Destiny Lost
Title: In the Space of a Journey
Series: Destiny Lost, part 3
Authors: Sonya and Erin
E-mail: sonyajeb@swbell.net OR carynsilver@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: B/X, O/S, AU, action adventure, romance
Disclaimer: We do not own Buffy or any of the original characters or ideas from the show. They all belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc. All we own is our own creative genius (unless that's too strong a word :) and any characters we make up.
Distribution: Regulars... SURE!!! Newbies... ask and you shall receive!
Feedback: Love it, want it, need it! (But no flames please.)
Spoilers: none
Author's Note: Well, here we go with part three! Please tell us what you think!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Prologue
The plane landed with a gentle bump and began to taxi toward the hanger. Doyle stared out his window at the grey, foggy, England air and wondered again why he was here. Of course, he knew the reason why he'd come -- another vision of doom from the Powers that Be -- but what he really wanted to know was why it was he that had been called. After all, of all those in the vision, he'd only recognized one person.
When the plane stopped and the fasten seatbelt light went off, he reached up into the overhead compartment for his carry on, shrugged into his black leather jacket and hurried off of the plane.
"I can no' believe I'm here again," he grumbled to himself as he walked up the jetway. "I hate England! Despite me personal issues with the blokes that persecuted the Irish, the stinkin' smog makes yer boogers black and the freakin' cold bites through all me jackets..."
"Allen! Hey, Allen Francis!"
Doyle heard the call as soon as he stepped into the busy airport. He scanned the waiting crowd and saw his old friend almost immediately. He changed course, and walked over to the waving man.
"Hey," Doyle said, returning his friend's firm handshake, "but it's just Doyle now, OK?"
"All right," the guy agreed. They began walking toward baggage claim, and Doyle took his first look at Aidan O'Shea in over ten years. They'd grown up together in Ireland, but had then taken different paths. Doyle had gone to the United States to find his fortune which, at the time, he'd thought lay in the arms of a beautiful exchange student named Harriet. Meanwhile, Aidan had gone to England for education and a guaranteed job from a distant relative on his father's side. Over the years, Aidan seemed to have grown taller. Now Doyle came up only to about his shoulder. They both had black-Irish looks -- coal black hair, pale complexions and brilliant blue eyes -- but Aidan carried himself differently now. And he was wearing tweed.
"So, how have you been, Doyle?" Aidan asked, trying out the unfamiliar name.
Doyle looked up at Aidan suspiciously. "I figured it out! What's wrong wi' ye, Aidan? Yer talking like a bleedin' Englishman, and ye lost yer glasses somewhere, too."
Aidan laughed. "Ten years in England taught me how to refine my accent," he admitted, "but the contacts are a recent development. I thought they would lend an air of distinguishedness."
Doyle shot Aidan a look. "I don' know if I can get used ta yer new speech, Aidan. It's so odd."
"I can still talk like I use ta," Aidan replied in the accent of his homeland. "But I don' think it fittin' fer a Watcher." He slipped back into his more refined English accent. "That Irish accent is too crude for my present position on the Watcher's Council."
Doyle's smile faded away and his lips thinned into a tight line. He wondered what had happened to his old friend to change him so drastically. Back in the old days, Aidan would have balked at treating his heritage with such disrespect. But Doyle didn't comment on it, deciding to let the matter go. "So, where am I stayin' while I'm here, Aidan? Are there any good inns about these parts?"
Aidan grinned, slinging an arm around Doyle's shoulders. "You're not staying in a hotel, my friend. I won't allow it. You're going to stay in the guest room in my flat." When Doyle seemed about to protest, he added, "I insist."
After a second, Doyle gave in with a good natured laugh. "All right, but I don' know how long I'm stayin'."
They paused by the baggage carousel, waiting for Doyle's other bag.
"You didn't say much when you called me yesterday," Aidan said as they both peered into the maw of the baggage mechanism. "Why is it exactly that you left your beloved United States to come here?"
Doyle rolled his eyes at his friend. "Now, don' get started on me home, Aidan. Ye know I won' have none o' that. But I came because I had another vision."
Though they hadn't physically seen each other in over a decade, the two men had exchanged correspondence and a few phone calls (though the last actual call had been several years ago). Aidan knew of Doyle's demon heritage and the onset of the other man's painful, doom-predicting visions.
"The vision directed you here?" Aidan asked.
Doyle nodded, reaching down to get his suitcase as it rolled by on the moving track. "Ye were in it, Aidan. Ye were in it. Along with a bunch o' people -- mostly young 'uns -- that I don' know. Where else was I ta come? An' it's not like there's much holdin' me back there nowadays."
Aidan clapped Doyle's shoulder in sympathy as they started walking toward the exit. "I'm sorry about you and Harry."
"Yeah, me, too," Doyle replied, "but there ain' nothin' fer me ta do about it now." He sighed, and then consciously tried to lighten the mood. "So, where are ye takin' me fer dinner, eh? I'm starvin'! Airline food is vile."
With a hearty laugh that reminded Doyle of the old version of his friend, Aidan guided him out of the airport and into a waiting cab. "I know just the place. It has lamb stew and white pudding sausage just like we used to have at home."
As Aidan gave directions to the cabby, Doyle sat back with a sigh. He might not know for sure what he was doing here, but at least he would have good food and good comradeship while he waited to find out.
Title: In the Space of a Journey
Series: Destiny Lost, part 3
Authors: Sonya and Erin
E-mail: sonyajeb@swbell.net OR carynsilver@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: B/X, O/S, AU, action adventure, romance
Disclaimer: We do not own Buffy or any of the original characters or ideas from the show. They all belong to Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc. All we own is our own creative genius (unless that's too strong a word :) and any characters we make up.
Distribution: Regulars... SURE!!! Newbies... ask and you shall receive!
Feedback: Love it, want it, need it! (But no flames please.)
Spoilers: none
Author's Note: Well, here we go with part three! Please tell us what you think!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Prologue
The plane landed with a gentle bump and began to taxi toward the hanger. Doyle stared out his window at the grey, foggy, England air and wondered again why he was here. Of course, he knew the reason why he'd come -- another vision of doom from the Powers that Be -- but what he really wanted to know was why it was he that had been called. After all, of all those in the vision, he'd only recognized one person.
When the plane stopped and the fasten seatbelt light went off, he reached up into the overhead compartment for his carry on, shrugged into his black leather jacket and hurried off of the plane.
"I can no' believe I'm here again," he grumbled to himself as he walked up the jetway. "I hate England! Despite me personal issues with the blokes that persecuted the Irish, the stinkin' smog makes yer boogers black and the freakin' cold bites through all me jackets..."
"Allen! Hey, Allen Francis!"
Doyle heard the call as soon as he stepped into the busy airport. He scanned the waiting crowd and saw his old friend almost immediately. He changed course, and walked over to the waving man.
"Hey," Doyle said, returning his friend's firm handshake, "but it's just Doyle now, OK?"
"All right," the guy agreed. They began walking toward baggage claim, and Doyle took his first look at Aidan O'Shea in over ten years. They'd grown up together in Ireland, but had then taken different paths. Doyle had gone to the United States to find his fortune which, at the time, he'd thought lay in the arms of a beautiful exchange student named Harriet. Meanwhile, Aidan had gone to England for education and a guaranteed job from a distant relative on his father's side. Over the years, Aidan seemed to have grown taller. Now Doyle came up only to about his shoulder. They both had black-Irish looks -- coal black hair, pale complexions and brilliant blue eyes -- but Aidan carried himself differently now. And he was wearing tweed.
"So, how have you been, Doyle?" Aidan asked, trying out the unfamiliar name.
Doyle looked up at Aidan suspiciously. "I figured it out! What's wrong wi' ye, Aidan? Yer talking like a bleedin' Englishman, and ye lost yer glasses somewhere, too."
Aidan laughed. "Ten years in England taught me how to refine my accent," he admitted, "but the contacts are a recent development. I thought they would lend an air of distinguishedness."
Doyle shot Aidan a look. "I don' know if I can get used ta yer new speech, Aidan. It's so odd."
"I can still talk like I use ta," Aidan replied in the accent of his homeland. "But I don' think it fittin' fer a Watcher." He slipped back into his more refined English accent. "That Irish accent is too crude for my present position on the Watcher's Council."
Doyle's smile faded away and his lips thinned into a tight line. He wondered what had happened to his old friend to change him so drastically. Back in the old days, Aidan would have balked at treating his heritage with such disrespect. But Doyle didn't comment on it, deciding to let the matter go. "So, where am I stayin' while I'm here, Aidan? Are there any good inns about these parts?"
Aidan grinned, slinging an arm around Doyle's shoulders. "You're not staying in a hotel, my friend. I won't allow it. You're going to stay in the guest room in my flat." When Doyle seemed about to protest, he added, "I insist."
After a second, Doyle gave in with a good natured laugh. "All right, but I don' know how long I'm stayin'."
They paused by the baggage carousel, waiting for Doyle's other bag.
"You didn't say much when you called me yesterday," Aidan said as they both peered into the maw of the baggage mechanism. "Why is it exactly that you left your beloved United States to come here?"
Doyle rolled his eyes at his friend. "Now, don' get started on me home, Aidan. Ye know I won' have none o' that. But I came because I had another vision."
Though they hadn't physically seen each other in over a decade, the two men had exchanged correspondence and a few phone calls (though the last actual call had been several years ago). Aidan knew of Doyle's demon heritage and the onset of the other man's painful, doom-predicting visions.
"The vision directed you here?" Aidan asked.
Doyle nodded, reaching down to get his suitcase as it rolled by on the moving track. "Ye were in it, Aidan. Ye were in it. Along with a bunch o' people -- mostly young 'uns -- that I don' know. Where else was I ta come? An' it's not like there's much holdin' me back there nowadays."
Aidan clapped Doyle's shoulder in sympathy as they started walking toward the exit. "I'm sorry about you and Harry."
"Yeah, me, too," Doyle replied, "but there ain' nothin' fer me ta do about it now." He sighed, and then consciously tried to lighten the mood. "So, where are ye takin' me fer dinner, eh? I'm starvin'! Airline food is vile."
With a hearty laugh that reminded Doyle of the old version of his friend, Aidan guided him out of the airport and into a waiting cab. "I know just the place. It has lamb stew and white pudding sausage just like we used to have at home."
As Aidan gave directions to the cabby, Doyle sat back with a sigh. He might not know for sure what he was doing here, but at least he would have good food and good comradeship while he waited to find out.