A/N: Okay, a few words, (oh no) before the actual, definitive story. Numero
uno, thanks, and kudos to Insane1, who allowed me to bounce ideas off her,
at 6.30 in the morning, and read it through. Also to gidgetgirl, who Beta
read this, offered huge hints, and suggestions, and formulated a title. If
you don't understand it, go bug her.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer : I own nothing, except Jane, Starr, Jess, Gabby, Faye and Sullivan. The rest is all the property of Mutant Enemy.
Spoiler: When Cordelia receives a vision of a little girl about to be killed, she and the AI team rescue her. At the same time, a bucket load of trouble in the form of Potentials lands on Wesley. However, they all have no idea what lies ahead..
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Deftly, Angel caught the stake as it span through the air, and backhanded the vampire racing towards him, catching the fanged one off kilter, and neatly stabbing the sharp point through its undead heart. Brushing away the last little flecks of vampire dust, he turned, to see Cordelia straighten, flanked by Wesley, and Connor.
"Nice catch," Cordelia commented, brushing away the ash, and trying not to grimace at the thought of inhaling some dead guy who had no consideration for the invention of the deodorant. If they had to dust, why couldn't there just be a nice, small pop, and a clean little urn appear, instead of them exploding, and trying to suffocate their defeater in a weird turn of revenge? Plus, vamp dust and rain? Uber bad combo. It was hell on her clothes.
"Thanks," Angel replied, with a small smile. Connor turned away, and Wesley coughed. Cordelia shot them a mock-annoyed look.
"There was nothing to comment on!' she responded. Angel shot her a wry grin.
"They're winding you up."
"Who? Us?" Connor asked innocently, with a smirk of his own. Wesley tucked a stake back inside his jacket pocket, and gestured towards the exit.
"Much as I enjoy spending my time in California skulking in dark alley ways, I seem to have an inherited talent from the Watcher line for getting knocked unconscious when caught off guard. I like to limit the amount of time I spend seeking medical attention, seeing as in America, one has to pay for it," he said, his clipped British tone adding to his sarcasm. "And, employees sometimes try to smother one," he added, in an undertone.
"He does have a point, Angel," Cordelia mused, laying a hand on his arm. He broke the glare at Wesley.
"We're heading back in, anyway."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As the door swung open in the lobby, Lorne looked up from his perusal of the latest issue of a show biz magazine, noting how the lilac sequins did, in actual fact, compliment the orange suit he'd had sitting in the closet for a rainy day. He sipped his sea breeze, holding it up to the light, in his left hand.
"Fruitful patrol?" he queried, flicking a page over, with his free right hand.
"Oh yeah," Cordy responded. "The vamps were out in full. Does something do it, like tides, or whatever, Angel? 'Cause the number of our dusty little friends out to play was high," Cordelia mused, hanging a crossbow up in the weapons cupboard. Angel gave a small shrug.
"Just someone making trouble. The usual." Connor dropped onto the couch in the centre of the Hyperion's lobby.
"Does it ever stop?" he muttered. Since the death of the man he'd believed to be his father, he had tried to curb his own instincts towards his parents' kind, but there were times when typical teen depression combined with the ranks of the undead, to pull him into a mood darker than a wet day in Wales. Normally, this was cured with a phone call to Sunnydale, and his girlfriend-possibly, Dawn Summers.
Now, Cordelia glanced over with a practised eye.
"You know they're not going to stop coming, Connor. But we help," she reminded. The seventeen year old folded his arms, still scowling, but his crabby mood seemed to lessen.
Fred stepped out of the inner sanctum of the office, clutching a hot pink post-it note. Angel mentally told himself to burn them. Some things just didn't go with the 50's, maroon and black P.I image he cultivated, and bright pink, sticky pieces of paper were among them.
"We got a case," she told them, frowning slightly, as she reread the details. "It's Mrs Johansson. Those Qweller demons are back again." Wesley and Angel exchanged a look, and picked up axes. As they moved toward the door, Cordelia held up a hand.
"Wait! Vision-y thing," she stated, her eyes going the colour of milk, as she levitated a few feet from the floor. Patiently, the two waited for her. Her face crumpled.
"It's a little girl. Alleyway, one we've seen before. Take the left on Ocean-view, and drop down, past the jewellers. She's there. She's about to get." she grimaced, obviously viewing it. "Eaten."
"Demon?" Wesley fired quickly. She shook her head.
"Nope. Regular vampire. But they're obviously hungry." As she dropped gently to the ground, she shook her head, clearing it of the after effects of the vision.
"What are you going to do?" Connor spoke up. Angel considered.
"Gunn, you, and Connor, and Fred, take the Johansson case. Cordelia, and Wes, you're with me. Lorne-"
The blue suited demon raised his glass again.
"Stay behind and circle the wagons? Sure thing, sugar pie."
Angel swung the axe upward gently, resting the handle on his shoulder.
"Ready?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Tired and cold, she slid down the side of the wall, splaying her legs out in front of her. A trickle of water from the drainpipe above her was dropping down the collar of her tee-shirt, but frankly, like the movie her aunt loved watching on TV, with the people in black and white, she didn't give a damn. She was already wet, as several hours walk in pouring rain will do, and blissfully, once she stopped walking, her legs stopped shaking like they were made from jello or something, and she could sit down.
She let her sneakers rest on the pavement, and stared at them. Red with white laces. Same as the ones she'd worn when Mommy had taken her there. They'd kept on replacing them. The picture of Tinker-bell on her tee shirt was faded, like that blouse of Aunt Es that got put in the wash too many times. She poked Tinker-bell. Her own skin showed through the white, it was an old tee shirt. She couldn't remember going to Disneyworld.
The edge of a fire escape caught her shoulder blade, ripping the cotton of her tee-shirt, and scraping her back. She reached round to feel it, but it was on the difficult part of her shoulder blade, and she gave up, curling up in a ball. Wisps of fair-ish hair escaping from the two plaits either side of her head tickled her nose, as fitfully, she fell into dreamless sleep.
Her shoulders were being shaken, gently at first, and then harder. A snatch of memory brought back a face, her Mommy's face, telling her to wake up.
"Kid? Hey, kid. Wake up!" Roughly, she was brought out of her daze and blinked at the face of a stranger. A woman, long blonde hair, and a thick leather jacket dotted with silver studs, was gripping her shoulders.
"It's alive!" she called over one shoulder, toward her companion. Scared now, the girl tried to push the woman away, but she smiled nastily, and jerked her upward to her face, changing, with elongated teeth, and her forehead thickening.
Terrified, she screamed, struggling, and kicking. "Somebody, help me! Please, anybody!"
This amused the woman, and she laughed, taunting in a rasping voice, "You're just a little street kid, a runaway. Who's going to save you?"
A man's hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her, as the girl dropped with a squeak, crashed into the fire escape once more, and lay still.
"Me," Angel answered, his voice level.
It took only a few moments to dispatch the biker vampire, and her sidekick. Fledglings, both of them, not more than two months old. Hardly the accomplished fighters he'd been expecting.
He whirled around, seeing Cordy crouching over a small body. Wesley hunkered down beside her, putting a hand out. Thin, and white, with dark circles around her closed eyes, the child had light hair. She was clad in a pair of grubby jeans, and a strangely pathetic 'Disneyworld' tee shirt, her arms flung out as if she'd attempted to break her fall. But that was not what made him lick his lips uneasily. A gash across her forehead was bleeding, bright, crimson blood, blending, and diluting by the rain still streaking down.
"She needs a doctor," Wesley said shortly, examining it. Cordelia nodded.
"Why her, though? She's only little, but she's the one in my vision. Why would the PTB send me the picture of a little girl getting fed on? How is that a priority?" she questioned, tucking a piece of damp hair behind the girl's earlobe.
"Maybe the potential she holds is greater than her outward appearance, she's special," Wesley replied quietly. Cordelia turned to Angel, her large hazel eyes lit with confusion, and pain.
"Angel? What do we do?" Cursing his demon's reaction to the blood, Angel fought for coherent speech.
"Take her to the hospital. If she has family, a runaway, they'll know what to do."
"She doesn't look like it," Cordelia said softly, glancing at the girl again. "Who would let someone that young on the streets, at night, alone?" No one answered her question.
Instead, Wesley pulled her gently into his arms, and straightened, carrying the child toward the car.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Jess?" The redhead turned, and looked startled.
"Gabby?"
"What happens...when we get there?" A blonde fringe hung in the younger girl's green eyes, but she had them fixed on Jess.
"I don't know, Gabs. I mean, we didn't exactly get told, did we?" Jess tried to smile, but worry appeared in her own blue eyes. The older girl, woman, rather, Starr, dozing in a corner of the carriage lifted her head, the book on her lap lying open.
"It will be okay," she told them. She rested a hand on top of Gabby's fidgeting fingers, and guiltily, the younger blonde looked up at her.
"Gabby, I promise you, we'll be okay. Remember, we were sent, we didn't ask to come. If there's a problem, I have enough money to get us back," she carried on, mind racing to check if it was true. Comforted, Gabby sat back, twirling a strand of soft hair absently, as she stared out of the window.
"See? Starr's here, anyway," Jess reminded, growing impatient, with a toss of auburn curls. She glanced at the older girl, who was sitting back, and saw Starr bite her lip. Maybe Starr wasn't so confident.
The sound of pencils scratching on paper became audible, due to the silence, and a genuine smile flickered across Starr's face, as she watched Faye busily sketching.
"Faye? What would you do if the world ran out of paper?" she asked, teasingly. Brown eyes met her own steady grey gaze fleetingly, and Faye flicked one of her thick brown braids across her shoulder, and hitched her glasses up her nose with a finger.
"Die," she answered, with a brief, darting grin, before returning to the page. Jess stretched, bored.
"That's stupid, anyway. When's that ever going to help-?" she demanded, her foot catching the bag under the table, as Starr dived towards it, but it was too late.
The innocent looking khaki rucksack spilled its cargo, several stakes skittered across the floor, and the lethal point of a crossbow peered out.
Quickly, Starr scrambled to pick them up, cursing the interested looks of people peering over at them. As she straightened, fastening the bag tightly, three different stares met her own eyes. Faye, her cheeks still tinged with pink looked worried, Gabby was scared, and Jess, though looking perturbed, was still belligerent.
"It's okay Gabby. No one saw," she reassured. Gabby and Faye dropped their eyes, knowing what was coming next.
"Jessamy Kendall!" Starr hissed furiously. Jess met her eyes, but flushed, which only increased her stubbornness.
"Well it is! I didn't mean to tip over the bag. They always said it was stupid, and Faye knows it!" she announced, high and clear, glaring at the brunette, whose cheeks flooded with colour a second time.
"And they were wrong," Starr cut in, her grey eyes hard. "They died, remember? We survived, and Faye can draw all she wants to. We're not like little robots," she said angrily, and then looked at Jess again. The girl looked confused. Sighing, Starr explained.
"Jess, they didn't want Faye to draw because they didn't want her concentration diverted. But it isn't right. She's only 12, and maybe one day, she *won't* be the one. She'll be an ordinary girl, and they'll have destroyed that. She'll have nothing left. What are you going to do when you're too old?" the anger had faded now, and a hint of something deeper was in Starr's tone. Jess stared at her, steadfast.
"But you're too old. You stayed," she protested. Starr ran her fingers through her short black hair, frustrated.
"I was different. I didn't want what happened to me, to us, to happen to you. I stayed to protect you." She sighed again. "It doesn't matter, okay? Be more careful another time, and let Faye draw if she wants to." They settled back, silent once again, but tenser, as the train rattled on.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dr Whitson scanned the clipboard put into his hands by Marybeth, who had been flustered. He looked up, glancing at the couple. A woman, with short dark hair, and big hazel eyes, dressed impeccably, and tall dark and handsome, with his face stony. If he had a dime for every good looking guy who had gay fantasies..He cut that train of thought short. He had a perfectly good boyfriend.
"You would be Jane's parents?" he queried, raising an eyebrow. The woman looked confused. Maybe she was just a friend.?
"Jane?" she repeated. He nodded.
"Yes. On her necklace. Jane Ashborough, 5/7/95. I assumed it was her name, and birth date?" his voice had a questioning tone. Hurriedly, the woman nodded, chocolate brown hair falling over her face.
"Uh, yeah. Jane. 8 years old." She looked up at big, brooding and gorgeous, who gave the slightest nod. Reassured, he went on.
"The cut on Jane's forehead, it's not serious. Head wounds normally bled a great deal, but it didn't require stitches," he continued comfortingly. "She should be fine. We're keeping her in overnight, observation, for a concussion, as she got knocked unconscious, but it's just procedure. I'm sure she'd welcome her parents," he gave them a warm smile.
Cordy looked at Angel again, uncertain. Obviously, the doctor thought they were the little girl's, Jane's, she mentally corrected herself, parents. What were they going to do?
"Thanks," Angel replied. "We'll see her." A smiling blonde woman entered, wearing a bright pink outfit, consisting of a baggy top, and trousers.
"Hi, I'm Marybeth. I'm the nurse on Jefferson ward, where Jane is?" she led them to a brightly painted ward, covered in pictures of dancing animals, and balloons, and then into a quieter, bland room, just off it.
"We put Jane in here, hoping that she'll be able to sleep better. She'll have a headache from that bump on the noggin she got," the nurse explained in a whisper, as they sat down next to the bed. "And that necklace, it really needs seeing to. It's really dangerous for a kid to go around with something that can't be taken off. I'd have the clasp seen to, if I were you." She left, pulling the door to.
Angel and Cordelia exchanged a look.
"I have no idea," she answered. "They said they got her name from her necklace. It's probably still on her."
They bent over the sleeping child. Her hair had been combed out, and lay across her shoulders. Her face had been washed, and she was dressed in a blue hospital issue nightgown. The rising and falling of the white blanket indicated her steady breathing. Gently, Cordy probed in the blankets, exposing the neck. A silver chain hung around it, and holding her breath, Cordelia picked up the small pendant on it.
Pendant, more like dog tags, really. Almost army issue in their austerity, with the name, 'Jane Ashborough' engraved on one side, and '5/7/95' on the other, and underneath that, '2/6/00'. She threaded the chain through her fingers, looking for an available clasp, but there was none. The ends had been welded together, creating a smooth continuation.
Hissing out the breath, she sat back.
"It's like they said," she whispered. "Jane Ashborough. 5th of August, 1995, she's 8 years old. God, who would put that on a kid?"
"It's like we thought. She's different."
The child stirred, tossing the bedclothes. She opened brown eyes, and took in the two people standing at her side.
"Who are you?" she asked. Angel backed off, while Cordy stepped forwards.
"Honey, we found you, in the alley. You remember what happened?" she asked, her tone light. Jane rubbed her eyes.
"The woman, she grabbed me. She wanted to kill me." Cordelia met Angel's eyes.
"Yeah, sweetie. She did. But Angel saved you. We brought you here because you knocked your head. We had to check that you were okay." Cordelia smiled. "Why were you there, Jane?"
Startled at the sound of her name, the girl raised her head.
"How do you know me?" she demanded, her voice rising, sounding panicked.
"Your necklace. Your name, Jane Ashborough? It's on your necklace." Her head dropped back onto the pillow, relaxing slightly.
"Oh. Yeah, that's my name. Jane."
"How old are you, Jane?" Angel questioned, moving forward. She raised her head again.
"I'm 8, I think," she answered. Her voice was quiet, as quiet as Fred's.
"Why were you in the alley, Jane?" Cordelia repeated, reaching out and tucking a tendril of fair hair behind Jane's ear.
"I was walking," the little girl replied. She shifted, clearly uncomfortable.
"Where are your parents, Jane?" Cordy added. Jane met her eyes, steadily.
"My parents are dead. No one's left," she stated, her voice quavering only slightly.
Cordelia swept her into a hug, holding her tight. The soft gold glow began to start, enveloping her, and Jane, but Jane didn't look scared. Curling like an animal towards kindness, she relaxed in the Seer's arms, and the peaceful feeling left her drowsy. Eventually, she fell asleep, as the light faded.
"Angel, what are we going to do? If she hasn't any parents." Cordelia met his eyes.
"We'll take her back to the hotel. It doesn't seem likely that two vampires trying to feed from her is the only reason the Powers would send you a vision. She must still need protecting. And the authorities would only put her into care. She doesn't appear to have family," he answered finally.
"The necklace- it just seems weird that some kid would have that. It looks like what soldiers get in the army, you know, they send them home in a little velvet box when they get killed, or whatever." Angel raised an eyebrow.
"We'll take her back with us."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wesley was pacing in the hallway, his hands shoved in his pockets. He glimpsed the two figures, and moved quickly towards them.
"Angel. What's happening?" he asked. Cordelia glanced at the vampire, clearly expecting him to respond. After a minute, Angel replied,
"We think she's not out of danger yet. A vision isn't normally this easy," he paused, then continued. "Her name is Jane Ashborough. 8 years old. She's an orphan, as far as she tells us. We're bringing her back." A querying look rose on the Englishman's face, but he stayed silent.
"Wesley, go back to the hotel. Get Fred. Get her on a net search, on Jane Ashborough, 1995. Any info on 2000 in connection with her name. Also, have her make up a spare room," Angel instructed. "Cordy and I will stay here. I think we're going to have to fill out a few forms, but I'm going to try to find Doctor Gregerson, the guy we've operated with in the past." He strode off down the brightly lit corridor.
"I'll see you in an hour's time," Wesley said, with a grim smile, as he moved off in the opposite direction.
"Peachy. Guess I find out when they'll release her," Cordelia muttered to herself, walking toward the reception.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Connor swished the sword, blocking and parrying, slicing in elegant cuts, spinning, and twirling in the intricate routine. Gunn brought down a wooden quarterstaff, blocking the next move.
"Hey there, Jackie Chan," he grinned.
"Gunn. You startled me," Connor commented, hanging the sword in it's place, on the wall.
"Yeah? Angel and Cordy will be back soon. They managed to get the doc to give the little girl an early release." Gunn led the way up the stairs.
"How old is she?" Connor asked, stepping into the brighter kitchen.
"Eight years old. Man, that's screwed up. Vampires eating little kids, it's sick," Gunn grimaced.
Fred strolled towards them, her eyes scanning the pages of a huge book.
"It states here, in the 'aspects of the defixio' that the form of a virgin is often palatable to demonic entities, requiring sacrificial duties, or a host for various possessions.' She screwed her nose. "There're illustrations."
"You think this little girl's in trouble 'cuz some big bad wants to feed her to something?" Gunn broke down. Fred nodded. "Oh. Then we've already done that."
"We have?" Connor asked.
"Yeah. Well, I didn't. Wes did. And he has a really nice work ethic when dealing with potential virgin sacrifices, " Gunn grinned. Connor gave an answering smirk.
"Charles?" the black man turned to look at his girlfriend, who had a questioning look in her brown eyes.
"Sorry, Fred," he replied reluctantly.
Connor grinned again, and then dropped onto the couch in the lobby, awaiting Cordy, and Angel.
The door opened, and Angel stepped through. A small girl was standing at Cordelia's side, blinking at the light. She was wearing what appeared to be brand new clothes, a pale blue sweater, with a daisy knitted on the front, a pair of jeans, and sneakers. Her hair, in between blonde, and brown, was tied back.
"Angel, Lorne," Cordelia muttered. Angel glanced at the little girl, who had been silent since she'd woken up.
"Gunn? Can you check Lorne is comfortable?" he called. Gunn caught on, and turned towards the kitchen.
"Everyone, this is Jane," Cordy said brightly, her hand on Jane's shoulder. The girl remained expressionless.
"Hi Jane. I'm Fred," piped up a brown haired, thin woman, who was smiling warmly at her. Jane shrank back, and bumped into the woman who had brought her, Cordelia.
"Jane, this is Wesley. He was there at the hospital," Cordelia told her. A dark haired man, lifted a hand.
"That's Connor," Cordelia pointed, at a man who looked younger than the others. He merely looked back at her, directly.
"And this is Gunn," she finished, as the black man re-entered.
She crouched, till she was level with Jane's own eyes.
"Look, sweetie, we're going to look after you for a bit, if that's okay with you," she said softly, holding Jane's hands. Jane peered back at the group of people in the room. They seemed normal. No monsters, or witches, or anything that she remembered. Normal people.
"It's okay," she replied, her voice no louder than a whisper.
"Great. Now, we have a room for you upstairs, and we have a pair of pyjamas, from the store, remember?" the lady said again. Jane nodded.
"Okay. Well, it's late, and I'm sure you're still sleepy, so let's get you into bed," she said, standing back up again, and taking Jane's hand in her own.
They watched Cordy lead Jane upstairs, without a word.
"What'd you think she's thinking?" Connor asked, no one in particular.
"I don't know. I just know, she hasn't said a word since we picked her up," Angel answered, walking out of the kitchen. "Fred, you checked her out?" The brunette nodded.
"Yeah. It was correct. Jane Ashborough. Born 5/7/95, in California. No information as far as where. Medical records, in New York, show her having shots when she was two, there, and then in Chicago, she had chicken pox, when she was four. No more records, until tonight. No school records, at all. I cross checked. Her parents, Moira Ashborough, and father unknown. Moira Ashborough, died 15/3/96. Guardianship passed to Moira's sister, Esther Ashborough. She died five months ago. No record of Jane. Like I said, it's as if all records of her have been wiped," Fred explained, frowning.
Cordelia walked down the stairs, her hand gliding along the banister.
"Jane's asleep. God, this is so weird. I don't think it's right, you know, that we have her?" she said, wondering.
"There's no record of her being anyone else's," Angel told her. Cordelia looked toward Fred, who blinked.
"Yeah. Her guardian died five months ago, and the last real record of her is when she was 2. "
"So we're the only ones, who could.." Cordelia tailed off. "We've got to keep a hold on her. Make sure she's safe from this big Bad."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: Please review!
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer : I own nothing, except Jane, Starr, Jess, Gabby, Faye and Sullivan. The rest is all the property of Mutant Enemy.
Spoiler: When Cordelia receives a vision of a little girl about to be killed, she and the AI team rescue her. At the same time, a bucket load of trouble in the form of Potentials lands on Wesley. However, they all have no idea what lies ahead..
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Deftly, Angel caught the stake as it span through the air, and backhanded the vampire racing towards him, catching the fanged one off kilter, and neatly stabbing the sharp point through its undead heart. Brushing away the last little flecks of vampire dust, he turned, to see Cordelia straighten, flanked by Wesley, and Connor.
"Nice catch," Cordelia commented, brushing away the ash, and trying not to grimace at the thought of inhaling some dead guy who had no consideration for the invention of the deodorant. If they had to dust, why couldn't there just be a nice, small pop, and a clean little urn appear, instead of them exploding, and trying to suffocate their defeater in a weird turn of revenge? Plus, vamp dust and rain? Uber bad combo. It was hell on her clothes.
"Thanks," Angel replied, with a small smile. Connor turned away, and Wesley coughed. Cordelia shot them a mock-annoyed look.
"There was nothing to comment on!' she responded. Angel shot her a wry grin.
"They're winding you up."
"Who? Us?" Connor asked innocently, with a smirk of his own. Wesley tucked a stake back inside his jacket pocket, and gestured towards the exit.
"Much as I enjoy spending my time in California skulking in dark alley ways, I seem to have an inherited talent from the Watcher line for getting knocked unconscious when caught off guard. I like to limit the amount of time I spend seeking medical attention, seeing as in America, one has to pay for it," he said, his clipped British tone adding to his sarcasm. "And, employees sometimes try to smother one," he added, in an undertone.
"He does have a point, Angel," Cordelia mused, laying a hand on his arm. He broke the glare at Wesley.
"We're heading back in, anyway."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As the door swung open in the lobby, Lorne looked up from his perusal of the latest issue of a show biz magazine, noting how the lilac sequins did, in actual fact, compliment the orange suit he'd had sitting in the closet for a rainy day. He sipped his sea breeze, holding it up to the light, in his left hand.
"Fruitful patrol?" he queried, flicking a page over, with his free right hand.
"Oh yeah," Cordy responded. "The vamps were out in full. Does something do it, like tides, or whatever, Angel? 'Cause the number of our dusty little friends out to play was high," Cordelia mused, hanging a crossbow up in the weapons cupboard. Angel gave a small shrug.
"Just someone making trouble. The usual." Connor dropped onto the couch in the centre of the Hyperion's lobby.
"Does it ever stop?" he muttered. Since the death of the man he'd believed to be his father, he had tried to curb his own instincts towards his parents' kind, but there were times when typical teen depression combined with the ranks of the undead, to pull him into a mood darker than a wet day in Wales. Normally, this was cured with a phone call to Sunnydale, and his girlfriend-possibly, Dawn Summers.
Now, Cordelia glanced over with a practised eye.
"You know they're not going to stop coming, Connor. But we help," she reminded. The seventeen year old folded his arms, still scowling, but his crabby mood seemed to lessen.
Fred stepped out of the inner sanctum of the office, clutching a hot pink post-it note. Angel mentally told himself to burn them. Some things just didn't go with the 50's, maroon and black P.I image he cultivated, and bright pink, sticky pieces of paper were among them.
"We got a case," she told them, frowning slightly, as she reread the details. "It's Mrs Johansson. Those Qweller demons are back again." Wesley and Angel exchanged a look, and picked up axes. As they moved toward the door, Cordelia held up a hand.
"Wait! Vision-y thing," she stated, her eyes going the colour of milk, as she levitated a few feet from the floor. Patiently, the two waited for her. Her face crumpled.
"It's a little girl. Alleyway, one we've seen before. Take the left on Ocean-view, and drop down, past the jewellers. She's there. She's about to get." she grimaced, obviously viewing it. "Eaten."
"Demon?" Wesley fired quickly. She shook her head.
"Nope. Regular vampire. But they're obviously hungry." As she dropped gently to the ground, she shook her head, clearing it of the after effects of the vision.
"What are you going to do?" Connor spoke up. Angel considered.
"Gunn, you, and Connor, and Fred, take the Johansson case. Cordelia, and Wes, you're with me. Lorne-"
The blue suited demon raised his glass again.
"Stay behind and circle the wagons? Sure thing, sugar pie."
Angel swung the axe upward gently, resting the handle on his shoulder.
"Ready?"
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Tired and cold, she slid down the side of the wall, splaying her legs out in front of her. A trickle of water from the drainpipe above her was dropping down the collar of her tee-shirt, but frankly, like the movie her aunt loved watching on TV, with the people in black and white, she didn't give a damn. She was already wet, as several hours walk in pouring rain will do, and blissfully, once she stopped walking, her legs stopped shaking like they were made from jello or something, and she could sit down.
She let her sneakers rest on the pavement, and stared at them. Red with white laces. Same as the ones she'd worn when Mommy had taken her there. They'd kept on replacing them. The picture of Tinker-bell on her tee shirt was faded, like that blouse of Aunt Es that got put in the wash too many times. She poked Tinker-bell. Her own skin showed through the white, it was an old tee shirt. She couldn't remember going to Disneyworld.
The edge of a fire escape caught her shoulder blade, ripping the cotton of her tee-shirt, and scraping her back. She reached round to feel it, but it was on the difficult part of her shoulder blade, and she gave up, curling up in a ball. Wisps of fair-ish hair escaping from the two plaits either side of her head tickled her nose, as fitfully, she fell into dreamless sleep.
Her shoulders were being shaken, gently at first, and then harder. A snatch of memory brought back a face, her Mommy's face, telling her to wake up.
"Kid? Hey, kid. Wake up!" Roughly, she was brought out of her daze and blinked at the face of a stranger. A woman, long blonde hair, and a thick leather jacket dotted with silver studs, was gripping her shoulders.
"It's alive!" she called over one shoulder, toward her companion. Scared now, the girl tried to push the woman away, but she smiled nastily, and jerked her upward to her face, changing, with elongated teeth, and her forehead thickening.
Terrified, she screamed, struggling, and kicking. "Somebody, help me! Please, anybody!"
This amused the woman, and she laughed, taunting in a rasping voice, "You're just a little street kid, a runaway. Who's going to save you?"
A man's hand grabbed her shoulder, spinning her, as the girl dropped with a squeak, crashed into the fire escape once more, and lay still.
"Me," Angel answered, his voice level.
It took only a few moments to dispatch the biker vampire, and her sidekick. Fledglings, both of them, not more than two months old. Hardly the accomplished fighters he'd been expecting.
He whirled around, seeing Cordy crouching over a small body. Wesley hunkered down beside her, putting a hand out. Thin, and white, with dark circles around her closed eyes, the child had light hair. She was clad in a pair of grubby jeans, and a strangely pathetic 'Disneyworld' tee shirt, her arms flung out as if she'd attempted to break her fall. But that was not what made him lick his lips uneasily. A gash across her forehead was bleeding, bright, crimson blood, blending, and diluting by the rain still streaking down.
"She needs a doctor," Wesley said shortly, examining it. Cordelia nodded.
"Why her, though? She's only little, but she's the one in my vision. Why would the PTB send me the picture of a little girl getting fed on? How is that a priority?" she questioned, tucking a piece of damp hair behind the girl's earlobe.
"Maybe the potential she holds is greater than her outward appearance, she's special," Wesley replied quietly. Cordelia turned to Angel, her large hazel eyes lit with confusion, and pain.
"Angel? What do we do?" Cursing his demon's reaction to the blood, Angel fought for coherent speech.
"Take her to the hospital. If she has family, a runaway, they'll know what to do."
"She doesn't look like it," Cordelia said softly, glancing at the girl again. "Who would let someone that young on the streets, at night, alone?" No one answered her question.
Instead, Wesley pulled her gently into his arms, and straightened, carrying the child toward the car.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Jess?" The redhead turned, and looked startled.
"Gabby?"
"What happens...when we get there?" A blonde fringe hung in the younger girl's green eyes, but she had them fixed on Jess.
"I don't know, Gabs. I mean, we didn't exactly get told, did we?" Jess tried to smile, but worry appeared in her own blue eyes. The older girl, woman, rather, Starr, dozing in a corner of the carriage lifted her head, the book on her lap lying open.
"It will be okay," she told them. She rested a hand on top of Gabby's fidgeting fingers, and guiltily, the younger blonde looked up at her.
"Gabby, I promise you, we'll be okay. Remember, we were sent, we didn't ask to come. If there's a problem, I have enough money to get us back," she carried on, mind racing to check if it was true. Comforted, Gabby sat back, twirling a strand of soft hair absently, as she stared out of the window.
"See? Starr's here, anyway," Jess reminded, growing impatient, with a toss of auburn curls. She glanced at the older girl, who was sitting back, and saw Starr bite her lip. Maybe Starr wasn't so confident.
The sound of pencils scratching on paper became audible, due to the silence, and a genuine smile flickered across Starr's face, as she watched Faye busily sketching.
"Faye? What would you do if the world ran out of paper?" she asked, teasingly. Brown eyes met her own steady grey gaze fleetingly, and Faye flicked one of her thick brown braids across her shoulder, and hitched her glasses up her nose with a finger.
"Die," she answered, with a brief, darting grin, before returning to the page. Jess stretched, bored.
"That's stupid, anyway. When's that ever going to help-?" she demanded, her foot catching the bag under the table, as Starr dived towards it, but it was too late.
The innocent looking khaki rucksack spilled its cargo, several stakes skittered across the floor, and the lethal point of a crossbow peered out.
Quickly, Starr scrambled to pick them up, cursing the interested looks of people peering over at them. As she straightened, fastening the bag tightly, three different stares met her own eyes. Faye, her cheeks still tinged with pink looked worried, Gabby was scared, and Jess, though looking perturbed, was still belligerent.
"It's okay Gabby. No one saw," she reassured. Gabby and Faye dropped their eyes, knowing what was coming next.
"Jessamy Kendall!" Starr hissed furiously. Jess met her eyes, but flushed, which only increased her stubbornness.
"Well it is! I didn't mean to tip over the bag. They always said it was stupid, and Faye knows it!" she announced, high and clear, glaring at the brunette, whose cheeks flooded with colour a second time.
"And they were wrong," Starr cut in, her grey eyes hard. "They died, remember? We survived, and Faye can draw all she wants to. We're not like little robots," she said angrily, and then looked at Jess again. The girl looked confused. Sighing, Starr explained.
"Jess, they didn't want Faye to draw because they didn't want her concentration diverted. But it isn't right. She's only 12, and maybe one day, she *won't* be the one. She'll be an ordinary girl, and they'll have destroyed that. She'll have nothing left. What are you going to do when you're too old?" the anger had faded now, and a hint of something deeper was in Starr's tone. Jess stared at her, steadfast.
"But you're too old. You stayed," she protested. Starr ran her fingers through her short black hair, frustrated.
"I was different. I didn't want what happened to me, to us, to happen to you. I stayed to protect you." She sighed again. "It doesn't matter, okay? Be more careful another time, and let Faye draw if she wants to." They settled back, silent once again, but tenser, as the train rattled on.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Dr Whitson scanned the clipboard put into his hands by Marybeth, who had been flustered. He looked up, glancing at the couple. A woman, with short dark hair, and big hazel eyes, dressed impeccably, and tall dark and handsome, with his face stony. If he had a dime for every good looking guy who had gay fantasies..He cut that train of thought short. He had a perfectly good boyfriend.
"You would be Jane's parents?" he queried, raising an eyebrow. The woman looked confused. Maybe she was just a friend.?
"Jane?" she repeated. He nodded.
"Yes. On her necklace. Jane Ashborough, 5/7/95. I assumed it was her name, and birth date?" his voice had a questioning tone. Hurriedly, the woman nodded, chocolate brown hair falling over her face.
"Uh, yeah. Jane. 8 years old." She looked up at big, brooding and gorgeous, who gave the slightest nod. Reassured, he went on.
"The cut on Jane's forehead, it's not serious. Head wounds normally bled a great deal, but it didn't require stitches," he continued comfortingly. "She should be fine. We're keeping her in overnight, observation, for a concussion, as she got knocked unconscious, but it's just procedure. I'm sure she'd welcome her parents," he gave them a warm smile.
Cordy looked at Angel again, uncertain. Obviously, the doctor thought they were the little girl's, Jane's, she mentally corrected herself, parents. What were they going to do?
"Thanks," Angel replied. "We'll see her." A smiling blonde woman entered, wearing a bright pink outfit, consisting of a baggy top, and trousers.
"Hi, I'm Marybeth. I'm the nurse on Jefferson ward, where Jane is?" she led them to a brightly painted ward, covered in pictures of dancing animals, and balloons, and then into a quieter, bland room, just off it.
"We put Jane in here, hoping that she'll be able to sleep better. She'll have a headache from that bump on the noggin she got," the nurse explained in a whisper, as they sat down next to the bed. "And that necklace, it really needs seeing to. It's really dangerous for a kid to go around with something that can't be taken off. I'd have the clasp seen to, if I were you." She left, pulling the door to.
Angel and Cordelia exchanged a look.
"I have no idea," she answered. "They said they got her name from her necklace. It's probably still on her."
They bent over the sleeping child. Her hair had been combed out, and lay across her shoulders. Her face had been washed, and she was dressed in a blue hospital issue nightgown. The rising and falling of the white blanket indicated her steady breathing. Gently, Cordy probed in the blankets, exposing the neck. A silver chain hung around it, and holding her breath, Cordelia picked up the small pendant on it.
Pendant, more like dog tags, really. Almost army issue in their austerity, with the name, 'Jane Ashborough' engraved on one side, and '5/7/95' on the other, and underneath that, '2/6/00'. She threaded the chain through her fingers, looking for an available clasp, but there was none. The ends had been welded together, creating a smooth continuation.
Hissing out the breath, she sat back.
"It's like they said," she whispered. "Jane Ashborough. 5th of August, 1995, she's 8 years old. God, who would put that on a kid?"
"It's like we thought. She's different."
The child stirred, tossing the bedclothes. She opened brown eyes, and took in the two people standing at her side.
"Who are you?" she asked. Angel backed off, while Cordy stepped forwards.
"Honey, we found you, in the alley. You remember what happened?" she asked, her tone light. Jane rubbed her eyes.
"The woman, she grabbed me. She wanted to kill me." Cordelia met Angel's eyes.
"Yeah, sweetie. She did. But Angel saved you. We brought you here because you knocked your head. We had to check that you were okay." Cordelia smiled. "Why were you there, Jane?"
Startled at the sound of her name, the girl raised her head.
"How do you know me?" she demanded, her voice rising, sounding panicked.
"Your necklace. Your name, Jane Ashborough? It's on your necklace." Her head dropped back onto the pillow, relaxing slightly.
"Oh. Yeah, that's my name. Jane."
"How old are you, Jane?" Angel questioned, moving forward. She raised her head again.
"I'm 8, I think," she answered. Her voice was quiet, as quiet as Fred's.
"Why were you in the alley, Jane?" Cordelia repeated, reaching out and tucking a tendril of fair hair behind Jane's ear.
"I was walking," the little girl replied. She shifted, clearly uncomfortable.
"Where are your parents, Jane?" Cordy added. Jane met her eyes, steadily.
"My parents are dead. No one's left," she stated, her voice quavering only slightly.
Cordelia swept her into a hug, holding her tight. The soft gold glow began to start, enveloping her, and Jane, but Jane didn't look scared. Curling like an animal towards kindness, she relaxed in the Seer's arms, and the peaceful feeling left her drowsy. Eventually, she fell asleep, as the light faded.
"Angel, what are we going to do? If she hasn't any parents." Cordelia met his eyes.
"We'll take her back to the hotel. It doesn't seem likely that two vampires trying to feed from her is the only reason the Powers would send you a vision. She must still need protecting. And the authorities would only put her into care. She doesn't appear to have family," he answered finally.
"The necklace- it just seems weird that some kid would have that. It looks like what soldiers get in the army, you know, they send them home in a little velvet box when they get killed, or whatever." Angel raised an eyebrow.
"We'll take her back with us."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wesley was pacing in the hallway, his hands shoved in his pockets. He glimpsed the two figures, and moved quickly towards them.
"Angel. What's happening?" he asked. Cordelia glanced at the vampire, clearly expecting him to respond. After a minute, Angel replied,
"We think she's not out of danger yet. A vision isn't normally this easy," he paused, then continued. "Her name is Jane Ashborough. 8 years old. She's an orphan, as far as she tells us. We're bringing her back." A querying look rose on the Englishman's face, but he stayed silent.
"Wesley, go back to the hotel. Get Fred. Get her on a net search, on Jane Ashborough, 1995. Any info on 2000 in connection with her name. Also, have her make up a spare room," Angel instructed. "Cordy and I will stay here. I think we're going to have to fill out a few forms, but I'm going to try to find Doctor Gregerson, the guy we've operated with in the past." He strode off down the brightly lit corridor.
"I'll see you in an hour's time," Wesley said, with a grim smile, as he moved off in the opposite direction.
"Peachy. Guess I find out when they'll release her," Cordelia muttered to herself, walking toward the reception.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Connor swished the sword, blocking and parrying, slicing in elegant cuts, spinning, and twirling in the intricate routine. Gunn brought down a wooden quarterstaff, blocking the next move.
"Hey there, Jackie Chan," he grinned.
"Gunn. You startled me," Connor commented, hanging the sword in it's place, on the wall.
"Yeah? Angel and Cordy will be back soon. They managed to get the doc to give the little girl an early release." Gunn led the way up the stairs.
"How old is she?" Connor asked, stepping into the brighter kitchen.
"Eight years old. Man, that's screwed up. Vampires eating little kids, it's sick," Gunn grimaced.
Fred strolled towards them, her eyes scanning the pages of a huge book.
"It states here, in the 'aspects of the defixio' that the form of a virgin is often palatable to demonic entities, requiring sacrificial duties, or a host for various possessions.' She screwed her nose. "There're illustrations."
"You think this little girl's in trouble 'cuz some big bad wants to feed her to something?" Gunn broke down. Fred nodded. "Oh. Then we've already done that."
"We have?" Connor asked.
"Yeah. Well, I didn't. Wes did. And he has a really nice work ethic when dealing with potential virgin sacrifices, " Gunn grinned. Connor gave an answering smirk.
"Charles?" the black man turned to look at his girlfriend, who had a questioning look in her brown eyes.
"Sorry, Fred," he replied reluctantly.
Connor grinned again, and then dropped onto the couch in the lobby, awaiting Cordy, and Angel.
The door opened, and Angel stepped through. A small girl was standing at Cordelia's side, blinking at the light. She was wearing what appeared to be brand new clothes, a pale blue sweater, with a daisy knitted on the front, a pair of jeans, and sneakers. Her hair, in between blonde, and brown, was tied back.
"Angel, Lorne," Cordelia muttered. Angel glanced at the little girl, who had been silent since she'd woken up.
"Gunn? Can you check Lorne is comfortable?" he called. Gunn caught on, and turned towards the kitchen.
"Everyone, this is Jane," Cordy said brightly, her hand on Jane's shoulder. The girl remained expressionless.
"Hi Jane. I'm Fred," piped up a brown haired, thin woman, who was smiling warmly at her. Jane shrank back, and bumped into the woman who had brought her, Cordelia.
"Jane, this is Wesley. He was there at the hospital," Cordelia told her. A dark haired man, lifted a hand.
"That's Connor," Cordelia pointed, at a man who looked younger than the others. He merely looked back at her, directly.
"And this is Gunn," she finished, as the black man re-entered.
She crouched, till she was level with Jane's own eyes.
"Look, sweetie, we're going to look after you for a bit, if that's okay with you," she said softly, holding Jane's hands. Jane peered back at the group of people in the room. They seemed normal. No monsters, or witches, or anything that she remembered. Normal people.
"It's okay," she replied, her voice no louder than a whisper.
"Great. Now, we have a room for you upstairs, and we have a pair of pyjamas, from the store, remember?" the lady said again. Jane nodded.
"Okay. Well, it's late, and I'm sure you're still sleepy, so let's get you into bed," she said, standing back up again, and taking Jane's hand in her own.
They watched Cordy lead Jane upstairs, without a word.
"What'd you think she's thinking?" Connor asked, no one in particular.
"I don't know. I just know, she hasn't said a word since we picked her up," Angel answered, walking out of the kitchen. "Fred, you checked her out?" The brunette nodded.
"Yeah. It was correct. Jane Ashborough. Born 5/7/95, in California. No information as far as where. Medical records, in New York, show her having shots when she was two, there, and then in Chicago, she had chicken pox, when she was four. No more records, until tonight. No school records, at all. I cross checked. Her parents, Moira Ashborough, and father unknown. Moira Ashborough, died 15/3/96. Guardianship passed to Moira's sister, Esther Ashborough. She died five months ago. No record of Jane. Like I said, it's as if all records of her have been wiped," Fred explained, frowning.
Cordelia walked down the stairs, her hand gliding along the banister.
"Jane's asleep. God, this is so weird. I don't think it's right, you know, that we have her?" she said, wondering.
"There's no record of her being anyone else's," Angel told her. Cordelia looked toward Fred, who blinked.
"Yeah. Her guardian died five months ago, and the last real record of her is when she was 2. "
"So we're the only ones, who could.." Cordelia tailed off. "We've got to keep a hold on her. Make sure she's safe from this big Bad."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A/N: Please review!