Angel: Crush One
Title: Crush One
Series: Crush
Fandom: Angel: the Series
Character(s): Angel, OC
Length: 1,171 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Summary: see part one.
Notes: it’s still bad. Ironically enough ppl seemed to like it when I posted the first part that I dared to post a second one. Tells you about the quality of reader I attract :p
Crush One
Dedicated to the people who (a) gave me feedback and (b) were like “Good story, now who was that weird chick?”
“I’ll admit buyin’ lunch was a good move Old Man.”
“Oh so now I’m ‘Old Man’ instead of ‘Uncle Angel?’”
She shrugged. “How’s the blood? If I’d had more time I would have brought some with. Or stolen better.”
“I’ve had worse.”
She made a face remembering when one of the times she accompanied Whistler on his trips to clean up the ensouled vampire. Oh he’d had much worse. She hadn’t thought anyone could sink lower than rat blood . . .leave it to her beloved “uncle” to do so. Changing the subject, mostly for her stomach’s sake, she said, “So dish already.”
“You know,” Angel commented offhandedly, “for a creature nearly as old as I am you sound fifteen.”
“Quit changing the subject after I do. Fer someone who just lost the love of his life ya seem pretty,” she struggled for the exact word only to fall back on his, “okay.”
“I am.”
She rolled her eyes and snorted. “I was there when yer Moiré died.” Her brogue thickened as she went on, “Only a bairn she was and how yer mum cried to see her youngest die. And yae,” she accused him with her voice, “ya always were a feckless lad Liam but that night I saw what nae else did. I saw ya cryin’ yer pickled liver over a bairn nae more’n four months old when ye knew better than to love’em a’fore they’re six years!”
And hard as he tried he couldn’t help but go back to the night she so vividly described. Angel cursed his preternatural memory. Yet she went on, brogue back to its smoother form, “And so I’m knowin’ that yer grievin’ fer the Slayer. Is that why ya accepted my invitation ‘cause I must say I was expectin’ ya to turn me down like ya usually do.
“Were ya tryin’ to escape? Has it cut you so then?” she asked softer taking his large cool hands in hers. It wasn’t a hold so much as tracing the fingers she knew so well, finding the calluses and work worn grooves of his palms she knew amidst the ones she did not.
“What do you know about it?” he asked his voice unintentionally gruff as she brought, with her uncanny abilities, a grief Angel had thought well buried in himself.
“That’s how I was when Mum died. There was no one to comfort me because fer all eyes to see I didn’t need any. Town didn’t know whether to condemn me fer not showin’ enough respect fer the dead or respect me fer bein’ strong.”
“You never had a mother,” he hissed.
Instantly her spine was steel rod-straight, her nails dragging across his skin as she withdrew from him. It had been said in anger and pain but it hurt nonetheless. Had they been anywhere else she would have slapped him; it was taking considerable effort not to do so.
He knew the flashing of her eyes from deep brown to red that matched her impossibly dark hair was a trick but it still enervated him. “I had a mother,” she said with an icy calm that burned his skin. “Ya know and I know that though I may look like a fifteen year old girl I’m not. Ya know and I know that I am as strong if not stronger than ya are. Ya should know better than ta mess with them as touched by the fae Liam,” she said in an admonishing tone. “I’ve outlived every member of every natural family I’ve belonged to and I mourned them all but I only had one mother and she is beyond yer touch do ye understand what I’m sayin’?” She couldn’t have been more threatening than if she’d held a stake above his heart. “Do all of ye understand me, Angelus and Angel, ‘cause I’ll not be wantin’ to explain meself again later.
“Now,” she said in a lighter tone, “this was supposed to be about ye, not me.” And it was all over and done with in that one sentence.
“Yes I came to escape,” and all was forgiven with that one admission.
“The others, how are they takin’ it?”
“Better than I am,” he answered with a chagrined smile.
A frown marring her creamy skin she asked, “Why do ya say that?”
“They’re dealing with their grief. I’m just . . .” but he couldn’t find the word. “Sublimating it?” she supplied. Angel nodded.
“Why don’t ya talk to someone about it? Someone ya see more than once every few decades,” she added before he could say he was talking about it. “Take my word for it, it will help if ya talk to them about it. It’ll draw pain out from where ya got it hid so deep even you have trouble findin’ it some days.”
Angel covered his shock at her accuracy by saying, “I thought clairvoyance was one of the many gifts you didn’t have.”
She smiled sympathetically. “And yer right. Told ya I’ve been here before. I can honestly say I know what yer goin’ through and it’s not pretty. Took me nearly fifteen years to work it all out.” He really was surprised until she said, “But what’s fifteen years to the likes of us? I’m sure if I’d still been a mortal I’d have worked it out long before…or died tryin’.”
“I don’t want to die trying,” he said sardonically.
“Precisely my point.
“You tread on old ground like it’s nothin' but it’s like you hardly see the sky some days isn’t it?”
He licked his lips and nodded. That was it exactly. “Besides they’re dealing with their own grief, I don’t want to compound their pain with my own.”
“Pain schmain. Sorry, sorry,” she was properly apologetic at his grim look. “Look if that’s yer worry, or excuse as I’m thinkin’, then why don’t ya talk to someone not so closely connected to Sunnydale.” She closed her eyes for a moment before dazzling him as they seemed to brighten unnaturally for a moment. “How about the Black lad, Charles Gunn. He knows pain, he knows grief but he doesn’t know Buffy. He might be perfect. Or better still --”
“No don’t --”
“Fred! If what ya tell me is true she knows pain as well as the lot of ya. Ya said she was in Pylea for five years?” She shivered. “Zipped through there once by accident. Thought I was mortal. Taught them a thing or two a’fore comin’ home. Look Uncle, if she made it through there with the least bit of sanity after five years then she’s gotta be awesome. Besides,” she added, “it’ll be a great way to make yer move.”
“Little Girl,” he said warningly.
“What? What’d I say?” The vampire shook his head trying to reconcile the matchmaking creature before him with the one who, only moments before, was reminding him of exactly who she was. “Come on Uncle Angel, tell me. Tell me please!”
[in]Fin[ite]
Next Part
Series: Crush
Fandom: Angel: the Series
Character(s): Angel, OC
Length: 1,171 words
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't know you. You don't know me. Let's keep it that way.
Summary: see part one.
Notes: it’s still bad. Ironically enough ppl seemed to like it when I posted the first part that I dared to post a second one. Tells you about the quality of reader I attract :p
Crush One
Dedicated to the people who (a) gave me feedback and (b) were like “Good story, now who was that weird chick?”
“I’ll admit buyin’ lunch was a good move Old Man.”
“Oh so now I’m ‘Old Man’ instead of ‘Uncle Angel?’”
She shrugged. “How’s the blood? If I’d had more time I would have brought some with. Or stolen better.”
“I’ve had worse.”
She made a face remembering when one of the times she accompanied Whistler on his trips to clean up the ensouled vampire. Oh he’d had much worse. She hadn’t thought anyone could sink lower than rat blood . . .leave it to her beloved “uncle” to do so. Changing the subject, mostly for her stomach’s sake, she said, “So dish already.”
“You know,” Angel commented offhandedly, “for a creature nearly as old as I am you sound fifteen.”
“Quit changing the subject after I do. Fer someone who just lost the love of his life ya seem pretty,” she struggled for the exact word only to fall back on his, “okay.”
“I am.”
She rolled her eyes and snorted. “I was there when yer Moiré died.” Her brogue thickened as she went on, “Only a bairn she was and how yer mum cried to see her youngest die. And yae,” she accused him with her voice, “ya always were a feckless lad Liam but that night I saw what nae else did. I saw ya cryin’ yer pickled liver over a bairn nae more’n four months old when ye knew better than to love’em a’fore they’re six years!”
And hard as he tried he couldn’t help but go back to the night she so vividly described. Angel cursed his preternatural memory. Yet she went on, brogue back to its smoother form, “And so I’m knowin’ that yer grievin’ fer the Slayer. Is that why ya accepted my invitation ‘cause I must say I was expectin’ ya to turn me down like ya usually do.
“Were ya tryin’ to escape? Has it cut you so then?” she asked softer taking his large cool hands in hers. It wasn’t a hold so much as tracing the fingers she knew so well, finding the calluses and work worn grooves of his palms she knew amidst the ones she did not.
“What do you know about it?” he asked his voice unintentionally gruff as she brought, with her uncanny abilities, a grief Angel had thought well buried in himself.
“That’s how I was when Mum died. There was no one to comfort me because fer all eyes to see I didn’t need any. Town didn’t know whether to condemn me fer not showin’ enough respect fer the dead or respect me fer bein’ strong.”
“You never had a mother,” he hissed.
Instantly her spine was steel rod-straight, her nails dragging across his skin as she withdrew from him. It had been said in anger and pain but it hurt nonetheless. Had they been anywhere else she would have slapped him; it was taking considerable effort not to do so.
He knew the flashing of her eyes from deep brown to red that matched her impossibly dark hair was a trick but it still enervated him. “I had a mother,” she said with an icy calm that burned his skin. “Ya know and I know that though I may look like a fifteen year old girl I’m not. Ya know and I know that I am as strong if not stronger than ya are. Ya should know better than ta mess with them as touched by the fae Liam,” she said in an admonishing tone. “I’ve outlived every member of every natural family I’ve belonged to and I mourned them all but I only had one mother and she is beyond yer touch do ye understand what I’m sayin’?” She couldn’t have been more threatening than if she’d held a stake above his heart. “Do all of ye understand me, Angelus and Angel, ‘cause I’ll not be wantin’ to explain meself again later.
“Now,” she said in a lighter tone, “this was supposed to be about ye, not me.” And it was all over and done with in that one sentence.
“Yes I came to escape,” and all was forgiven with that one admission.
“The others, how are they takin’ it?”
“Better than I am,” he answered with a chagrined smile.
A frown marring her creamy skin she asked, “Why do ya say that?”
“They’re dealing with their grief. I’m just . . .” but he couldn’t find the word. “Sublimating it?” she supplied. Angel nodded.
“Why don’t ya talk to someone about it? Someone ya see more than once every few decades,” she added before he could say he was talking about it. “Take my word for it, it will help if ya talk to them about it. It’ll draw pain out from where ya got it hid so deep even you have trouble findin’ it some days.”
Angel covered his shock at her accuracy by saying, “I thought clairvoyance was one of the many gifts you didn’t have.”
She smiled sympathetically. “And yer right. Told ya I’ve been here before. I can honestly say I know what yer goin’ through and it’s not pretty. Took me nearly fifteen years to work it all out.” He really was surprised until she said, “But what’s fifteen years to the likes of us? I’m sure if I’d still been a mortal I’d have worked it out long before…or died tryin’.”
“I don’t want to die trying,” he said sardonically.
“Precisely my point.
“You tread on old ground like it’s nothin' but it’s like you hardly see the sky some days isn’t it?”
He licked his lips and nodded. That was it exactly. “Besides they’re dealing with their own grief, I don’t want to compound their pain with my own.”
“Pain schmain. Sorry, sorry,” she was properly apologetic at his grim look. “Look if that’s yer worry, or excuse as I’m thinkin’, then why don’t ya talk to someone not so closely connected to Sunnydale.” She closed her eyes for a moment before dazzling him as they seemed to brighten unnaturally for a moment. “How about the Black lad, Charles Gunn. He knows pain, he knows grief but he doesn’t know Buffy. He might be perfect. Or better still --”
“No don’t --”
“Fred! If what ya tell me is true she knows pain as well as the lot of ya. Ya said she was in Pylea for five years?” She shivered. “Zipped through there once by accident. Thought I was mortal. Taught them a thing or two a’fore comin’ home. Look Uncle, if she made it through there with the least bit of sanity after five years then she’s gotta be awesome. Besides,” she added, “it’ll be a great way to make yer move.”
“Little Girl,” he said warningly.
“What? What’d I say?” The vampire shook his head trying to reconcile the matchmaking creature before him with the one who, only moments before, was reminding him of exactly who she was. “Come on Uncle Angel, tell me. Tell me please!”
[in]Fin[ite]
Next Part