do with anything?ö ôEverything.ö He crossed the room to join her. ôAmy was more than competent. Look where she ended up.ö Willow laughed. ôIÆm so much more powerful than she ever was, than I was back then.ö ôAnd you didnÆt used to be so conceited either.ö When Willow had no response to that, Oz continued. ôThe point is, she got into something that was way over her head. And you still canÆt undo it.ö ôThatÆs different,ö she protested. ôA spell cast by someone else is so much more difficult to break, and the circumstances ...ö Oz interrupted this time. ôCircumstances donÆt matter. She got herself into a situation that she canÆt fix. Magic is dangerous, Willow. People can get hurt.ö ôOnly if someone screws up.ö ôNot true,ö Oz pointed out. ôWhat about the spirit you created when you brought Buffy back? You didnÆt screw up, you just didnÆt know enough about the spell you cast." ôBut we dealt with it and moved on. Besides, that ...ö Willow realized something. ôGiles didnÆt know about that. How did you?ö He looked at his shoes. ôI talked to Tara.ö ôGreat. ItÆs nice to know everyone I love is ganging up on me. DonÆt let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.ö Deciding that the conversation was over, Willow headed toward the kitchen. But Oz was close behind. ôWe arenÆt ganging up on you, we care about you. And when neither of them could get through to you they asked me to try.ö ôAnd I asked you to leave,ö Willow said quietly, seething. ôNo, you ordered me to leave. You never would have done that before, just like you never would have threatened Giles the way you did. So I know youÆre not yourself. And IÆm not leaving until you figure that out, too.ö That did it. Willow turned on her friend. ôFine. WeÆll do it your way. Crudesco statua.ö There was a strange crackling noise, and a bright flash. When the air cleared an Oz shaped statue stood in the middle of the kitchen, frozen in granite with his hands in his pockets and his mouth open as if he was about to speak. ôYou donÆt wanna leave?ö Willow leaned in to inspect her handiwork. ôWell now you canÆt.ö Slightly tired from the energy expended in the argument and the spell, she decided to get a glass of water from the fridge. Sipping her drink, Willow contemplated the stone figure on the other side of the counter. In a way, she had kind of proved his point for him. Using magic against her friends was something she definitely would not have done in the past. Still, he had asked for it. He had walked into her house and demanded that she change her life, without hearing her side of the story. But she couldnÆt leave him like that forever. Hopefully the spell had caught him so fast he wouldnÆt even know she what she had done. And if he did realize it, there were always forgetting spells. Regardless, she had to do something. ôLentesco,ö she murmured as she rinsed her glass and placed it in the drying rack. ôLook, Oz, IÆm sorry. Can we talk about this later, cool down a bit first?ö When no one answered Willow turned from the sink. Cold stone eyes stared back at her. Odd. Willow decided she must not have spoken clearly the first time. ôLentesco.ö A bit more forcefully that time, and with a wave of her hand. Nothing. Desperate, Willow began using every phrase she could think of. ôIlicet magus! Adflicto scelestus! Uh ... rectus hominis!ö Still nothing. Xander arrived a little over an hour later. Growing concerned at WillowÆs absence and the fact that no one was answering the phone, he had decided to stop by and see what was going on. He found her crying at OzÆs statue feet, his stone mouth frozen open in condemnation. ~*~ Ailie McFarland ~*~ That'll put marzipan in your pie plate, Bingo! I may be a cold blooded jelly doughnut, but my timing is impeccable. ________________________________________________________________ GET INTERNET ACCESS FROM JUNO! Juno offers FREE or PREMIUM Internet access for less! Join Juno today! For your FREE software, visit: http://dl.www.juno.com/get/web/. - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Psycho Babble" <amethystmaiden@hotmail.com> Subject: Re: (arfic-l) FIC: Le Jour des Morts, (3/?) Date: 31 Oct 2001 05:00:05 -0500 Sorry bout that kids, it was meant to go to Sephy and probably just choked the server with the HTML. Sowwy. ~Kristin "What can I say? My inner child is a crack baby." -Spooks, Asylum "There is a fine line between 'hobby' and 'mental illness'." -Dave Barry _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: "Mandi Ohlin" <weird_web@hotmail.com> Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: "Sharp Edges" (3/?) Date: 31 Oct 2001 13:26:37 +0000 Title: Sharp Edges Author: Mandi Ohlin Rating: PG (language) Part: 3 of ? Fandom: Witchblade(the TV series)/BtVS Category: Crossover/Action/Humor Archive permission: The Jagged Edge, after I get it done and revised. Summary: Sara Pezzini's latest murder case is a weird one... and her only lead is a bleached-blond vamp in search of a runaway. Timeline: After "The Gift"; post fifth-season BtVS. For Witchblade, after "Periculum." Pretty much deviates from continuity after that. (Now that season 6 of BtVS has aired, this sucker is officially AU.) Bryan Cornish is mine, and he will be important later. Disclaimer: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and all related indicia belong to 20th Century Fox (although, IMO, Joss Whedon deserves the rights). "Witchblade" (the TV series) and all related indicia is property of Top Cow Productions and I think TNT has a hand in that cookie jar. No profit is being received from this piece of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. Author's Note: Okay, I've been holding out... between FF.net and the Witchblade storyboard, I've completely forgotten to post parts to arfic-l as well. (Bad Mandi, no biscuit.) So in actuality, I'm really up to part eight in this story. However, I'm still not certain on a few things, and I would *love* some feedback - good or bad - for characterization and plot (especially to catch me if I contradict myself, since I still don't really know where this story is going). Future parts will be forthcoming much more frequently now that I'll remind myself to post here. :) Happy Halloween, all... Sharp Edges by Mandi Ohlin Part Three Every city in the world attracted demons. And every city had at least one hangout for them. Sunnydale had Willy's bar. Los Angeles had Caritas - although many insisted that the no-violence karaoke bar didn't really count. Manhattan had the Pit. The name didn't quite do the place justice; true, it wasn't quite as pristine as Caritas, but for a renovated sub-basement of one of the city's worst human clubs, it was a decent place. It was amazing what the addition of a bar, some a couple pool tables, some well-placed lighting and a sewer entrance with an airlock to eliminate the smell could do. The overall effect was of a dungeon renovated to serve as a sports bar. But even so, Benny was not concerned with the decor. He was having too lousy a day to care. Truth be told, good days were few and far between when you managed one of New York's busiest underground demons-only sports bars. Especially when your clients tended towards killing, maiming and destroying property when they were in good moods. And when you were a five-foot-five blue guy with horns, it wasn't like you could tell them where to stick it. Oh, the bouncers helped - T'las and T'rol, the titanic twins, could take out a whole posse of Fyarl demons without breaking a sweat. They were nearly eight feet tall and looked like they were made of granite. But even they couldn't prevent the violence from breaking out. His clientele at least had the sense not to take out their frustrations on the proprietor. If they did, they'd have to find a new place to drink. Besides, the fact that the place was funded by a nasty gang of Dinyaari was sufficient incentive for even the nastiest bastard to behave. Then again, even the best security had its flaws. "Look, you bloody poof," the vampire snarled, "I'm going to ask you one more time. Where - is - Rylos?" Rylos was the head of the Dinyaari gang, and the reason the Pit kept operating. This was looking like trouble. "Uh, hi, Spike, how you doing?" Benny managed to gasp out in spite of the fact that he was being lifted by the throat. "Haven't seen you here since the seventies. Kill any more Slayers?" Spike's grip tightened at that. Wrong choice of words. Benny turned his head as best he could to glare at T'rol and T'las, who were standing there watching the show. "You two gonna come and help me sometime this century?" The two titans shook their heads. Spike grinned ferally. "Tweedledum and Tweedledee owe me one. Now give me Rylos or I take it out of you." Benny glanced wildly around the room. The bartender was pretending they didn't exist, and the group of Anomovic demons in the corner booth were too absorbed in the Yankees game to notice anything short of the ceiling collapsing. No help there. "I can't!" Benny croaked, and Spike growled. "No, really!" He glared at the bouncers. "Ask them! They'll tell you!" "That's it," Spike snarled, his grip starting to tighten. Benny's eyes bulged. "He's dead!" That did it. The hands around his throat suddenly snapped open like a bear trap, dropping Benny to the floor. Spike stared at him, furious and stunned. "Dead? I talked to him yesterday!" "Yeah, well, that was yesterday," Benny gasped, rubbing his throat. "We found him last night out back - well, we think we did." Spike glanced over at the twin terrors. T'rol shrugged. "You know, a piece here, a piece there... that kind of thing." The blonde vampire stood there for a few seconds, not saying a word. Then he snatched up a stool and threw it against the wall. It smashed into the stone wall, splintering in several pieces. Benny squeaked in fright as Spike advanced on him. "I've been tracking someone for days when I get the tip from him," he said quietly. "I come all the way here from Sunnyhell, nearly get torched, come through the bloody sewers to get here - and you're telling me he's dead?" "No, please! I'll give you anything! I've got three hundred bucks on me! Cash! You can have it!" Spike seemed unfazed, yanking the little demon off the floor. Benny squeaked again and closed his eyes, but the end never came. He opened his eyes and abruptly realized why. Spike's lip curled in disgust. "Money'll do." Hands shaking, Benny reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a wallet. Spike snatched it away and dropped Benny to the floor again. "Two eighty-five. You said three hundred." The Yankees got two more points, and the Anomovics cheered. Benny groaned. "I'll let it slide," Spike grunted, gesturing at Benny's suit. "Looks like you're going to need the extra cash." He turned and strode out, nodding to the bouncers. Benny glared at T'rol and T'las, who were chuckling in spite of themselves. "Shut up and get me a clean pair of pants!" ***** Fifty-two... fifty-three... fifty-four... Dawn Summers counted out the pennies, knowing in spite of herself that it wasn't going to be enough. She'd managed to stretch out the money she'd stolen from the Magic Box's register for four days now, but it was finally running out. There was no way that she'd be able to spend another night at that motel, or anywhere else for that matter. She bit her lip, fighting back tears as the count only came to fifty-seven cents. Even with a discount, it wasn't enough to buy a lousy hot dog. A freckled hand slammed a quarter down beside her pennies. "Hey, Ellis. I got it." The vendor grinned at the young man standing beside Dawn. "Robin Hood. Wondering when you'd get here." "Shut up and make her a hot dog," her savior said agreeably, retrieving a dollar and some more change from his pockets. "Gimme one too while you're at it. The usual." "One ketchup and relish and one heartburn-in-a-bun to go," Ellis replied, hastening to make the order. As he slathered the hot dogs, Dawn took a good look at the guy who had bailed her out. He was a few years older than her, but not that much taller. If it came down to a fight, she could probably take him - even if it mostly involved hair-pulling. His reddish hair seemed to stick out at all angles, and if he had any more freckles she could have played connect-the-dots on his skin. Tall, dark, and handsome? Not really. But this was preferable. "Thanks," she said nervously, never taking her eyes off of him as she accepted her hot dog. "No problem." He took the heartburn-in-a-bun - it was impossible to see the hot dog beneath the toppings - and took a big bite. "I'm Bryan," he mentioned offhandedly through a mouthful of food. "Bryan Cornish." "Dawn." She kept it brief, taking a small bite of hers. Might as well make it last. "Um, I'm probably gonna screw up and creep you out, so I'll get it over with," he continued after swallowing. "I've seen you coming here a lot." Oh, great. Dawn tensed, preparing to run for it if she had to. Bryan barreled on hurriedly. "Not that I'm a stalker, I've just been taking this route when you have every day, and it was my route first, anyway," he added hastily. "And I just turned into a complete babbling idiot now." She gave him a strange look. There was something oddly familiar about him, but she couldn't place it. They were in a public place in broad daylight, and if he even looked at her funny she could always scream and run. "Uh-huh." Bryan looked sheepish. "Um, the reason I'm babbling is, you look like you're running from something." "*Everybody's* running from something," Dawn informed him matter-of-factly through a bite of hot dog. She couldn't suppress the flash of memories. Of her mother in the morgue. Of Doc, smiling sweetly as he cut her skin with a knife. Of Buffy falling from the tower, her golden hair streaming out behind her as she dropped into the bright distortion. It must have shown in her eyes, because Bryan practically flinched. "Listen, I'm not gonna feed you any lines." He reached into his pockets and handed her a card. It was a plain business card, for an uptown youth center. "Friend of mine runs this place uptown. No drugs, no violence, no questions. You need a place to sleep in between running, give her a call. Tell her Bryan sent you. If a guy answers, it's just Gabe, tell him the same thing. He helps out from time to time when he's not managing his store." Dawn's suspicions were starting to erode slightly. Maybe it was the fact that he was keeping enough distance between them, maybe it was because he didn't look like a bum in spite of the hair, maybe it was because he'd bought her the hot dog, maybe it was because he seemed to have diarrhea of the mouth, but he didn't seem like that much of a threat. That was it. He reminded her a lot of Xander - a not-as-cute, short, freckled version of Xander, but he acted the same way. Oh, God. Xander. Spike. Willow. Giles. Tara. Anya. She missed them so much. She even missed Anya. And that in itself was a bad sign. "I'll think about it." "You do that." He checked his watch, and the grin slid off his face. "Damn it, I'm late. See you later!" She watched as he hurried down the path, disappearing into the trees. Shaking her head, Dawn took one last look at the card before stuffing it into her pocket and walking away, nibbling at the hot dog as she did so. ***** Sara sighed as she reviewed the files on Travers for the fifth time. The man led an utterly boring and law-abiding life. There was nothing that could possibly serve as a motive for murder. Hell, even his medical history was above average; he was a vegetarian who would run ten miles every morning even at the age of ninety. As far as family was concerned, he had a cousin in London, but that was about it. Sara had no intention of placing a call to Quentin Travers only to have Dante stick her with the phone bill. She set the latest set of photos down and rubbed her eyes. The vision from the Witchblade had given her the impression of a single assailant at first, but it had shifted to become a swarm. But how could the neighbors not notice a thing? A tap on the doorframe startled her from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Jake. "Hey, Pez, get yourself a gas mask." He sighed. "We got another one." ***** tbc... -- Mandi Ohlin (Mandolin) member of the SisterHood of Evil fanfic fanatic and nitpicker extraordinaire "THIS is the crack team that foils my every plan? I am deeply shamed." --Spike, "BtVS: Something Blue" http://www.weirdweb.net _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- From: Slayervick@aol.com Subject: Re: (arfic-l) Stone Cold Heart 1/1 Date: 31 Oct 2001 08:42:55 EST wow..... wow... hmm... willow is scary! that was an excellent vignette. great characterisation, as always. thanks for tat wonderul little snippet! ~Victoria - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message.