Disclaimer: No own, no cash, no sue.
Notes: What is there to say after three parts? I didn't have that much for the first. I guess I'll use this opportunity to send billions of good vibes to Andrea, who is quite probably the most kick-ass beta reader in all of Buffydom.
Also, thank you so much everyone who reviewed. I luva you all.
And, once again, I'm giving all A/C fans notice to go to hell, or one of your own people's stories (like there's a difference), cause there's no place for ya here.
Distribution: ASK.
1
2 Inheritance
By Myopic
2.1 Part III: Summer
"So, do you think he's really your uncle?" Dale asked over a huge hot fudge sundae.
"No way," Conner said thoughtfully, picking up a yellow sprinkle and examining it carefully before he popped it into his mouth. "Dad's from Ireland, I can't see his relatives having Cockney accents."
"Maybe he's from your Mom's side," Peter suggested, throwing a spoon into his empty dish. "Where was she from?"
"No clue. But if he was from her family, why wouldn't they have just said so?"
"Then who is he?" Dale asked. They pondered that silently for a moment.
"There was another guy, too. I forgot about him when Spike—that can't be his real name—started talking about blood and everything." Conner bit the tip of his cold spoon.
"He was kinda old," Dale suggested.
"Reminded me of Wesley, a little," Peter added.
"I didn't hear him speak, do you think he was English, too?" Dale wondered.
Conner wasn't listening, though. His dark eyebrows had skidded into a V.
"Maybe he was WESLEY'S uncle!" Peter joked. "That's all you need, Conn, two proper Brits frowning at your slang. 'Wig is NOT a verb.' I don't envy you, man. At least 'Uncle' Spike doesn't seem that particular. Right, Conn? Conner? "
"Why can't he just tell me stuff?" Conner burst out suddenly, pushing his barely, touched sundae away. "I'm not a little kid; I can handle whatever mystical secrets Angel Investigators is brooding over. I bet you anything that Giles guy's some rich lawyer, wanting Dad to tail his over-coiffed wife around Rodeo Drive so he can catch her with her lover.
"He could have said so; I would have left. But noooo. He's gotta be all cryptic PI. Like I don't know that his job's totally mundane. This isn't The Maltese Falcon. Private Detectives are just really underpaid gossip mongers with sucky hours. The name sounds cool, but that's it."
Peter and Dale looked away, embarrassed. They weren't used to Conner expressing his feelings. In all honesty, they didn't know what to say.
"There's no use in arguing anymore, it's not getting us anywhere!" Wesley yelled, finally, pressing the heels of his hands firmly against his throbbing temples.
"You're right, there is no use," Angel agreed "The Council can't Call a dead Slayer. That's all there is to it."
Giles opened his mouth, angrily.
"Don't." Cordelia held up both hands, shooting Angel a Look. She turned to Wesley. "Let's forget the Buffy part of this for a second."
"Buffy, now SSSSHE was a looker." Spike hiccupped, before passing out over his thirteenth cup of tea.
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Why did the Council contact you, Wesley? And why are you in L.A.?"
"They called me because I was Buffy's last official Watcher," Wesley explained. "And I'm in Los Angeles because the Council says that… this is where she is."
Angel closed his eyes.
"What do they expect us to do?" he asked, wearily.
"Find her," Giles replied.
"We're home!" Conner called to an empty lobby, an hour later. He and his friends placed their shopping bags on the counter. A hundred dollars will go a long way if you know where to shop. "Hello?"
A tortured groan rose from the couch.
"Give me Jack any day," Spike grumbled. "Least it numbs yer brain for a while."
"Oh." Conner walked over to the vampire. "Hey, uh, 'Uncle Spike', have you seen my Dad around?"
"That lot." Spike made a face. "Headed off to some joint called the Caritas, said they needed to see bout a 'contact.'" He grunted. "Didn't ask me along, now, did they? Noooo. Cause Spike's a bloody babysitter." He rolled casually onto the floor, out of view, then pulled himself up by the worn red cushion so his eyes just peeked up at them. "So, anyone for Poker, then?"
Dale backed up. "Okaaaay. House to ourselves."
"What?" Conner asked, abstractedly.
Peter looked worriedly at his friend. "I'm sure they'll be home soon, Conn. They probably thought we'd be home later. Maybe the c-note wasn't a mistake. Your Dad probably—"
Conner shook his head, a mischievous glint sparkling in his blue eyes. "I ask again. What did you say, Dale?"
"House to ourselves?" she guessed.
"You see that's what I thought." He turned to face them with an arched eyebrow. "And what do teenagers do when they're left in an awesomely large building without adult supervision?"
"Hey!" Spike protested. "I'm an adult!"
But the trio had already got his measure too well. Dale let out a huge sigh, and Peter looked torn between worry and excitement.
"Do you mean we should…." Peter began. But he stopped when Conner's face fell.
Dale went pink. "We are not doing that again," she interjected.
"Forget it," muttered Conner. "We're back in the land of parental control. Man, this day keeps getting worse and worse."
The front doors opened to reveal the tired members of Angel Investigators, and a slightly sloshed Rupert Giles.
"Hi, guys," Angel greeted, with a weak smile. "What video did you rent?"
Conner shrugged. "Oh. We forgot. We've gotta do our homework, anyway."
"Oh. Alright," Angel agreed, watching the kids grab there bags and leave. "Wait, where's my twenty bucks, then?"
"Twenty?" Dale asked. They sped up.
"Good morning, class," Mr. Miller said cheerily, with a little bounce that made his comb-over wiggle. "I've got a special treat for you all today. Not a pop-quiz on Mitosis." He paused for chuckles, and mistook the groans he got for them. "Although if you're all good little boys and girls I might get to that before Christmas." He winked cheekily. "But seriously, I am so very, very, VERY pleased to tell you that our class will be receiving a new addition in… well, just about any minute!"
Conner dozed off immediately, and Dale busied herself in trying to wake him up before the teacher noticed. Peter was watching them with half an eye, but listening to Miller's speech at the same time. He'd heard about the new girl, and was actually intrigued. Rumor had it that she was really rich and really pretty, the daughter of a senatorial candidate. She could be entertaining, he thought, if not interesting.
"…Principal Deal told me just yesterday that a lovely new sophomore girl has transferred to Hemery, and I said Gosh-Darn-It! If she isn't in my first period Bio class, I just don't know what I'll do! So he said… Oh! Look! There she is now; that must be her, because I know every face in Hemery. Welcome!"
The door opened to reveal the young and handsome principal Deal, who led in the new girl by the arm. The side conversations that had erupted when Miller started talking faded into hushed whispers and Dale accidentally dropped the textbook she had been pretending to beat over Conner's head. It bounced off his forehead, of course, but it did finally wake him up.
"Dammit!" He yelled, jerking his head up and breaking the silence. Everyone turned to look at him. He flushed red and rubbed his head, then shot an apologetic glance to the front of the room, expecting to see his scandalized teacher. But he froze as his gaze met the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen.
Principal Deal cleared his throat.
"Thank you for your attempt at hospitality, Mr. Donovan," he said with the fake cordiality of a school administrator. "You can work on it later, in Detention."
Conner didn't even hear the words. He had suddenly discovered that the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen were located over the most perfect nose in existence.
"I'm very sorry, Miss Billings," the principal continued, placing a friendly hand on the new girl's shoulder. "Class, this is Summer Anne Billings, Hemery High's newest addition. I trust you'll welcome her with warmth…" He turned his eyes on Conner. "And respect."
To Be Continued….
Notes: Hmmmm. Shall I grovel for feedback? TheTendoDojo@aol.com. If you didn't like it, tell me how to make it better. Peace! (
Notes: What is there to say after three parts? I didn't have that much for the first. I guess I'll use this opportunity to send billions of good vibes to Andrea, who is quite probably the most kick-ass beta reader in all of Buffydom.
Also, thank you so much everyone who reviewed. I luva you all.
And, once again, I'm giving all A/C fans notice to go to hell, or one of your own people's stories (like there's a difference), cause there's no place for ya here.
Distribution: ASK.
1
2 Inheritance
By Myopic
2.1 Part III: Summer
"So, do you think he's really your uncle?" Dale asked over a huge hot fudge sundae.
"No way," Conner said thoughtfully, picking up a yellow sprinkle and examining it carefully before he popped it into his mouth. "Dad's from Ireland, I can't see his relatives having Cockney accents."
"Maybe he's from your Mom's side," Peter suggested, throwing a spoon into his empty dish. "Where was she from?"
"No clue. But if he was from her family, why wouldn't they have just said so?"
"Then who is he?" Dale asked. They pondered that silently for a moment.
"There was another guy, too. I forgot about him when Spike—that can't be his real name—started talking about blood and everything." Conner bit the tip of his cold spoon.
"He was kinda old," Dale suggested.
"Reminded me of Wesley, a little," Peter added.
"I didn't hear him speak, do you think he was English, too?" Dale wondered.
Conner wasn't listening, though. His dark eyebrows had skidded into a V.
"Maybe he was WESLEY'S uncle!" Peter joked. "That's all you need, Conn, two proper Brits frowning at your slang. 'Wig is NOT a verb.' I don't envy you, man. At least 'Uncle' Spike doesn't seem that particular. Right, Conn? Conner? "
"Why can't he just tell me stuff?" Conner burst out suddenly, pushing his barely, touched sundae away. "I'm not a little kid; I can handle whatever mystical secrets Angel Investigators is brooding over. I bet you anything that Giles guy's some rich lawyer, wanting Dad to tail his over-coiffed wife around Rodeo Drive so he can catch her with her lover.
"He could have said so; I would have left. But noooo. He's gotta be all cryptic PI. Like I don't know that his job's totally mundane. This isn't The Maltese Falcon. Private Detectives are just really underpaid gossip mongers with sucky hours. The name sounds cool, but that's it."
Peter and Dale looked away, embarrassed. They weren't used to Conner expressing his feelings. In all honesty, they didn't know what to say.
"There's no use in arguing anymore, it's not getting us anywhere!" Wesley yelled, finally, pressing the heels of his hands firmly against his throbbing temples.
"You're right, there is no use," Angel agreed "The Council can't Call a dead Slayer. That's all there is to it."
Giles opened his mouth, angrily.
"Don't." Cordelia held up both hands, shooting Angel a Look. She turned to Wesley. "Let's forget the Buffy part of this for a second."
"Buffy, now SSSSHE was a looker." Spike hiccupped, before passing out over his thirteenth cup of tea.
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Anyway. Why did the Council contact you, Wesley? And why are you in L.A.?"
"They called me because I was Buffy's last official Watcher," Wesley explained. "And I'm in Los Angeles because the Council says that… this is where she is."
Angel closed his eyes.
"What do they expect us to do?" he asked, wearily.
"Find her," Giles replied.
"We're home!" Conner called to an empty lobby, an hour later. He and his friends placed their shopping bags on the counter. A hundred dollars will go a long way if you know where to shop. "Hello?"
A tortured groan rose from the couch.
"Give me Jack any day," Spike grumbled. "Least it numbs yer brain for a while."
"Oh." Conner walked over to the vampire. "Hey, uh, 'Uncle Spike', have you seen my Dad around?"
"That lot." Spike made a face. "Headed off to some joint called the Caritas, said they needed to see bout a 'contact.'" He grunted. "Didn't ask me along, now, did they? Noooo. Cause Spike's a bloody babysitter." He rolled casually onto the floor, out of view, then pulled himself up by the worn red cushion so his eyes just peeked up at them. "So, anyone for Poker, then?"
Dale backed up. "Okaaaay. House to ourselves."
"What?" Conner asked, abstractedly.
Peter looked worriedly at his friend. "I'm sure they'll be home soon, Conn. They probably thought we'd be home later. Maybe the c-note wasn't a mistake. Your Dad probably—"
Conner shook his head, a mischievous glint sparkling in his blue eyes. "I ask again. What did you say, Dale?"
"House to ourselves?" she guessed.
"You see that's what I thought." He turned to face them with an arched eyebrow. "And what do teenagers do when they're left in an awesomely large building without adult supervision?"
"Hey!" Spike protested. "I'm an adult!"
But the trio had already got his measure too well. Dale let out a huge sigh, and Peter looked torn between worry and excitement.
"Do you mean we should…." Peter began. But he stopped when Conner's face fell.
Dale went pink. "We are not doing that again," she interjected.
"Forget it," muttered Conner. "We're back in the land of parental control. Man, this day keeps getting worse and worse."
The front doors opened to reveal the tired members of Angel Investigators, and a slightly sloshed Rupert Giles.
"Hi, guys," Angel greeted, with a weak smile. "What video did you rent?"
Conner shrugged. "Oh. We forgot. We've gotta do our homework, anyway."
"Oh. Alright," Angel agreed, watching the kids grab there bags and leave. "Wait, where's my twenty bucks, then?"
"Twenty?" Dale asked. They sped up.
"Good morning, class," Mr. Miller said cheerily, with a little bounce that made his comb-over wiggle. "I've got a special treat for you all today. Not a pop-quiz on Mitosis." He paused for chuckles, and mistook the groans he got for them. "Although if you're all good little boys and girls I might get to that before Christmas." He winked cheekily. "But seriously, I am so very, very, VERY pleased to tell you that our class will be receiving a new addition in… well, just about any minute!"
Conner dozed off immediately, and Dale busied herself in trying to wake him up before the teacher noticed. Peter was watching them with half an eye, but listening to Miller's speech at the same time. He'd heard about the new girl, and was actually intrigued. Rumor had it that she was really rich and really pretty, the daughter of a senatorial candidate. She could be entertaining, he thought, if not interesting.
"…Principal Deal told me just yesterday that a lovely new sophomore girl has transferred to Hemery, and I said Gosh-Darn-It! If she isn't in my first period Bio class, I just don't know what I'll do! So he said… Oh! Look! There she is now; that must be her, because I know every face in Hemery. Welcome!"
The door opened to reveal the young and handsome principal Deal, who led in the new girl by the arm. The side conversations that had erupted when Miller started talking faded into hushed whispers and Dale accidentally dropped the textbook she had been pretending to beat over Conner's head. It bounced off his forehead, of course, but it did finally wake him up.
"Dammit!" He yelled, jerking his head up and breaking the silence. Everyone turned to look at him. He flushed red and rubbed his head, then shot an apologetic glance to the front of the room, expecting to see his scandalized teacher. But he froze as his gaze met the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen.
Principal Deal cleared his throat.
"Thank you for your attempt at hospitality, Mr. Donovan," he said with the fake cordiality of a school administrator. "You can work on it later, in Detention."
Conner didn't even hear the words. He had suddenly discovered that the most beautiful pair of green eyes he'd ever seen were located over the most perfect nose in existence.
"I'm very sorry, Miss Billings," the principal continued, placing a friendly hand on the new girl's shoulder. "Class, this is Summer Anne Billings, Hemery High's newest addition. I trust you'll welcome her with warmth…" He turned his eyes on Conner. "And respect."
To Be Continued….
Notes: Hmmmm. Shall I grovel for feedback? TheTendoDojo@aol.com. If you didn't like it, tell me how to make it better. Peace! (