New Story, Prelude This Was Meant To Be My Seasonal Entry
But I just couldn't get it together in time. And I'm a bit stuck, so despite wanting to avoid doing another WIP, I'm going to start posting it as a WIP. Maybe feedback will inspire me.
This story is going to work it's way toward Spuffy, but it will take a little while to get there. And the first little bit, which is written in a very non-graphic way, includes some Bangel (yeah, I know, I kinda can't believe I wrote it either). But it's necessary to the entire premise of the story.
So enough talking,
For five days, or maybe six depending on how you counted, it was perfect. That wasn't such a bad total, she mused grimly. Buffy didn't get a lot of perfect. In fact, in retrospect, she should have seen it coming, should have been braced for it all to go wrong.
But in the joy of having *Angel*, alive and well and happy, she hadn't questioned it. She'd met him at the hospital when they released him, smiling and breathing, into the Los Angeles sun. They'd walked along the pier, just enjoying the light on his face, and when he'd told her he'd always wanted to see Hawaii, she hadn't thought twice before calling Andrew and telling him to arrange it.
For five perfect days, they'd lounged in the sun, fed each other tropical fruit, watched the surfers, collected corals and shells. They'd made love in the sand, in the ocean, in the king sized hotel bed. Then there was day six, when a combination of too much sun and too much alcohol left them cranky and miserable, with Angel's skin too tender to touch.
And sitting in the room with ice water and shade and chastity had given them time to talk. About what she'd been doing, about what he'd been doing, about what they would be doing and where. And the more they talked, the more it became obvious that their philosophies weren't any more compatible than they'd been three years before when she'd followed Giles to England to revive the Council instead of helping him in LA. Nor were their living situations likely to be geographically coincident any time in the forseeable future. Not to mention that he was no longer a vampire with a tortured conscience. And she was no longer seventeen.
The night before their return flight, he'd been recovered enough to touch, and touch she had, saying goodbye with her body because she couldn't really stand to say it in words. At the airport they'd gotten into separate cabs, promising to call, to email, agreeing that collaboration would only be logical.
As it turned out, collaboration was a bigger requirement than they'd anticipated. Buffy had tried to ignore it, explain it away, deny it for weeks. But the second pink plus sign was hard to argue with.
So she sighed, picked up her mobile phone, and started with the same line that had opened most of her conversations with Angel in the past few years. "We have a situation."
-----------
What follows is a story in which Buffy has a child, and has to balance those demands against starting a new little scooby/slayer enclave. So I suppose that makes it a babyfic. I hope you'll stay tuned. On to post chapter one....
This story is going to work it's way toward Spuffy, but it will take a little while to get there. And the first little bit, which is written in a very non-graphic way, includes some Bangel (yeah, I know, I kinda can't believe I wrote it either). But it's necessary to the entire premise of the story.
So enough talking,
For five days, or maybe six depending on how you counted, it was perfect. That wasn't such a bad total, she mused grimly. Buffy didn't get a lot of perfect. In fact, in retrospect, she should have seen it coming, should have been braced for it all to go wrong.
But in the joy of having *Angel*, alive and well and happy, she hadn't questioned it. She'd met him at the hospital when they released him, smiling and breathing, into the Los Angeles sun. They'd walked along the pier, just enjoying the light on his face, and when he'd told her he'd always wanted to see Hawaii, she hadn't thought twice before calling Andrew and telling him to arrange it.
For five perfect days, they'd lounged in the sun, fed each other tropical fruit, watched the surfers, collected corals and shells. They'd made love in the sand, in the ocean, in the king sized hotel bed. Then there was day six, when a combination of too much sun and too much alcohol left them cranky and miserable, with Angel's skin too tender to touch.
And sitting in the room with ice water and shade and chastity had given them time to talk. About what she'd been doing, about what he'd been doing, about what they would be doing and where. And the more they talked, the more it became obvious that their philosophies weren't any more compatible than they'd been three years before when she'd followed Giles to England to revive the Council instead of helping him in LA. Nor were their living situations likely to be geographically coincident any time in the forseeable future. Not to mention that he was no longer a vampire with a tortured conscience. And she was no longer seventeen.
The night before their return flight, he'd been recovered enough to touch, and touch she had, saying goodbye with her body because she couldn't really stand to say it in words. At the airport they'd gotten into separate cabs, promising to call, to email, agreeing that collaboration would only be logical.
As it turned out, collaboration was a bigger requirement than they'd anticipated. Buffy had tried to ignore it, explain it away, deny it for weeks. But the second pink plus sign was hard to argue with.
So she sighed, picked up her mobile phone, and started with the same line that had opened most of her conversations with Angel in the past few years. "We have a situation."
-----------
What follows is a story in which Buffy has a child, and has to balance those demands against starting a new little scooby/slayer enclave. So I suppose that makes it a babyfic. I hope you'll stay tuned. On to post chapter one....