When the Night is Cloudy (Angel the Series)
Title: When the Night is Cloudy
Author: The Brat Queen
Fandom: Angel the Series
Characters/Pairing: Darla, Angel
Summary: Darla can't stand being pregnant, or not being able to sleep at night.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,002
Note: Thanks to wolfling for the beta.
Her back hurt.
In a life which had spanned centuries and included multiple forms of torture, death, and hell this should not have been a concern. Then again in all of her life she had never had a parasite trying to dance the Allemande inside of her body. Especially one who did it while weighing, as near as Darla could figure, approximately one billion pounds.
Darla hauled herself out of bed, feeling a gigantic mess of swelling and sweat and limbs that were thicker and clumsier than they were supposed to be, and paced. The walking helped. She hated that it did, but she also hated the backaches and headaches and all over feeling that if she did not get this child out of her soon she would claw him out with her own bare hands, so for now walking was the lesser of available evils.
Darla also hated the irony of sentiments like that.
At least she was alone. There was no one to witness her disgustingly mortal humiliation. She could waddle around with her clothes a wrinkled mess and drink icy cold pig's blood - which did nothing to slake her cravings - directly from the plastic container and not have to worry about wary eyes watching her, or Angel's human groupies muttering amongst themselves as though they couldn't be heard by the - hello - vampire just a few feet away.
Which was good. She preferred it that way. Darla had always enjoyed being a loner. This way she didn't have to fight for some time to herself.
Quiet. It was the best thing, really.
Her back twitched.
"This does not impress me," she said. She looked down at the watermelon-sized lump beneath her shirt as though she could make the creature inside pay closer attention by making eye contact with it. "I've had worse than this. I've been worse than this. If you want to stand out you're going to have to try harder."
The movement inside of her settled. Her back did not feel better. Darla braced her hands on either side of her tailbone and kept walking.
"If it was me, I'd find a way to eat my way out from the inside," Darla said. A fond smile touched her lips. "If it was Angelus he would have put you in there himself as a way to make sure you gnawed out the lower intestines while - "
She stopped. She felt cold, which was ridiculous, and uncertain, which was preposterous.
Either way, she changed the subject.
"Doesn't matter. He's not your father anyway." Darla resumed walking. "What matters is that I'm your mother. Which, for the record, is not that special either. You aren't the first, you know. I was a pro who ended up in a town where the closest competition from white females was an ocean away. Believe me you're not the first. You're just the first I couldn't kill.
"You're a boy," she continued, "which is regrettable but not your fault. For that you can blame Daddy. Not because of whatever they babble about genetics. I just don't think he's physically capable of having something as smart as a girl. If you're lucky you'll get his looks and that's that. If I'm lucky you won't get his forehead."
Her right hand came forward to rest over her belly. She tried to picture what would happen when all of this came to the nine month conclusion. She found that her imagination couldn't take her that far.
"You'll need to fight," she said. Her hand tightened, getting the front of her shirt wet with clammy skin. "Once you're out of there there isn't going to be anyone to protect you. The Powers will get bored or distracted and you'll be vulnerable. Do whatever it takes to defend yourself. You can only survive if you trust nobody."
Darla's gaze traveled over to the bed she'd gotten out of. The bed that wasn't hers.
She wiped at her face. More sweat. Amazing how she could be so hot and yet so cold. She wasn't supposed to feel anything.
"They - they can't - some will want to protect you," she said. She looked down again, making that eye contact that wasn't really eye contact. "They'll have the best of intentions and some particularly stupid ideas on how to make them happen. But that's not going to matter. In the end there's only you. Forget that, and you die."
The room was different. There'd been no sound, even to her ears, but she knew the change had happened. She turned around and saw him standing there. To a mortal he would've seemed like nothing - shadows, maybe a hint of paleness to indicate his face. But to her he was vibrant. Three-dimensional, even in the dark. Even when it was him, the one with the soul, and not the dear boy she'd made all those years ago.
"You should rest." If he'd heard anything she'd said, his deep brown eyes gave no indication of it.
Darla gave him a wry and bitter smile. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."
"Suit yourself." Angel shrugged a single shoulder, then went past her to hang up his leather jacket. He folded his tall and muscular body into the chair he had claimed for himself since she'd taken over the bed. He propped his feet up against the box spring, closed his eyes, and gave every indication of going to sleep.
Darla stared at him a long time before moving back to the bed. Yet more time passed of quiet, stillness, and no talking, before she scooted, clumsily and heavily, closer to the other side.
A hand, blissfully cool in just the right way, was placed across her stomach. It was big enough that it could practically cover the child inside of her. It felt solid in ways that Darla couldn't understand.
"I'm not a mother," she said.
"You'll do," came the reply.
And there was no more talking for the night.
Author: The Brat Queen
Fandom: Angel the Series
Characters/Pairing: Darla, Angel
Summary: Darla can't stand being pregnant, or not being able to sleep at night.
Rating: G
Word Count: 1,002
Note: Thanks to wolfling for the beta.
Her back hurt.
In a life which had spanned centuries and included multiple forms of torture, death, and hell this should not have been a concern. Then again in all of her life she had never had a parasite trying to dance the Allemande inside of her body. Especially one who did it while weighing, as near as Darla could figure, approximately one billion pounds.
Darla hauled herself out of bed, feeling a gigantic mess of swelling and sweat and limbs that were thicker and clumsier than they were supposed to be, and paced. The walking helped. She hated that it did, but she also hated the backaches and headaches and all over feeling that if she did not get this child out of her soon she would claw him out with her own bare hands, so for now walking was the lesser of available evils.
Darla also hated the irony of sentiments like that.
At least she was alone. There was no one to witness her disgustingly mortal humiliation. She could waddle around with her clothes a wrinkled mess and drink icy cold pig's blood - which did nothing to slake her cravings - directly from the plastic container and not have to worry about wary eyes watching her, or Angel's human groupies muttering amongst themselves as though they couldn't be heard by the - hello - vampire just a few feet away.
Which was good. She preferred it that way. Darla had always enjoyed being a loner. This way she didn't have to fight for some time to herself.
Quiet. It was the best thing, really.
Her back twitched.
"This does not impress me," she said. She looked down at the watermelon-sized lump beneath her shirt as though she could make the creature inside pay closer attention by making eye contact with it. "I've had worse than this. I've been worse than this. If you want to stand out you're going to have to try harder."
The movement inside of her settled. Her back did not feel better. Darla braced her hands on either side of her tailbone and kept walking.
"If it was me, I'd find a way to eat my way out from the inside," Darla said. A fond smile touched her lips. "If it was Angelus he would have put you in there himself as a way to make sure you gnawed out the lower intestines while - "
She stopped. She felt cold, which was ridiculous, and uncertain, which was preposterous.
Either way, she changed the subject.
"Doesn't matter. He's not your father anyway." Darla resumed walking. "What matters is that I'm your mother. Which, for the record, is not that special either. You aren't the first, you know. I was a pro who ended up in a town where the closest competition from white females was an ocean away. Believe me you're not the first. You're just the first I couldn't kill.
"You're a boy," she continued, "which is regrettable but not your fault. For that you can blame Daddy. Not because of whatever they babble about genetics. I just don't think he's physically capable of having something as smart as a girl. If you're lucky you'll get his looks and that's that. If I'm lucky you won't get his forehead."
Her right hand came forward to rest over her belly. She tried to picture what would happen when all of this came to the nine month conclusion. She found that her imagination couldn't take her that far.
"You'll need to fight," she said. Her hand tightened, getting the front of her shirt wet with clammy skin. "Once you're out of there there isn't going to be anyone to protect you. The Powers will get bored or distracted and you'll be vulnerable. Do whatever it takes to defend yourself. You can only survive if you trust nobody."
Darla's gaze traveled over to the bed she'd gotten out of. The bed that wasn't hers.
She wiped at her face. More sweat. Amazing how she could be so hot and yet so cold. She wasn't supposed to feel anything.
"They - they can't - some will want to protect you," she said. She looked down again, making that eye contact that wasn't really eye contact. "They'll have the best of intentions and some particularly stupid ideas on how to make them happen. But that's not going to matter. In the end there's only you. Forget that, and you die."
The room was different. There'd been no sound, even to her ears, but she knew the change had happened. She turned around and saw him standing there. To a mortal he would've seemed like nothing - shadows, maybe a hint of paleness to indicate his face. But to her he was vibrant. Three-dimensional, even in the dark. Even when it was him, the one with the soul, and not the dear boy she'd made all those years ago.
"You should rest." If he'd heard anything she'd said, his deep brown eyes gave no indication of it.
Darla gave him a wry and bitter smile. "I'll sleep when I'm dead."
"Suit yourself." Angel shrugged a single shoulder, then went past her to hang up his leather jacket. He folded his tall and muscular body into the chair he had claimed for himself since she'd taken over the bed. He propped his feet up against the box spring, closed his eyes, and gave every indication of going to sleep.
Darla stared at him a long time before moving back to the bed. Yet more time passed of quiet, stillness, and no talking, before she scooted, clumsily and heavily, closer to the other side.
A hand, blissfully cool in just the right way, was placed across her stomach. It was big enough that it could practically cover the child inside of her. It felt solid in ways that Darla couldn't understand.
"I'm not a mother," she said.
"You'll do," came the reply.
And there was no more talking for the night.