August 30 - Tell Me (That It's Alright)
Title: Tell Me (That It's Alright)
Series: Pack a Smile
Author: Vashti (tvashti)
Fandom: Mercy Thompson Series
Character(s): Charles Cornick, Buffy, Oz, Bran Cornick
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The road might end here...for everyone.
Length: ~1920 words
Disclaimer: Only the words are mine, and that’s probably up for philosophical debate. Half my headcanon for the fusion version of this verse comes from kerrykhat, akat and avamclean.
Notes: see end
Buffy and Giles eyed the car that they were sure had been tailing them since Sunnydale, now sitting outside Jordan McIntyre's home in Scottsrose Township.
"There's always a chance that this is coincidence," Giles said, eyes fixed on the sand colored SUV.
"Uh huh." Buffy was watching it, too. "The real question is how did he beat us here and do you think he's already inside."
"He?"
Buffy turned away from the rental (license plated to West Virginia). "C'mon, Giles. Tell me you don't think this is anyone but Charles."
"I'm attempting optimism?" he said, eyes meeting Buffy's. Who snorted. Before she could respond, however, alarm burst on Giles' face. "Buffy--"
She was already out the door of the old Citroen.
***
"Tell me, Oz," the Marrok said, "who is the rogue to you?"
No one.
It doesn't matter.
None of your business.
Leave my cousin alone.
Nothing to you.
He's just a little kid.
I don't care.
I'll take his place.
The pleas and denials crowded through Oz's head too quickly to choose which he would actually say to the Marrok. He didn't realize he was plucking at the guitar in his lap until the Marrok's hand was laid over his.
"Who is it?"
"You can't have him." Oz's whispered words belied the intensity of emotion behind them. As if saying them had unlocked one of Willow's spells, his senses were gone wild the moment the words were off his lips. He could now smell the wolf that had lingered in the doorway while he and the Marrok jammed. His skin prickled with faint movement of the central heating system. He could taste his own fear and anger. Laced together, they were disgusting. He knew that now. The Marrok's heartbeat was a steady counterpoint to the double-time staccato in Oz's chest.
"Who is the rogue to you, Oz?"
"You can't have him."
"Father? Brother? Lover? Best friend?"
None of the Marrok's pauses yielded an answer from Oz, because all of his options were all wrong. Even if they weren't, even if Jordy wasn't family, he was a little kid. A child. But that didn't seem to matter to the Marrok. He kept offering personal relationships as if they were the only reasons to save someone. Jordy could have been some kid on campus who happened to scratch Oz at the wrong time of the month. He hadn't done anything wrong. Oz wouldn't give him up.
"It doesn't matter who he is. You can't have him." He said it to the space behind the Marrok's shoulder, unable to look him in the eye as much from instinct as leashed rage. Close as they were with the Marrok's hand still over Oz's twitchy fingers, his scent even drowned out the mixed anger and fear until all that was left was the minty musk of werewolf and the sharp sweetness he’d only scented on the Marrok.
"You can't have him."
***
Charles heard the car thrown open as Brother Wolf bristled. They both knew who it was, who they'd been tracking from her territory. Still, it was years of fighting that saved him from her flying leap over the hood of his rental SUV. Instead of bearing him down to the ground, where she would have the advantage, he turned her momentum into a throw.
She landed near the McIntyre window hedges in a crouch. But like a swimmer turning a lap, she used her landing to propel herself forward. Most creatures needed to pick up momentum before they could do serious damage. Charles knew better. He'd seen several slayers in action. This one might not be like any of those on surface, but they were all hunters, all killers. In that way, Buffy the Vampire Slayer was no different from her Sisters.
Two steps to get her footing together turned into a handspring, into a flying kick. Age gave Charles an advantage she didn't anticipate. He neatly side-stepped her kick, punching her in the gut instead. It wasn't as effective as a punch to the solar plexus would have been, but she still dropped to her knees, gasping for air.
Charles had her wrapped in his arms and off the ground before she could regroup. He underestimated this Slayer's ability to recover, however. She head-butted him with a surprisingly hard head. Stars burst behind his eyes and Charles dropped her reflexively.
He heard her roll across the grass, her breathing harsh as she tried to get her lungs back together and, he hoped, recover from his equally thick skull.
She was up in a fighting stance when he opened his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
He bristled and Brother Wolf laughed.
"More," she tacked on. "Just go back to the Marrok and leave this to me."
"The Marrok is Alpha over all the wolves," came rumbling out of his chest. Brother Wolf might have found the little Slayer amusing, but she had tried to lay claim to what belonged to him and his father. Brother Wolf did not forget.
"Not this one. This one is under my protection." She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. "He's mine."
Charles heard a distant, "Oh Buffy" as a snarl rolled up through his body. "We handle our own," he said.
"Not this one," she snapped again. "I'm not letting you hurt him."
"He's a child, Mr. Cornick," that other voice said. Watcher, his own mind supplied as Brother Wolf was very much occupied with watching the Slayer. Who was trying to sneak around him.
Charles turned to look at her. He gave her a wry look and she returned with a plastic smile to do a cheerleader proud. "Can't blame a slayer for trying."
"I could," he said.
She rolled her eyes. "Look, Grumpylicious. This isn't about you or me, it's about a little boy whose only crime is being a little boy."
"That's up for the Marrok to decide."
This time, she was the one growling.
***
"What if I don't want him?"
Oz's eyes snapped to the Marrok's, the words were so startling. At the same time, the other pulled his hand away and sat back, making it impossible for their eyes to really connect.
"I-I..." Oz's throat was tight like before he had to cry but he was pretty sure tears were not what were trying to come out of him. "I know...what happens..." He swallowed and tried again. "Werewolves aggressively police their own."
The Marrok nodded slowly. “I do.” Then: “You’re about to change, Oz. Can’t you feel it? Tell me why.”
The pedagogical tone made Oz want throw the guitar across the room and try for the Marrok’s throat. He probably wouldn’t make it, but he was pretty sure the attempt would just as satisfying as chasing a diminished ninth on his bass.
Oz reared back.
“What are you doing to me?” he asked.
“Proving myself right by poking at a sore spot,” the Marrok said. He reached for the water bottle abandoned on the floor next to his leg. “I guess Sam’s right. Mercy does get it from me.”
Busy trying to reign in his wild emotions, Oz ignored the non-sequitur. After a moment he was more aware of himself. The sense of the other wolves in the home was more of an awareness than a surety, and his skin didn’t goose pimple every time one of them exhaled.
“So. Who is he?” the Marrok asked the moment Oz was more or less himself again. “As you said, werewolves police themselves aggressively. Since uniting all the packs in North America, I have been especially stringent. It’s the only way to keep our secret.” Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, he laced his fingers together over his lap. “And it’s the only way we’re going to survive when we’re eventually outed.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“This way of life? Hiding in the shadows? It’s not going to work for the supernatural community forever. The lights of the modern world get brighter every day.” The Marrok cocked his head to one side. “How did you meet the Slayer. Did she spare you while you were still trying to control the wolf?”
Oz felt himself trying to smile, but his world was tilting on its all its axes, and seeming to find new ones to turn on every time the Marrok opened his mouth. He couldn’t make the smile stick, so he stopped trying. “I protected her and her best friend from assassins. Then I was her best friend’s date at her birthday party when she staked a vampire. They let me in.”
Somewhere a clock was ticking. The other wolves in the house had left. Oz shuddered. The guitar sang in discordant sympathy under his fingertips.
“Tell me who he is, Oz.”
***
The Slayer abandoned stealth and ran for Charles again. But instead of going high, she swept his feet from under him in a simple maneuver that would have been embarrassing if not for the force she put behind it. Her Watcher would have cracked his head.
Charles went down and popped up, reflexively. And she was right there.
Her open hand on his solar plexus wasn’t as painful as a fist, but it still pushed him backwards as it knocked the air out of his lungs. She followed with a punch to his kidneys and a foot to his knee.
Charles went down. And clipped her jaw when she got close.
The Slayer stumbled backwards but didn’t quite lose his feet. It was enough for Charles to get back up. The knee wasn’t dislocated, and his kidneys were bruised but he’d felt worse.
It occurred to him that she wasn’t trying to take him out, but he was pissed enough that it almost didn’t matter.
***
“He’s a kid I was babysitting.”
The Marrok’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not telling me the truth, Oz. I don’t like lies.”
“I haven’t lied.” He hadn’t.
“You haven’t told me the whole truth, either.”
“He’s…” Oz shook his head. “It doesn’t matter who he is to me. I told you the truth. You’re not looking for a rogue, you’re looking for a seven or eight year old little boy who bit me by accident while I was babysitting.” Oz dared to look up, dared to look the Marrok in the eye even if only for a moment. “That’s the only truth that matters.”
The Marrok’s head canted slowly to one side and Oz found his eyes dropping away on his own. If he had fur, though…if he had fur it would still be bristled.
“What’s his name?”
“Jordy. Jordan McIntyre.”
“Where-“
“Why is this important?”
“I’ve sent Charles.”
Oz jumped up. “No!”
“I trust his judgement. If he says Jordy McIntyre isn’t a threat, then we’ll add it to the always growing list of reasons why we don’t allow packs to settle on or near Hellmouths. Now sit down.”
But Oz didn’t sit down. “And if he is? If Jordy is a threat.”
“Then Charles will deal with him.”
“How can you-“
“Please tell me you were planning on asking me how I could allow an uncontrolled juvenile werewolf loose in a civilian population? Especially one that’s already turned an unsuspecting person into a werewolf-from a bite.”
Oz snarled. The Marrok’s face was stone.
Oz stormed out of the house. He was yards away, standing on a stranger’s front lawn, when he realized he was still holding the guitar.
He sat down on the curb.
**
Charles’ phone rang.
Fin[ite]
Notes: There's a least one more story in this wee series, possibly two. Unfortunately, I think tomorrow's story (if I make it that far) is about Bruce and the girls, or the O.Z. might assert itself. I do, however, intend to give Oz warm fuzzies before I call this done. Cross your fingers with me!
Notes2: I watched fight vids on youtube to try and make this work. Even with that, it...isn't what I'd envision for a fight that's so unequal. Maybe I'll rewrite it before I post it on tth et al.
Series: Pack a Smile
Author: Vashti (tvashti)
Fandom: Mercy Thompson Series
Character(s): Charles Cornick, Buffy, Oz, Bran Cornick
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The road might end here...for everyone.
Length: ~1920 words
Disclaimer: Only the words are mine, and that’s probably up for philosophical debate. Half my headcanon for the fusion version of this verse comes from kerrykhat, akat and avamclean.
Notes: see end
Buffy and Giles eyed the car that they were sure had been tailing them since Sunnydale, now sitting outside Jordan McIntyre's home in Scottsrose Township.
"There's always a chance that this is coincidence," Giles said, eyes fixed on the sand colored SUV.
"Uh huh." Buffy was watching it, too. "The real question is how did he beat us here and do you think he's already inside."
"He?"
Buffy turned away from the rental (license plated to West Virginia). "C'mon, Giles. Tell me you don't think this is anyone but Charles."
"I'm attempting optimism?" he said, eyes meeting Buffy's. Who snorted. Before she could respond, however, alarm burst on Giles' face. "Buffy--"
She was already out the door of the old Citroen.
***
"Tell me, Oz," the Marrok said, "who is the rogue to you?"
No one.
It doesn't matter.
None of your business.
Leave my cousin alone.
Nothing to you.
He's just a little kid.
I don't care.
I'll take his place.
The pleas and denials crowded through Oz's head too quickly to choose which he would actually say to the Marrok. He didn't realize he was plucking at the guitar in his lap until the Marrok's hand was laid over his.
"Who is it?"
"You can't have him." Oz's whispered words belied the intensity of emotion behind them. As if saying them had unlocked one of Willow's spells, his senses were gone wild the moment the words were off his lips. He could now smell the wolf that had lingered in the doorway while he and the Marrok jammed. His skin prickled with faint movement of the central heating system. He could taste his own fear and anger. Laced together, they were disgusting. He knew that now. The Marrok's heartbeat was a steady counterpoint to the double-time staccato in Oz's chest.
"Who is the rogue to you, Oz?"
"You can't have him."
"Father? Brother? Lover? Best friend?"
None of the Marrok's pauses yielded an answer from Oz, because all of his options were all wrong. Even if they weren't, even if Jordy wasn't family, he was a little kid. A child. But that didn't seem to matter to the Marrok. He kept offering personal relationships as if they were the only reasons to save someone. Jordy could have been some kid on campus who happened to scratch Oz at the wrong time of the month. He hadn't done anything wrong. Oz wouldn't give him up.
"It doesn't matter who he is. You can't have him." He said it to the space behind the Marrok's shoulder, unable to look him in the eye as much from instinct as leashed rage. Close as they were with the Marrok's hand still over Oz's twitchy fingers, his scent even drowned out the mixed anger and fear until all that was left was the minty musk of werewolf and the sharp sweetness he’d only scented on the Marrok.
"You can't have him."
***
Charles heard the car thrown open as Brother Wolf bristled. They both knew who it was, who they'd been tracking from her territory. Still, it was years of fighting that saved him from her flying leap over the hood of his rental SUV. Instead of bearing him down to the ground, where she would have the advantage, he turned her momentum into a throw.
She landed near the McIntyre window hedges in a crouch. But like a swimmer turning a lap, she used her landing to propel herself forward. Most creatures needed to pick up momentum before they could do serious damage. Charles knew better. He'd seen several slayers in action. This one might not be like any of those on surface, but they were all hunters, all killers. In that way, Buffy the Vampire Slayer was no different from her Sisters.
Two steps to get her footing together turned into a handspring, into a flying kick. Age gave Charles an advantage she didn't anticipate. He neatly side-stepped her kick, punching her in the gut instead. It wasn't as effective as a punch to the solar plexus would have been, but she still dropped to her knees, gasping for air.
Charles had her wrapped in his arms and off the ground before she could regroup. He underestimated this Slayer's ability to recover, however. She head-butted him with a surprisingly hard head. Stars burst behind his eyes and Charles dropped her reflexively.
He heard her roll across the grass, her breathing harsh as she tried to get her lungs back together and, he hoped, recover from his equally thick skull.
She was up in a fighting stance when he opened his eyes. "I don't want to hurt you."
He bristled and Brother Wolf laughed.
"More," she tacked on. "Just go back to the Marrok and leave this to me."
"The Marrok is Alpha over all the wolves," came rumbling out of his chest. Brother Wolf might have found the little Slayer amusing, but she had tried to lay claim to what belonged to him and his father. Brother Wolf did not forget.
"Not this one. This one is under my protection." She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. "He's mine."
Charles heard a distant, "Oh Buffy" as a snarl rolled up through his body. "We handle our own," he said.
"Not this one," she snapped again. "I'm not letting you hurt him."
"He's a child, Mr. Cornick," that other voice said. Watcher, his own mind supplied as Brother Wolf was very much occupied with watching the Slayer. Who was trying to sneak around him.
Charles turned to look at her. He gave her a wry look and she returned with a plastic smile to do a cheerleader proud. "Can't blame a slayer for trying."
"I could," he said.
She rolled her eyes. "Look, Grumpylicious. This isn't about you or me, it's about a little boy whose only crime is being a little boy."
"That's up for the Marrok to decide."
This time, she was the one growling.
***
"What if I don't want him?"
Oz's eyes snapped to the Marrok's, the words were so startling. At the same time, the other pulled his hand away and sat back, making it impossible for their eyes to really connect.
"I-I..." Oz's throat was tight like before he had to cry but he was pretty sure tears were not what were trying to come out of him. "I know...what happens..." He swallowed and tried again. "Werewolves aggressively police their own."
The Marrok nodded slowly. “I do.” Then: “You’re about to change, Oz. Can’t you feel it? Tell me why.”
The pedagogical tone made Oz want throw the guitar across the room and try for the Marrok’s throat. He probably wouldn’t make it, but he was pretty sure the attempt would just as satisfying as chasing a diminished ninth on his bass.
Oz reared back.
“What are you doing to me?” he asked.
“Proving myself right by poking at a sore spot,” the Marrok said. He reached for the water bottle abandoned on the floor next to his leg. “I guess Sam’s right. Mercy does get it from me.”
Busy trying to reign in his wild emotions, Oz ignored the non-sequitur. After a moment he was more aware of himself. The sense of the other wolves in the home was more of an awareness than a surety, and his skin didn’t goose pimple every time one of them exhaled.
“So. Who is he?” the Marrok asked the moment Oz was more or less himself again. “As you said, werewolves police themselves aggressively. Since uniting all the packs in North America, I have been especially stringent. It’s the only way to keep our secret.” Elbows resting on the arms of his chair, he laced his fingers together over his lap. “And it’s the only way we’re going to survive when we’re eventually outed.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“This way of life? Hiding in the shadows? It’s not going to work for the supernatural community forever. The lights of the modern world get brighter every day.” The Marrok cocked his head to one side. “How did you meet the Slayer. Did she spare you while you were still trying to control the wolf?”
Oz felt himself trying to smile, but his world was tilting on its all its axes, and seeming to find new ones to turn on every time the Marrok opened his mouth. He couldn’t make the smile stick, so he stopped trying. “I protected her and her best friend from assassins. Then I was her best friend’s date at her birthday party when she staked a vampire. They let me in.”
Somewhere a clock was ticking. The other wolves in the house had left. Oz shuddered. The guitar sang in discordant sympathy under his fingertips.
“Tell me who he is, Oz.”
***
The Slayer abandoned stealth and ran for Charles again. But instead of going high, she swept his feet from under him in a simple maneuver that would have been embarrassing if not for the force she put behind it. Her Watcher would have cracked his head.
Charles went down and popped up, reflexively. And she was right there.
Her open hand on his solar plexus wasn’t as painful as a fist, but it still pushed him backwards as it knocked the air out of his lungs. She followed with a punch to his kidneys and a foot to his knee.
Charles went down. And clipped her jaw when she got close.
The Slayer stumbled backwards but didn’t quite lose his feet. It was enough for Charles to get back up. The knee wasn’t dislocated, and his kidneys were bruised but he’d felt worse.
It occurred to him that she wasn’t trying to take him out, but he was pissed enough that it almost didn’t matter.
***
“He’s a kid I was babysitting.”
The Marrok’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not telling me the truth, Oz. I don’t like lies.”
“I haven’t lied.” He hadn’t.
“You haven’t told me the whole truth, either.”
“He’s…” Oz shook his head. “It doesn’t matter who he is to me. I told you the truth. You’re not looking for a rogue, you’re looking for a seven or eight year old little boy who bit me by accident while I was babysitting.” Oz dared to look up, dared to look the Marrok in the eye even if only for a moment. “That’s the only truth that matters.”
The Marrok’s head canted slowly to one side and Oz found his eyes dropping away on his own. If he had fur, though…if he had fur it would still be bristled.
“What’s his name?”
“Jordy. Jordan McIntyre.”
“Where-“
“Why is this important?”
“I’ve sent Charles.”
Oz jumped up. “No!”
“I trust his judgement. If he says Jordy McIntyre isn’t a threat, then we’ll add it to the always growing list of reasons why we don’t allow packs to settle on or near Hellmouths. Now sit down.”
But Oz didn’t sit down. “And if he is? If Jordy is a threat.”
“Then Charles will deal with him.”
“How can you-“
“Please tell me you were planning on asking me how I could allow an uncontrolled juvenile werewolf loose in a civilian population? Especially one that’s already turned an unsuspecting person into a werewolf-from a bite.”
Oz snarled. The Marrok’s face was stone.
Oz stormed out of the house. He was yards away, standing on a stranger’s front lawn, when he realized he was still holding the guitar.
He sat down on the curb.
**
Charles’ phone rang.
Fin[ite]
Notes: There's a least one more story in this wee series, possibly two. Unfortunately, I think tomorrow's story (if I make it that far) is about Bruce and the girls, or the O.Z. might assert itself. I do, however, intend to give Oz warm fuzzies before I call this done. Cross your fingers with me!
Notes2: I watched fight vids on youtube to try and make this work. Even with that, it...isn't what I'd envision for a fight that's so unequal. Maybe I'll rewrite it before I post it on tth et al.