A/N: Yes, if you read my other attempt, this is a new version of the story
I was *trying* to tell. So completely ignore my previous attempt, as I will
hopefully be able to write this one the way the story was meant to be.
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I had them to command as my own, they all belong to Joss & Co. with the exception of Liz, Michael, Kyle, Adam, and Diana.
Rating: PG-13...basically, if you can watch the show, you can read this.
Spoilers: Eh, I'm trying on incorporating Season 7 events up to Selfless, so we'll see just how many plot holes I can come up with.
Feedback: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YES! One of the reasons I'm redoing this is because of the lack of feedback in my last attempt. Although I do beg of you, please be gentle in your witty criticisms...I am fragile and bruise easily. :( ....hermit that I am.
Pairings: A/X, S/?, W/T (yes, Tara will return...bwahahahahaha)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Screw it" she muttered, yanking the headset off. She sat at her studio, head in her hands. Usually, she was much more focused; she could turn out a song in a half hour, music and lyrics completed without any hesitation.
She turned off the equipment and stood, walking towards the large picture window that faced the city of L.A. It was raining, making the pane's view distorted. She tried to envision what life had been like before she had found out about her own hidden past, before her friends had ceased to be her friends. Before her husband and her child had died. Her hand brushed against a photograph of herself and Michael, right after their wedding, sending involuntary shudders down her spine. She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself.
Screams. She could still hear them; were they Michaels? Or were they her own? They seemed to twist together, forming one long grating tornado of shrill sound. He had died protecting her; she knew now that had been his job, more than anything else. All of theirs; Kyle, Adam, and Michael. But Michael had loved her; had married her, had promised to be there forever.
And yet here she was, alone, save for the rain, despite the chaos of the city below her.
She gave a frustrated sigh, running her hands through her blonde hair; not her natural color, but one that suited her all the same. She seldom feared anything; when you grew up in a place where demons and monsters were not fairytales, but real, you learned to forget about fear. Fear was what made people end up dead. She knew enough of those monsters, the ones that looked like those of the books she had read in her father's library when she should have been reading children's stories. She knew about the monsters of the city, too; the ones of drink, and drugs, and guns. The ones who killed, who raped, who robbed, and who did it all while pretending to be a member of the race of man. She grew up around them, too. But she had promised herself not to be afraid.
This time, however, she was afraid; afraid of a man she hadn't seen in years, who had never called, never wrote, and yet had to be told something she would give anything never to mention. Kyle and Adam had protested; he wasn't her father, she owed him nothing. And on some level, they were right. He wasn't her biological father; her parents had both been killed by a demon in London when she was three; but he had taken her in, first under Council orders, and then because he said he loved her, like one of his own. She knew how hard he had to fight to keep her; the Council thought she was dangerous, that she had been affected by the demon in some way; they'd tested her for weeks. Even now, she wouldn't enter a hospital.
And yet how easily he had given up that fight when she was twelve; when she had crept out in the middle of the night with her three best friends to leave for the States, unaware of their true motives. He was on his way there anyway; to California, to become the guide to the new Slayer; he wouldn't admit it, but they both knew she wasn't going to be permitted to leave with him. She would be forced to stay behind, in the care of the Council, until she found a way to escape them. So she had left. She had tried to stay in touch; sending him news clippings of their latest conquest in the music world, but she never received an answer.
So she had gone to visit him, four years ago, to Sunnydale. His Slayer was something else; so were her friends. She still kept in touch with Dawn and Cordelia, who had since moved to L.A. herself. But her meeting with her father resulted in a loud, three hour long screaming match; Liz couldn't even remember half of what had been said. And she had left, again, in the middle of the night, a mirror image of the events that had gone on three years before.
But now she knew that no matter what, she would have to give him the information that had just been revealed to her.
Because sooner or later they would find out; and then, they would come and destroy her.
She looked at her watch, noting that she had been working for hours. She then checked a small dial underneath her watch, which blinked out the time ":11".
"Damn it", she swore to herself. Turning away from the window, she made her way back to her desk and picked up a few various files. Then, sitting down slowly, she manuevered her wheelchair and wheeled herself outside, hitting the lights as she left.
Back in the studio, a small light blinked on the corner of the desk. It shone brightly, its colors changing, until it was as brilliant as the sun, its hue a dark red. Then it disappeared, an echo of laughter in the air.
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I had them to command as my own, they all belong to Joss & Co. with the exception of Liz, Michael, Kyle, Adam, and Diana.
Rating: PG-13...basically, if you can watch the show, you can read this.
Spoilers: Eh, I'm trying on incorporating Season 7 events up to Selfless, so we'll see just how many plot holes I can come up with.
Feedback: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, YES! One of the reasons I'm redoing this is because of the lack of feedback in my last attempt. Although I do beg of you, please be gentle in your witty criticisms...I am fragile and bruise easily. :( ....hermit that I am.
Pairings: A/X, S/?, W/T (yes, Tara will return...bwahahahahaha)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"Screw it" she muttered, yanking the headset off. She sat at her studio, head in her hands. Usually, she was much more focused; she could turn out a song in a half hour, music and lyrics completed without any hesitation.
She turned off the equipment and stood, walking towards the large picture window that faced the city of L.A. It was raining, making the pane's view distorted. She tried to envision what life had been like before she had found out about her own hidden past, before her friends had ceased to be her friends. Before her husband and her child had died. Her hand brushed against a photograph of herself and Michael, right after their wedding, sending involuntary shudders down her spine. She closed her eyes and tried to steady herself.
Screams. She could still hear them; were they Michaels? Or were they her own? They seemed to twist together, forming one long grating tornado of shrill sound. He had died protecting her; she knew now that had been his job, more than anything else. All of theirs; Kyle, Adam, and Michael. But Michael had loved her; had married her, had promised to be there forever.
And yet here she was, alone, save for the rain, despite the chaos of the city below her.
She gave a frustrated sigh, running her hands through her blonde hair; not her natural color, but one that suited her all the same. She seldom feared anything; when you grew up in a place where demons and monsters were not fairytales, but real, you learned to forget about fear. Fear was what made people end up dead. She knew enough of those monsters, the ones that looked like those of the books she had read in her father's library when she should have been reading children's stories. She knew about the monsters of the city, too; the ones of drink, and drugs, and guns. The ones who killed, who raped, who robbed, and who did it all while pretending to be a member of the race of man. She grew up around them, too. But she had promised herself not to be afraid.
This time, however, she was afraid; afraid of a man she hadn't seen in years, who had never called, never wrote, and yet had to be told something she would give anything never to mention. Kyle and Adam had protested; he wasn't her father, she owed him nothing. And on some level, they were right. He wasn't her biological father; her parents had both been killed by a demon in London when she was three; but he had taken her in, first under Council orders, and then because he said he loved her, like one of his own. She knew how hard he had to fight to keep her; the Council thought she was dangerous, that she had been affected by the demon in some way; they'd tested her for weeks. Even now, she wouldn't enter a hospital.
And yet how easily he had given up that fight when she was twelve; when she had crept out in the middle of the night with her three best friends to leave for the States, unaware of their true motives. He was on his way there anyway; to California, to become the guide to the new Slayer; he wouldn't admit it, but they both knew she wasn't going to be permitted to leave with him. She would be forced to stay behind, in the care of the Council, until she found a way to escape them. So she had left. She had tried to stay in touch; sending him news clippings of their latest conquest in the music world, but she never received an answer.
So she had gone to visit him, four years ago, to Sunnydale. His Slayer was something else; so were her friends. She still kept in touch with Dawn and Cordelia, who had since moved to L.A. herself. But her meeting with her father resulted in a loud, three hour long screaming match; Liz couldn't even remember half of what had been said. And she had left, again, in the middle of the night, a mirror image of the events that had gone on three years before.
But now she knew that no matter what, she would have to give him the information that had just been revealed to her.
Because sooner or later they would find out; and then, they would come and destroy her.
She looked at her watch, noting that she had been working for hours. She then checked a small dial underneath her watch, which blinked out the time ":11".
"Damn it", she swore to herself. Turning away from the window, she made her way back to her desk and picked up a few various files. Then, sitting down slowly, she manuevered her wheelchair and wheeled herself outside, hitting the lights as she left.
Back in the studio, a small light blinked on the corner of the desk. It shone brightly, its colors changing, until it was as brilliant as the sun, its hue a dark red. Then it disappeared, an echo of laughter in the air.