Body All Angel: The Series characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Kuzui Enterprises and some other people I'm probably forgetting. In other words, they don't belong to me I just set them loos from their cages to play every now and then.

Lyric from "Spanish Doll" by Poe from Haunted LP.

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Crush Back

"You sounded Scottish there for a moment."

"I am originally -- Scottish that is -- didn't ya know?"

"So what brought you to Ireland?" Angel wanted to know, genuinely curious.

"Moy mother," she answered a twinkle in her eye. "We had some family land up in the Highlands. When the Brits came ta seize it some of the cousins weren't sa friendly about it. They nigh got us chased out of Scotland."

"Doesn't explain why you came to Ireland. Why didn't you go to the Continent or the States?"

She looked at him incredulously. "With these looks? Ya must be out of yer mind, Uncle Angel. The Scots were as pursued as the Irish were about to be. Anyway Mum loved Ireland. She'd been there once with my Da and decided on the spot if she ever had to be someplace else it'd be Eire.

"I hated it."

Angel looked at her over his glass of blood surprised. "Didn't seem that way to me."

She shrugged. "I was only a child then. Scotland was my only home and Ireland was... different. They talked funny. If I was fae touched then I didn't know it. I remember meetin' ya though. No, I remember meetin' yer Mum, and there ye are runnin' wild from the byre in the back into the kitchen, feckless as ever you would be.

"I thought ye were grand fun," she said with a smile. "Tres cool as they say it today. Do ye remember that, Angel, ya dragged me up out of my seat and pulled me into the stable. Yer Da had just gotten ye a new pony and ye were anxious to show 'im off, even to an unknown lass like me. 'An ya mus'n't call me simply "Liam,"' ya said, 'me bein' older'n ya an' all. Ya must find somethin' more adult soundin.' Mother never did understand why I called ya Mister one day, Lord -- or Laird as I said it then -- the next and Sir the next."

Remembering he said, "Until she made you settle on Uncle. It was cute -- then."

"And it's apt now. Ya know, I always loved ya Angel, else I wouldna taken ya in all those times. I would have abandoned ye like I probably shoulda when ya became a demon then taunted ya when ye were less than a man."

"But you didn't."

"I didn't. Yer my Uncle. My only. My favorite. Besides by that time it was obvious I wasn't normal. Mum was dead, I was beatin' up boys twice my size and ye were a drunken lay-about who could hardly remember I existed let alone my name. Why'd ya come to me then after ye'd been changed?" Absently she tucked a stray red curl behind her ear.

Angel stared into his cup thoughtfully for a moment knowing the answer but not quite willing to share. "I was there to kill you but you knew what I was. You knew why I was there and it didn't phase you at all. If I remember right," and it was already making the corners of his lips tilt up, "you said, 'Pull up a chair and I'll see if I can get ye a pint of somethin' a wee bit more red than usual.'"

"I nigh slit my wrist for ya."

"Yes, but that was after you said, 'I'll invite ya in, but if ya even try fer me throat ye'll find I'm nae sa easy ta kill as yer family. Ye'll find I'm nae sa weak as I look and ye'll find I make a better ally than a meal.'"

"Did I?"

"Aye, that ye did, lass," he answered her with a terrible brogue.

She laughed at him. "Yer horribly out of practice, Old Man."

"None of that explains your magik however."

"What, yer terrible accent? No, it wouldn't, would it?"

Angel made a face that, to a passersby, would indeed interpret as one from a uncle to his niece. "You know what I mean. How did you become stronger than everyone else, where did you learn magik," he said in the old way.

"Would ya believe my mum taught me? Taught me to fight and some of the arts at least.

"Ya know, Uncle Angel, I really am a mystery to most everyone, includin' meself. The magik I had to learn but was not a straightforward sort of thing. I learned it by bits and pieces over the years when it came near enough to touch me otherwise I made do without. I mean, duh, what was the point otherwise? The strength though . . ." she paused thinking and remember. "Near as I figure it must have come from Mum. She was a strange sort fer that time, ya know. She lived on her own with her daughter -- Da died when I was a wee thing -- doing whatever it was she did. Fer years I assumed she merely lived off her share of the family holdin', but then it was seized by the English . . ." she let the sentence trail off and Angel understood. "But fightin' she knew aplenty an' how to drink and shoot an arrow and a musket and anything she might need to run her land.

"She made me love Eire, ya know. I remember I woke up an' she was gone. I didna want her ta be dead but I knew it was comin' an' I knew there was na comin' back fer her. I remember, I remember pullin' up the coverlet an' climbin' next to her, wantin' the moment ta last ferever but it couldna. I remember when I woke up again, went to the door needin' some air. Lookin' out across the hills -- you remember our house was nigh outside the village up on a hill -- an' her love fore Ireland filled me as if it'd been my own from the beginnin'. All I knew that was pure and clear she left . . .," she shook her head. "There was nothin' left inside me but that. Nothin' in here," she placed her splayed fingers over her stomach. Across the table onto Angel's chest, "In here. Ya know what I'm sayin', don'tcha?

"Angel, don't let it take ya fifteen years to get over the Slayer's death. Yer knowin' as well as I that she loved ya desperately, an' ye felt the same. She wouldn't want half yer existence to be buryin' the hurt ya feel over her death ev'ry time it rears its painful head. I'd hold ya in my arms and let ya cry it out, if it'd help. 'Course that wouldn't be copasetic at all would it?"

Angel smiled wryly, painfully. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Nay, it wouldna, would it? And what about you, Uncle, how do ya explain your magic?"

She had this way about her that reminded him of Buffy. Or maybe it had been the other way around and that was one of the reasons he loved her: she was ever a reminder of his life and the niece that never was. "I don't have any."

She looked at him incredulously. "Ya mean ta tell me that fer nigh on three hundred years ye've had those caveman eye brows and still managed to seduce most of the known world and half of the unknown one without magic. It's truly a strange dimension I've landed in." Angel rolled his eyes. She laughed. "Speakin' of dimensions --"

"That's gross. Take your hair out of your mouth. Are you sure you're not as young as you appear?"

Shooting him visual daggers she complied and went on, "-- how was Pylea? Are ye and Fred goin' back fer yer honeymoon? Rumor round the demon grapevine is it's human friendly now. Did ya have somethin' ta do with that, though it's pretty obvious ya did."

"It's not going to happen."

"Hmm, I understand. Fred probably would agree too: Pylea's got too many bad memor--"

"Little Girl," he growled warningly.

"What? I am invited to the wedding, aren't I? Someone's gotta sit on yer side of the church fer family. Oh, you probably don't want to have it in a church either, do ya? It's so much easier bein' whatever I am. How do you cope with all the limitations, Old Man?"

"Little Girl . . .!"

Fin