YELLOW BRICK ROAD
By: Lisette (lisette@chaletian.co.uk)
Rating: PG-13 so far - might change later on.
Distribution: Want, take, have. Just e-mail me first.
Summary: Faith is released from prison - but there's a catch.
Feedback: God, please.
Angel, Buffy, the whole lot, belong to JW, Mutant Enemy, and anyone else who officially owns them. I don't. Big surprise.
Okay, a few notes. Firstly, I haven't seen any of season 3 yet, though I know vaguely what happens. So, definitely after "Billy", and Fred and Gunn are getting with the happy, but "WITW" never happened.
Please, please review - I need to know what people think! I have a fragile ego and it needs bolstering! Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed - you have made me a happy person!
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Chapter Twenty-Six - Hush, Little Baby
Gavin Parks was a quiet, methodical man, who believed in dotting the i's and crossing the t's. He lacked the flashy brilliance of Lindsey MacDonald, but he knew how to work the system in his own way. And some people entirely failed to realise that, chief of whom was Lilah Morgan. If he was her bête noir, then she was equally his. He was smart enough to realise that she wanted to keep an eye on Angel's child, and he was determined to make it difficult for her.
Connor was an important child, and there were a lot of people interested in him. A lot of people who would be perfectly happy if the child didn't make his first birthday. And the senior partners would not be happy with their head of special projects if she, say, let the child disappear.
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The Brothers of the Order of Absolom had heard of the birth of the miracle child, but had, as yet, done nothing about it. Their days were filled with important matters, and the child was not high on the list of their priorities. But when they received a message informing them of the child's whereabouts and, moreover, that those whereabouts left him vulnerable to capture, they decided that they may as well do what must be done. As Brother Andrew pointed out, they'd have to do it sooner or later.
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Hush little baby, don't say a word
Cordy's going to buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird don't sing
Cordy's going to buy you a diamond ring
Cordelia sang softly, gazing lovingly at the baby she held in her arms. As the final words petered out, Connor's eyelids fluttered one last time, and he slept. With a faint sigh of relief, Cordelia settled him down gently into the carrycot that was his temporary home. She kissed him on the head, then left the room quietly, making sure to leave the door open.
Downstairs, the rest of the group - well, Fred, Gunn and Lorne, at any rate - were gathered. Gunn had come up with the sterling idea of getting Fred…well, not drunk exactly, but perhaps just the teensiest bit tipsy. Fred sober was an entertaining spectacle, tipsy she was more so, and she was expounding wildly on her theory regarding the exponential growth of the number of biros one lost as the two men looked on indulgently.
"Connor's asleep then," observed Gunn, tearing his gaze from the eccentric young physicist.
"Brilliant deduction, oh wise one," replied Cordelia, who was beginning to get generally fed up by the whole situation. She was practically locked away in Caritas, which was a swell place to be when either depressed and/or looking for information about demon scum, but frankly she just wanted a bath tub, a loofah, and Dennis. "Yep, he's finally dropped off - after about fifty attempts at "Hush little baby". Why can't babies appreciate a wider repertoire? Cause, you know, I'm kinda running out of rhymes."
Gunn was about to offer, "Hush little baby, don't get mad / Gunn is going to get you a Playboy mag", when a faint scuffle from upstairs alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. He raced up the stairs, ignoring the stunned faces of the other three. He burst into Connor's room, Cordelia at his heels, Lorne and Fred moments behind. He was too late. The window was wide open, the chill breeze circulating the room. The only movement was the faint sway of the mobile Lorne had rigged up above the carry cot; the only sound the distant hum of traffic, and their rushed breathing.
Connor was gone.