***********************************TRaPPeD**********************************
Nine: Attempting the Impossible
By Annie
2003-03-25
****************************************************************************
Day Three.
11.16 a.m.
Buffy sat down slowly on the mattress. Her legs were trembling. She felt weak. Defeated. Shocked. Rattled. But most of all as though she had finally reached that final point, the tip of the knife, and she was through with this. No more. No more of his games, his mind-play, his thralls! Oh, this was all his fault!
"Buffy..." his voice called and her head bopped up sharply as she stared at the closed door.
"This ends now," she stated, getting to her feet. "Do you hear me?!"
"Loud and clear, pet," he replied. "So, I guess you're admitting defeat? You didn't even answer my last question, so either way you turn it seems I stand as the..."
"I mean it," she interrupted, "I'm not doing this anymore."
He stopped in front of the door with a small smile, shaking his head.
She could hear his fingers slide over the wood and a shiver of mixed pleasure and discomfort ran up her spine at the sound of it.
"What are you gonna do?" he asked with a mocking huff. "Lock yourself in there? You don't have any food OR water so that doesn't sound like a very Slayeresque idea. Use your head, love. You can't stay in there forever."
"I'm not going anywhere near YOU," she assured.
"Why?" he asked, lowering his voice and she felt the irresistible urge to take the few steps up to the door.
Following it before she had a chance to stop herself, she put her hand against it and felt his strength leak through the grains of wood separating their palms. She closed her eyes, shaking her head a little before she placed her forehead against the door as well.
He was overcome by the sensation of her body heat reaching out for him, wrapping itself around him, even through the matter between them. He knew she was leaning against the door. It was as though it, in reality, was made of nothing but silk and her form fitted into his through it.
"I didn't think the Slayer hid," he now murmured, placing his other hand against the door - feeling hers meet it on the other side.
"But she does," she whispered, "when she's really..."
Trailing off she moved her head to look up and she could have sworn she rested her gaze in his for one split second. And she could swear their fingers were linking together, that the door was falling away, that they were standing close again.
Spike blinked. Was this real? He was practically convinced that he was feeling her as though she was...right there.
Buffy closed her eyes again, standing on her toes she placed her lips against the place of his on the other side of the door. His mouth was irreversibly drawn to the very spot and she could feel his response. The small jerk in surprise, the pressure of his lips against hers as he met her kiss.
The wood creaked with pain as the two beings pressed at it from opposite sides.
Buffy was the one to break away with a sudden exclamation of annoyance and disgust with herself, with her constant failure!
Spike took a step back as well, opening his eyes and staring at the door.
"What the bloody...?" he grumbled.
"You stay away from me!" she yelled.
"Can't control yourself?" he asked, though it was more a simple reaction to what she had just said than it was meant to taunt her.
He was too shaken for that himself; his eyes still transfixed on the door.
"You - shut up!" she demanded and he could hear the frustration in her voice, as well as in the pacing she had started up.
"There's just a couple of things before I do," he replied, the irritation with her slowly gaining power as she once again was having it her way. "First of all - when we get outta here you'd better get ready to deliver my prize, Slayer, 'cause there's no way in hell I won't claim it. Secondly - I HATE you. And thirdly... YOU stay the hell away from ME!"
He turned and walked to the other side of the room, as far away from her as possible.
Buffy stopped her walking at that third request, hoping that the glare she gave the door would sting him straight through it.
Good, she then thought. Good. Perfect. Wonderful. He'll stay on his side, I'll stay on mine. Willow and Xander'll be here soon. Soon, soon, soon. And then this nightmare will be over with. 'Til then all I have to do is sit here. In the dark. Alone.
With a sigh she threw herself on the mattress.
Anything is better than HIM, she told herself.
And she certainly did believe it.
***
2.03 p.m.
He raised his head from where he was sitting - slumped against the wall facing the entrance to her hideaway - as the door slid to the side and she appeared.
She met his gaze with one as hard and cold as his was. The lack of trust, the air of suspicious anticipation for anything at all to happen, was thickening the atmosphere as they eyed each other for a few seconds.
Then she turned her gaze out of his as she walked up to the refrigerator box to get herself some lunch. She opened it, glancing at him over her shoulder in order to make sure he hadn't moved. He was making no attempt at getting up, and his eyes were resentful.
She grabbed a bag of vegetables - there were only five more left, and then one of the six plastic boxes - this one containing chicken. Shutting the lid she turned to him again. His eyes hadn't left her for one second and now he slowly tilted his head back to rest it against the wall behind him. She moved up to the door and stopped in the doorway.
The rivalry between them was evident.
The silent challenge hung suspended by means of pure need to show which one was the stronger. The silent challenge of battle, of war, of what would happen once they were freed.
She knew he'd fight even harder to get back to his old self again. And once he did they were going to have one final confrontation. And she would kill him. There was no two ways about it.
She stepped into the closet space and slid the door shut, shutting him out and with him the thoughts that seemed set on distorting her peace of mind.
***
5.48 p.m.
Spike barely moved as she once more entered his realm. This time she walked straight up to the bookcase standing facing the stairs and grabbed four bottles from the third shelf, counting from the top. He watched her as she turned and retraced her footsteps to the refrigerator box, stopping and kneeling beside the plastic box still containing her humble water supply. She quickly filled the bottles with the clear liquid, all of it now fitted into their bellies, and then she straightened her posture with a glance at him.
He cocked an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes and once more disappeared into her own little nest.
Spike shook his head at her.
His plan had backfired, to say the least. Not only had he failed in making her buckle - because now she seemed more determined than ever. But he had also managed to deprive himself of his only weapon against her - his own rage. Drusilla's voice kept haunting him. Drusilla's statements of how he was surrounded by nothing but the bloody Slayer.
She couldn't have been right!
Buffy was...
He closed his eyes.
That BITCH wasn't even...
Bloody hell. The only reason he craved her was because he couldn't have her. Once he had had her he would be able to let her go. It wasn't very complicated, was it? No. But now the worthless bint was all shacked up and away from him, on constant alert and... Sod it. HE had told HER to keep away just as she had him, and he had bleeding well meant it.
What the hell had happened between them earlier? The whole touchy-feely- through-the-sodding-doory had thrown him clear cross his whole existence; he had never felt so connected to another creature throughout one century of roaming the world. Not even with Drusilla had he felt such unhinged and crazed power tugging at him from all around, and Dru had been his SIRE! There was no holier bond than that.
He smirked.
No, whatever the bond between him and the blonde goodness-queen was, it would never be holy, so on that aspect he was in the clear.
But the rawness of that moment when their lips had met, and still not... It had been explosive. He knew she had felt it too.
Just shake it off, he instructed himself impatiently. It's not like she's the one with the advantage. It's not like she's...
He trailed off, uncertain as to how he could best finish that sentence.
***
Day Four.
11.59 a.m.
He had been awake for nearly four hours when she decided to reluctantly join him in the larger room, in order to get her breakfast. He met her gaze as she stepped out through the doorway and she squinted as she made a face of pain, putting up one hand by her right temple.
"What's the matter, hon?" he asked with a smirk and she glared at him.
"Nothing," she muttered. "Just have a headache."
He tilted his head to one side, getting to his feet from the mattresses and she stopped short, turning to him with a shake of the head.
"Don't even THINK it," she said and his smirk grew back on.
Putting his hands up in a defensive gesture he took a step back.
"Sorry, sorry," he replied. "Just have a trick that might help, but if you're so bloody offensive..." he added and she took her hand from her forehead to raise her eyebrows at him.
"I don't think I'm interested in any more of your little tricks," she stated and the smirk became a wide smile. "And why would you wanna 'help' me?" she added with a huff, turning from him and to the fridge to get the lid open. "No, no, there's a hidden agenda somewhere there and you're crazy if you think I'll let my defense down simply 'cause you say you have some way of..."
She interrupted herself abruptly as she turned around and found him suddenly much too close.
"Spike!" she scowled, brushing away his hands as he was moving them toward her temples. "Don't touch me! Stop it," she protested and he grabbed her hands in stead, stopping their flailing.
"Of course there's a hidden agenda," he now replied, forcing her arms down and giving her a look to just cut it out for a second.
Her eyes grew grave with the warning in them, but as she seemed to calm down he let her hands go. Her heart was beating hard, though, and he smiled slightly at the sound of it.
"I scratch your back..." he mumbled, stepping closer to her and she put her hands up against his chest, pushing him to take a small step back.
He smirked knowingly and her gaze grew shaded with intolerance.
"Stop," she said and he tilted his head to one side before reaching up his hands and placing the fingertips of his index- and middle fingers against her temples. "Spike," she objected, wanting to squirm away, but he grabbed her head and made her stop.
"Just relax," he said. "I'll show you one of the better sides to the vampire world."
She swallowed, then obliged against her own better judgment.
He released her face and once more placed the said fingertips back at their previous positions. She closed her eyes as the tension slowly lifted from her brain and the ache dimmed until it vanished. It didn't take more than ten seconds and as he moved his hands away she opened her eyes again, meeting his gaze with one rather amazed.
"Wow," she mumbled. "How did you...?" she trailed off, shaking her head.
She didn't want to know.
The small swirl his touch had caused to rise once more was enough for her to feel the need to just get herself something to eat and then get away from him again. It was strange to admit, but he held the most undeniable allure. She wouldn't have thought it of herself, that being able to reach out and pluck that forbidden fruit would have her almost maddened by the thought of simply sinking her teeth into it.
Taste it...
She cleared her throat, turning from him and getting the lid to the refrigerator box open.
"Why don't you just... give in?" he asked slowly and her eyes grew.
"What are you? A mind reader?" she muttered, biting her tongue in the next moment.
"What did you just say?" he asked; the sound of bafflement in his voice made her turn back to him.
"What's with the twenty questions?" she shot, wanting to cover up the huge mistake she had just made.
"Mhm," he said - his eyes suddenly glinting with tease as he added, "maybe I picked the wrong game."
"You know, I WAS scared after our first encounter," she now stated. "You scared me, I admit it. But I beat you. Over and over I had you on the run and now, Spike... Now you're not even a shadow of what you were back then. So just BACK the hell off and leave me alone, okay?"
His eyes had grown harsh and now they glared at her, distantly cool.
"What am I, then?" he asked, voice still lowered and he stopped her from turning around as he put an arm on either side of her before taking a step closer to press her up against the refrigerator's edge. "'Cause you're right... I'm not what I was back then, am I? You look at me now and what do you feel...? What do you feel?"
His lips were practically brushing against hers.
She clenched her jaws together, looking up at him.
"I thought you wanted me away from you," she remarked and he met her gaze.
"Ah, but I never wanted you close in the first place," he retorted and she gave him an iced look before she smiled slightly.
"That's not what your body told me yesterday," she stated and he smiled as well.
"And you never answered my question. Did he ever get you to kiss him back the way you did ME?" he shot.
Once again their eyes locked and neither one of them was about to stand down.
"If we both want it," he now said, his voice growing coarse and she stared up at him, "why should we suffer?"
"That's the difference between you and me," she replied. "I will never give in to you, while you've already surrendered to me."
At that he grabbed her, his jaws clenched together at the pain running up the back of his head but he didn't release her. The tips of their noses touched as he held her gaze relentlessly. The subtle fury on him was practically tangible.
Then he pushed her away as he took a step back.
She turned from him, retrieved her breakfast, shut the lid of the fridge and walked up to the doorway. Disappearing through it the door moved to close behind her.
He screamed out his rage.
With her and with himself.
***
8.10 p.m.
The basement was dark. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. The broken pipe hung in the air like some stiffened snake, covered with steel and copper. There was a slow drip coming out of its gape and he had spent the past half hour watching the droplets form and then gently fall through the air to hit the ground with a plop. There was a dark spot where their water was excitedly trying to form a pool - though they were simply too small to ever succeed.
He wondered what she was doing.
What she was thinking.
And then there was a low clonk and a screech in the old pipes above. He sat up, eyes on them as he frowned slowly. It sounded like...
Before he could react there was a low, sucking noise and in the next instant - through the broken pipe - came a cascade of pouring water.
**************************************************************************** **************************************************************************** **************************************************************************** ******************
Oh, can I ask for a load of better reviews?! I think not! And this is the only repay I can offer you - a chapter up as quick as humanly possible. Well, at least for THIS human. ;)
Thanks ever so for your positivity, it's everlasting and it makes me feel the same way about this story! Makes it all the better to write, you know?
Special thanks to mulderluva, LILI, Alyssa, Pine, Heather, Randy Bly, Renee', Captain, Rose, Belladonna, wendy and charisma1525 - the constant support and encouragement is a source of real inspiration (to sound absolutely corny), but it IS! So thanks you guys! Both new and those old who are sticking, it's lovely to see your names up there!
Now, phew, what will happen next? Flood? Drowning extravaganza? Oh...dear! You wanna know? ;)
A.M.L, Annie.
Nine: Attempting the Impossible
By Annie
2003-03-25
****************************************************************************
Day Three.
11.16 a.m.
Buffy sat down slowly on the mattress. Her legs were trembling. She felt weak. Defeated. Shocked. Rattled. But most of all as though she had finally reached that final point, the tip of the knife, and she was through with this. No more. No more of his games, his mind-play, his thralls! Oh, this was all his fault!
"Buffy..." his voice called and her head bopped up sharply as she stared at the closed door.
"This ends now," she stated, getting to her feet. "Do you hear me?!"
"Loud and clear, pet," he replied. "So, I guess you're admitting defeat? You didn't even answer my last question, so either way you turn it seems I stand as the..."
"I mean it," she interrupted, "I'm not doing this anymore."
He stopped in front of the door with a small smile, shaking his head.
She could hear his fingers slide over the wood and a shiver of mixed pleasure and discomfort ran up her spine at the sound of it.
"What are you gonna do?" he asked with a mocking huff. "Lock yourself in there? You don't have any food OR water so that doesn't sound like a very Slayeresque idea. Use your head, love. You can't stay in there forever."
"I'm not going anywhere near YOU," she assured.
"Why?" he asked, lowering his voice and she felt the irresistible urge to take the few steps up to the door.
Following it before she had a chance to stop herself, she put her hand against it and felt his strength leak through the grains of wood separating their palms. She closed her eyes, shaking her head a little before she placed her forehead against the door as well.
He was overcome by the sensation of her body heat reaching out for him, wrapping itself around him, even through the matter between them. He knew she was leaning against the door. It was as though it, in reality, was made of nothing but silk and her form fitted into his through it.
"I didn't think the Slayer hid," he now murmured, placing his other hand against the door - feeling hers meet it on the other side.
"But she does," she whispered, "when she's really..."
Trailing off she moved her head to look up and she could have sworn she rested her gaze in his for one split second. And she could swear their fingers were linking together, that the door was falling away, that they were standing close again.
Spike blinked. Was this real? He was practically convinced that he was feeling her as though she was...right there.
Buffy closed her eyes again, standing on her toes she placed her lips against the place of his on the other side of the door. His mouth was irreversibly drawn to the very spot and she could feel his response. The small jerk in surprise, the pressure of his lips against hers as he met her kiss.
The wood creaked with pain as the two beings pressed at it from opposite sides.
Buffy was the one to break away with a sudden exclamation of annoyance and disgust with herself, with her constant failure!
Spike took a step back as well, opening his eyes and staring at the door.
"What the bloody...?" he grumbled.
"You stay away from me!" she yelled.
"Can't control yourself?" he asked, though it was more a simple reaction to what she had just said than it was meant to taunt her.
He was too shaken for that himself; his eyes still transfixed on the door.
"You - shut up!" she demanded and he could hear the frustration in her voice, as well as in the pacing she had started up.
"There's just a couple of things before I do," he replied, the irritation with her slowly gaining power as she once again was having it her way. "First of all - when we get outta here you'd better get ready to deliver my prize, Slayer, 'cause there's no way in hell I won't claim it. Secondly - I HATE you. And thirdly... YOU stay the hell away from ME!"
He turned and walked to the other side of the room, as far away from her as possible.
Buffy stopped her walking at that third request, hoping that the glare she gave the door would sting him straight through it.
Good, she then thought. Good. Perfect. Wonderful. He'll stay on his side, I'll stay on mine. Willow and Xander'll be here soon. Soon, soon, soon. And then this nightmare will be over with. 'Til then all I have to do is sit here. In the dark. Alone.
With a sigh she threw herself on the mattress.
Anything is better than HIM, she told herself.
And she certainly did believe it.
***
2.03 p.m.
He raised his head from where he was sitting - slumped against the wall facing the entrance to her hideaway - as the door slid to the side and she appeared.
She met his gaze with one as hard and cold as his was. The lack of trust, the air of suspicious anticipation for anything at all to happen, was thickening the atmosphere as they eyed each other for a few seconds.
Then she turned her gaze out of his as she walked up to the refrigerator box to get herself some lunch. She opened it, glancing at him over her shoulder in order to make sure he hadn't moved. He was making no attempt at getting up, and his eyes were resentful.
She grabbed a bag of vegetables - there were only five more left, and then one of the six plastic boxes - this one containing chicken. Shutting the lid she turned to him again. His eyes hadn't left her for one second and now he slowly tilted his head back to rest it against the wall behind him. She moved up to the door and stopped in the doorway.
The rivalry between them was evident.
The silent challenge hung suspended by means of pure need to show which one was the stronger. The silent challenge of battle, of war, of what would happen once they were freed.
She knew he'd fight even harder to get back to his old self again. And once he did they were going to have one final confrontation. And she would kill him. There was no two ways about it.
She stepped into the closet space and slid the door shut, shutting him out and with him the thoughts that seemed set on distorting her peace of mind.
***
5.48 p.m.
Spike barely moved as she once more entered his realm. This time she walked straight up to the bookcase standing facing the stairs and grabbed four bottles from the third shelf, counting from the top. He watched her as she turned and retraced her footsteps to the refrigerator box, stopping and kneeling beside the plastic box still containing her humble water supply. She quickly filled the bottles with the clear liquid, all of it now fitted into their bellies, and then she straightened her posture with a glance at him.
He cocked an eyebrow.
She rolled her eyes and once more disappeared into her own little nest.
Spike shook his head at her.
His plan had backfired, to say the least. Not only had he failed in making her buckle - because now she seemed more determined than ever. But he had also managed to deprive himself of his only weapon against her - his own rage. Drusilla's voice kept haunting him. Drusilla's statements of how he was surrounded by nothing but the bloody Slayer.
She couldn't have been right!
Buffy was...
He closed his eyes.
That BITCH wasn't even...
Bloody hell. The only reason he craved her was because he couldn't have her. Once he had had her he would be able to let her go. It wasn't very complicated, was it? No. But now the worthless bint was all shacked up and away from him, on constant alert and... Sod it. HE had told HER to keep away just as she had him, and he had bleeding well meant it.
What the hell had happened between them earlier? The whole touchy-feely- through-the-sodding-doory had thrown him clear cross his whole existence; he had never felt so connected to another creature throughout one century of roaming the world. Not even with Drusilla had he felt such unhinged and crazed power tugging at him from all around, and Dru had been his SIRE! There was no holier bond than that.
He smirked.
No, whatever the bond between him and the blonde goodness-queen was, it would never be holy, so on that aspect he was in the clear.
But the rawness of that moment when their lips had met, and still not... It had been explosive. He knew she had felt it too.
Just shake it off, he instructed himself impatiently. It's not like she's the one with the advantage. It's not like she's...
He trailed off, uncertain as to how he could best finish that sentence.
***
Day Four.
11.59 a.m.
He had been awake for nearly four hours when she decided to reluctantly join him in the larger room, in order to get her breakfast. He met her gaze as she stepped out through the doorway and she squinted as she made a face of pain, putting up one hand by her right temple.
"What's the matter, hon?" he asked with a smirk and she glared at him.
"Nothing," she muttered. "Just have a headache."
He tilted his head to one side, getting to his feet from the mattresses and she stopped short, turning to him with a shake of the head.
"Don't even THINK it," she said and his smirk grew back on.
Putting his hands up in a defensive gesture he took a step back.
"Sorry, sorry," he replied. "Just have a trick that might help, but if you're so bloody offensive..." he added and she took her hand from her forehead to raise her eyebrows at him.
"I don't think I'm interested in any more of your little tricks," she stated and the smirk became a wide smile. "And why would you wanna 'help' me?" she added with a huff, turning from him and to the fridge to get the lid open. "No, no, there's a hidden agenda somewhere there and you're crazy if you think I'll let my defense down simply 'cause you say you have some way of..."
She interrupted herself abruptly as she turned around and found him suddenly much too close.
"Spike!" she scowled, brushing away his hands as he was moving them toward her temples. "Don't touch me! Stop it," she protested and he grabbed her hands in stead, stopping their flailing.
"Of course there's a hidden agenda," he now replied, forcing her arms down and giving her a look to just cut it out for a second.
Her eyes grew grave with the warning in them, but as she seemed to calm down he let her hands go. Her heart was beating hard, though, and he smiled slightly at the sound of it.
"I scratch your back..." he mumbled, stepping closer to her and she put her hands up against his chest, pushing him to take a small step back.
He smirked knowingly and her gaze grew shaded with intolerance.
"Stop," she said and he tilted his head to one side before reaching up his hands and placing the fingertips of his index- and middle fingers against her temples. "Spike," she objected, wanting to squirm away, but he grabbed her head and made her stop.
"Just relax," he said. "I'll show you one of the better sides to the vampire world."
She swallowed, then obliged against her own better judgment.
He released her face and once more placed the said fingertips back at their previous positions. She closed her eyes as the tension slowly lifted from her brain and the ache dimmed until it vanished. It didn't take more than ten seconds and as he moved his hands away she opened her eyes again, meeting his gaze with one rather amazed.
"Wow," she mumbled. "How did you...?" she trailed off, shaking her head.
She didn't want to know.
The small swirl his touch had caused to rise once more was enough for her to feel the need to just get herself something to eat and then get away from him again. It was strange to admit, but he held the most undeniable allure. She wouldn't have thought it of herself, that being able to reach out and pluck that forbidden fruit would have her almost maddened by the thought of simply sinking her teeth into it.
Taste it...
She cleared her throat, turning from him and getting the lid to the refrigerator box open.
"Why don't you just... give in?" he asked slowly and her eyes grew.
"What are you? A mind reader?" she muttered, biting her tongue in the next moment.
"What did you just say?" he asked; the sound of bafflement in his voice made her turn back to him.
"What's with the twenty questions?" she shot, wanting to cover up the huge mistake she had just made.
"Mhm," he said - his eyes suddenly glinting with tease as he added, "maybe I picked the wrong game."
"You know, I WAS scared after our first encounter," she now stated. "You scared me, I admit it. But I beat you. Over and over I had you on the run and now, Spike... Now you're not even a shadow of what you were back then. So just BACK the hell off and leave me alone, okay?"
His eyes had grown harsh and now they glared at her, distantly cool.
"What am I, then?" he asked, voice still lowered and he stopped her from turning around as he put an arm on either side of her before taking a step closer to press her up against the refrigerator's edge. "'Cause you're right... I'm not what I was back then, am I? You look at me now and what do you feel...? What do you feel?"
His lips were practically brushing against hers.
She clenched her jaws together, looking up at him.
"I thought you wanted me away from you," she remarked and he met her gaze.
"Ah, but I never wanted you close in the first place," he retorted and she gave him an iced look before she smiled slightly.
"That's not what your body told me yesterday," she stated and he smiled as well.
"And you never answered my question. Did he ever get you to kiss him back the way you did ME?" he shot.
Once again their eyes locked and neither one of them was about to stand down.
"If we both want it," he now said, his voice growing coarse and she stared up at him, "why should we suffer?"
"That's the difference between you and me," she replied. "I will never give in to you, while you've already surrendered to me."
At that he grabbed her, his jaws clenched together at the pain running up the back of his head but he didn't release her. The tips of their noses touched as he held her gaze relentlessly. The subtle fury on him was practically tangible.
Then he pushed her away as he took a step back.
She turned from him, retrieved her breakfast, shut the lid of the fridge and walked up to the doorway. Disappearing through it the door moved to close behind her.
He screamed out his rage.
With her and with himself.
***
8.10 p.m.
The basement was dark. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. The broken pipe hung in the air like some stiffened snake, covered with steel and copper. There was a slow drip coming out of its gape and he had spent the past half hour watching the droplets form and then gently fall through the air to hit the ground with a plop. There was a dark spot where their water was excitedly trying to form a pool - though they were simply too small to ever succeed.
He wondered what she was doing.
What she was thinking.
And then there was a low clonk and a screech in the old pipes above. He sat up, eyes on them as he frowned slowly. It sounded like...
Before he could react there was a low, sucking noise and in the next instant - through the broken pipe - came a cascade of pouring water.
**************************************************************************** **************************************************************************** **************************************************************************** ******************
Oh, can I ask for a load of better reviews?! I think not! And this is the only repay I can offer you - a chapter up as quick as humanly possible. Well, at least for THIS human. ;)
Thanks ever so for your positivity, it's everlasting and it makes me feel the same way about this story! Makes it all the better to write, you know?
Special thanks to mulderluva, LILI, Alyssa, Pine, Heather, Randy Bly, Renee', Captain, Rose, Belladonna, wendy and charisma1525 - the constant support and encouragement is a source of real inspiration (to sound absolutely corny), but it IS! So thanks you guys! Both new and those old who are sticking, it's lovely to see your names up there!
Now, phew, what will happen next? Flood? Drowning extravaganza? Oh...dear! You wanna know? ;)
A.M.L, Annie.