Something Effulgent
by Invisible Sun
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em...well, except for Elijah, Lizzy,
Kitty, and Molly and any others I created. Joss owns the rest.
Keywords: S/B, angst
Spoilers: Up through 'Wrecked' A lot of 'Fool for Love' is
used.
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Summary: Spike is haunted by memories of his past life when an
old familiar face pays him a visit.
Prologue:
It was nighttime in London. A dark and stormy night. A man,
who, judging from his attire, was an upperclassman, watched
the raindrops pitter-patter against the window. He was a
young man in his late twenties to early thirties. He bore a
well-manicured mustache that gave him a certain air of distinction.
His name was Elijah Crawford.
He turned away from the window to return to his anxious pacing.
The room he was in was beautifully decorated with several pieces
of antique furniture. Elijah was in the parlor room of his
grandiose home. He stopped in front of the fireplace. Bending
down, he revived the dying flame. Couldn't let it die. After
all, it was the only light in the room. He studied the flames
as they danced across the burning log. They seemed to be almost
alive. He could almost write a poem about it. Se was a writer
after all. Well, it was a hobby. His day job was spent in
Parliament, which he was a member. He was very successful at his
job. Well respected.
Elijah was startled by a woman's scream. Kitty. His poor Kitty.
She was in intense pain. And Elijah had to refrain himself from
running into their bedroom and attempt to soothe away her pain.
But he knew there was nothing he could do. She was in the middle
of childbirth. An extremely painful experience. He was more
terrified that she would have complications. Perhaps even die.
He was afraid for his wife. His dear Kitty.
He resumed his pacing, trying to drown out her pained screams and
moans. He hated hearing his Kitty in so much pain. but he knew
it had to be if she was going to bring their child into the world.
He wiped his clammy palms on his trousers. He mentally cheered
Kitty on. He knew in his heart that she was strong enough to see
this to the end.
Kitty's moans and cries soon ceased. Elijah stopped pacing. He
watched the door with amplified interest. Any minute, his housemaid,
Molly, should pop in and tell him the news.
As the seconds turned to minutes, he grew increasingly concerned.
What could be taking so long? He fell onto one of the sofas and
kept his eyes glued to the door as a million thoughts ran through
his head, none good. Did something happen to Kitty or the baby?
Did she or the baby...die?
His mind didn't have the opportunity to explore that horrible thought
as the door to the room finally opened. Elijah got to his feet. A
short, stout, middle-aged woman came prancing in, a smile on her round
chubby face.
"Congratulations, Mr. Crawford. You have a healthy baby boy," she
said, excited.
A huge smile grew on his face. He was a father. To a little boy.
And, judging from Molly's expression, Kitty was just fine. Things
couldn't be better.
"Can I see him?" he asked.
Molly nodded, "Of course, Mr. Crawford. Come on."
Elijah followed her into the bedroom. There, lying on the huge bed,
was Kitty. She looked exhausted and yet, Elijah swore she never
looked more beautiful. In her arms was a bundle of blankets. And
in those blankets, his son. He slowly approached the pair.
"Want to hold your son?" Kitty asked in a tired voice.
Elijah nodded and she handed the baby to her husband. Elijah handled
the baby with such care, as if his son was made out of fine glass.
He peered down and the face of his son and smiled.
On the dark stormy night of August 20, 1854, William Wesley Crawford
was born.
End Prologue
by Invisible Sun
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em...well, except for Elijah, Lizzy,
Kitty, and Molly and any others I created. Joss owns the rest.
Keywords: S/B, angst
Spoilers: Up through 'Wrecked' A lot of 'Fool for Love' is
used.
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Summary: Spike is haunted by memories of his past life when an
old familiar face pays him a visit.
Prologue:
It was nighttime in London. A dark and stormy night. A man,
who, judging from his attire, was an upperclassman, watched
the raindrops pitter-patter against the window. He was a
young man in his late twenties to early thirties. He bore a
well-manicured mustache that gave him a certain air of distinction.
His name was Elijah Crawford.
He turned away from the window to return to his anxious pacing.
The room he was in was beautifully decorated with several pieces
of antique furniture. Elijah was in the parlor room of his
grandiose home. He stopped in front of the fireplace. Bending
down, he revived the dying flame. Couldn't let it die. After
all, it was the only light in the room. He studied the flames
as they danced across the burning log. They seemed to be almost
alive. He could almost write a poem about it. Se was a writer
after all. Well, it was a hobby. His day job was spent in
Parliament, which he was a member. He was very successful at his
job. Well respected.
Elijah was startled by a woman's scream. Kitty. His poor Kitty.
She was in intense pain. And Elijah had to refrain himself from
running into their bedroom and attempt to soothe away her pain.
But he knew there was nothing he could do. She was in the middle
of childbirth. An extremely painful experience. He was more
terrified that she would have complications. Perhaps even die.
He was afraid for his wife. His dear Kitty.
He resumed his pacing, trying to drown out her pained screams and
moans. He hated hearing his Kitty in so much pain. but he knew
it had to be if she was going to bring their child into the world.
He wiped his clammy palms on his trousers. He mentally cheered
Kitty on. He knew in his heart that she was strong enough to see
this to the end.
Kitty's moans and cries soon ceased. Elijah stopped pacing. He
watched the door with amplified interest. Any minute, his housemaid,
Molly, should pop in and tell him the news.
As the seconds turned to minutes, he grew increasingly concerned.
What could be taking so long? He fell onto one of the sofas and
kept his eyes glued to the door as a million thoughts ran through
his head, none good. Did something happen to Kitty or the baby?
Did she or the baby...die?
His mind didn't have the opportunity to explore that horrible thought
as the door to the room finally opened. Elijah got to his feet. A
short, stout, middle-aged woman came prancing in, a smile on her round
chubby face.
"Congratulations, Mr. Crawford. You have a healthy baby boy," she
said, excited.
A huge smile grew on his face. He was a father. To a little boy.
And, judging from Molly's expression, Kitty was just fine. Things
couldn't be better.
"Can I see him?" he asked.
Molly nodded, "Of course, Mr. Crawford. Come on."
Elijah followed her into the bedroom. There, lying on the huge bed,
was Kitty. She looked exhausted and yet, Elijah swore she never
looked more beautiful. In her arms was a bundle of blankets. And
in those blankets, his son. He slowly approached the pair.
"Want to hold your son?" Kitty asked in a tired voice.
Elijah nodded and she handed the baby to her husband. Elijah handled
the baby with such care, as if his son was made out of fine glass.
He peered down and the face of his son and smiled.
On the dark stormy night of August 20, 1854, William Wesley Crawford
was born.
End Prologue