Title: Destiny Denied, Chapter 10
Author(s): Specks, Nina, and Ky
Rating: This chapter is PG-13 (for language/violence) but there will; Ky hastens to assure, be NC-17 in upcoming (and clearly labeled) sections.
Summary: AU, folks... Everyone has a destiny, even though Buffy and Angel have long been denied theirs. A changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one (yes, Joss and Marti, we're looking at you!) can alter what is destined to come to pass...
Spoilers: This *is* AU, but there are references to AtS and BtVS through out the story.
Disclaimers: Brace yourselves, folks, this may come as a shock to some of you: We are *not* Marti or Joss or David Greenwalt. As a matter of fact, we're not any one(three) in any way involved with the shows, the networks, the production companies, the actors, their agents... yada, yada, yada. We're just some B/A fans, having a little fun with these characters while their owners are off making money with them.
Feedback is a welcome thing and can be sent to: themochabitcas@aol.com
Authors Notes:
Thanks
We would like to thank the three people that actually read this story. Individually, Specks thanks The Wondrous Penguin, the color purple and her pet Suzuki. Nina would like to thank Whatever Gods May Be that class is done! Ky thanks God/dess for the Hot Half Nekkid Jogger Man's (HHNJM) sweaty return.
CHAPTER TEN
Mr. Doyle." a small girl at the front of the class whined while squirming in her chair. Red pigtails hung in braids down her shoulders as the child repeated her question in a high pitched, pleading voice.
Alan Francis Doyle smiled in amusement at the eight year old while unconsciously wiping chalk dust on thighs of his black pants, "Yes, Amy, you can go to ta' bathroom."
Green eyes, framed by a fair, freckled face, grew large, "How did you know I had to go? Can you read my mind?" she asked in astonishment.
Doyle's grin got larger as he leaned against the chalkboard and filled out a pass, "It seems that sometimes I can."
Abruptly, the gentle Irishman went to his knees, the pass slips dropping like falling leaves from his hands to the floor as his mouth opened in a silent scream. Usually clear blue eyes suddenly went white before they fluttered shut and he crumpled in a heap. Chaos erupted throughout the classroom, but the poor man didn't see it. Twenty third-graders, shouted in fear. one ran out the door, intent on getting help, but Doyle was unaware of the activities around him.
Instead of seeing twenty anxious little faces staring with growing hysteria, the half demon saw a short, luscious blond relaxing on a slate colored, over stuffed chair. He gulped in admiration at the tiny legs peeking out from her skirt that barely covered anything, and couldn't help himself from staring fixedly at her white see through top and creamy lace bra. She absent-mindedly twisted a ringlet of strawberry blond hair around her index finger as he appraised her. Slowly, he looked up and found himself drowning in her stormy gray eyes.
"I'll let it go this time, cause I know all Irishmen have a breast fixation, but in the future, please refrain from staring so obviously at my chest."
Doyle shook his head in embarrassment and looked away. glancing around; he was overwhelmed by the opulence of the beautiful room that was littered with massive silk covered pillows. His attention wandered back to the beauty before him, and his eyes were drawn again to her marvelous chest. After all, she didn't say he couldn't look at all, just not so obviously.
"Alan Francis Doyle, you are having a vision from the Powers That Be," the blonde's mellow, womanly voice lilted, "You would do well to pay attention to what I'm saying."
He nodded and straightened up as he stopped trying to figure out what unearthly power was keeping that skirt down, this had to be a dream. the Powers would never be interested in as simple a man as himself. well simple half man.
"You sell yourself short, my darling Brachen; we have good reason to be interested in you. You are pure of heart, no matter what you believe of yourself, and we need your help," she paused and looked behind him as if someone he couldn't hear was talking to her, "All right, I'll get to the point, can't have those children running amuck, now can we. We need you to go to Sunnydale, California and act as our seer for the current Vampire Slayer. You have free will, and can refuse our request."
At this the blonde's forehead wrinkled in confusion, as if the mere mention of someone refusing her was beyond her comprehension. She glanced behind him again and rolled her expressive eyes in annoyance. He turned and saw two equally beautiful, but completely different, women behind him. An impossibly short, dark 'woman' with blue/black hair and opaque black eyes impatiently twirled a gold dagger on a finger as she glared at the blond behind him. Next to her stood a red head whose luminescent, pale skin seemed to glow with ethereal beauty. Her long red hair was pulled back into a sensible ponytail and Doyle's fingers itched to let it loose and see it cascade down her shoulders in crimson waves. Oddly enough, he noticed a short blond man in flip flops and a garish Hawaiian shirt sneak up and whisper something into the redhead's ear. The short man's presence amongst these three beauties was the most surprising thing about this vision so far.
"Focus Alan!"
His head snapped forward and he tried to concentrate.
"Go to Sunnydale's High School library this afternoon, as soon as you're able to smooth things over here, and speak with Rupert Giles. Tell him the Powers sent you to assist The Scoobies and The Slayer as a seer from The Powers That Be."
The "woman's" voice faded and he was suddenly aware of the Principal shaking his shoulders as she called out his name.
"Mr. Doyle. Alan!"
He shook his head; trying to focus on anything. sluggishly the world began to come together. He found himself flat on his back with an ugly ache throbbing through his skull. Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, suddenly aware of the crying children surrounding him. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he thought to himself.
"Are you all right?" the elderly African American woman asked in concern.
He nodded, afraid to speak.
"I think you should take the afternoon off, Alan," she said with concern, "Maybe make a doctor's appointment."
He nodded in agreement, "Thanks Martha, I think I'll take you up on that."
With her assistance, he came to a standing position and headed for the door.
"I'll take over here, just tell the secretary, James, to call in a sub for the afternoon. and Mr. Doyle, feel better."
He smiled grimly at his mentor as he headed towards the door, "I will, and thanks."
---
He meandered through the crowd of students that had filled the Sunnydale High School halls as he headed towards the library. He was probably crazy; at least he hoped he was probably crazy. Getting tapped on the shoulder by the Powers was no easy task. It usually meant a short miserable period of total servitude followed by a painful death. That was if you didn't get sucked into some alternate hell dimension. Speaking of short and miserable, the little troll of a man Snyder hadn't pointed him in the right direction after grilling him for fifteen minutes concerning why he wanted to see Rupert Giles. the little bastard.
After getting directions from a seductive creature that in no way could be a student, he prayed anyway that she wasn't a student. Cordelia, a good Irish name for the dark eyed woman he fully intended on doing terrible dirty things too. he grinned to himself as he approached the swinging doors slowly, wondering how he was going to explain a vision from the Powers to a complete stranger. He hoped to God the guy wouldn't call the little men in white jackets to take him away.
Most humans would. Heck, before his 21st birthday, he'd have been the first in line to dial the number. But that was before his "initiation" into the world of demons. He shuddered at the memory; it was a terrifying surprise to have your face seemingly explode for no apparent reason only to be told by your mother that you were an extremely late bloomer. How embarrassing.
With a deep breath, he pushed the library doors open, for a moment he stopped and stared at the tiny blond goddess-like creature kicking the shit out of a dummy used in self-defense classes. Power radiated from the petite creature, causing him to quickly decide she must be the Slayer. And where there were Slayers, there were Watchers. Hopefully she could lead him to Rupert Giles.
---
The cold, bubbling, sweet, brown liquid danced across her tongue as she swallowed great gulps. With Diet Coke grasped firmly in one hand, Buffy wiped the sweat out of her eyes.
It had been a tough few months.
What with her mother kicking her out of the house, being wanted for arrest for the kidnapping of her Watcher (which Giles had quickly cleared up after they saved him from being tortured by Dru, Spike and Darla), stopping Acathla from opening by sending Darla through a portal to a demon dimension, and most recently, being stripped of her powers by her errant watcher for some twisted vampire test, she had no time to study. Not that she actually WOULD have studied, but she didn't even have time to PRETEND she was studying. Somehow or the other, she was getting by with a very low C average, she thought proudly.
Damn straight she was proud. It was all that paying attention in class...
OK, she didn't REALLY pay attention in class and she was wondering which deity (De!) she had to thank for the low C average when she noticed a short, VERY cute, wild-eyed man standing in front of the brown, swinging, library doors. She studied him while he roughly rubbed his brow as if he had a ferocious headache. Blood-shot, curious, blue eyes zoned in on her and her hands as he stepped forward. Self-consciously she tried to smooth her sloppy ponytail back from her face before arranging her wrapped-for- beating-the-little-foam-man-Giles-kept-for-her-to-practice-staking-in-the- library hands behind her back. As the cute, soon to be upgraded to gorgeous, man stepped forward, he uttered five words that seemed to get her into trouble, "You must be the Slayer."
"How does everyone figure that out?" she squeaked in surprise. God, she really had to work on her stealthy skills, or lack there of.
A smirk crossed his lips as he shrugged, "Ya' have a powerful aura... I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but I'm looking fer' Rupert Giles. Could ya' tell me where to find him?"
Her mossy, green eyes narrowed as she studied the man before her. He was a few inches taller than the petite warrior, and stood in a relaxed slouched with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his short black, leather coat. She was keenly aware that his "relaxed stance" wasn't and the scent of fear clung to him like expensive cologne. Taking a step backwards, she unconsciously began the predatory action of circling her "prey". As she walked around the attractive man, her slayer senses didn't really tingle, but she detected something "off" about him: He didn't feel exactly human. Before she could launch into a verbal query about his seeming demonic origin, Giles stepped out of his office.
"Buffy, did I hear someone asking for me?"
She sighed as she turned to Giles, all the while keeping watch on the attractive accent guy out of the corner of her eye. They were expecting two new watchers, in all of their ineffective glory, to burst through the doors at any minute, and the stress was getting to them both. After Giles' almost too late gesture of independence from the council on her eighteenth birthday, their relationship was strained... She glanced in concern at the weariness etched across his face; the stress was getting to him and his worry made her heart ache.
Christ, one Watcher was difficult enough to take care of, she wasn't sure she could take TWO more. She crinkled her forehead thoughtfully... Giles wasn't exactly a watcher anymore now that he'd been fired. She was still a bit put out that he'd been in on the whole stripping her of her power's fiasco, but she trusted him more than she could ever imagine trusting the two new fuddy duddy's that were coming to take his place.
God, TWO of them.
"BUFFY!"
Her head jerked up as Giles bellowed her name for what could have been the third time by the look on his face- she must have spaced out there for a second. His blue-gray eyes looked her over with concern, and he walked quickly across the room to where she stood. He stopped a good three feet away, a very appropriate distance to stand away from his female charge, and gave her a once over. Seeing that she wasn't harmed in anyway, he turned to the newcomer.
"I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced," Giles intoned in his very proper, very English way, "I'm Rupert Giles, and you?"
Doyle grinned hopelessly as he gestured to a chair, "You may want to sit down for this..."
Seeing that neither the Slayer nor her Watcher were about to take his advice, he went on with his introduction.
"My name is..." he paused for a moment as he made the decision to edit his annoying name to, "Doyle. I was tapped on the shoulder by the Powers That Be. They sent me to assist your Scoobies and the Slayer as a seer..."
The brief look of surprise on the Watcher's face, and the blank, deer-in- headlights look on the Slayer's, weren't the violent screeches for the men in little white jackets he'd been expecting.
"Indeed," Giles said as he absent-mindedly removed his glasses and began to polish them.
Silence hung in the air for long, slow seconds as the slayer appraised her Watcher's intent interest with his specks. She defensively arranged her arms across her chest and quirked an eyebrow up in seeming annoyance, "What the hell are The Powers That Be?"
TBC! It has been said before, but we'll say it again: Fire bad, Feed back pretty.
Apologies We apologize if we offended any of the following: Trolls for getting compared to Snyder, anyone who has ever let the nice young men in clean white suits take them away, the fuddys and the duddys for getting compared to watchers, the mice who really rule the world, alternate hell dimensions which can't be as bad as advertised and wild eye'd Irish Men for insinuating they might be a tad bit fixated on the chest area of women (there isn't scientific proof of the fixation. YET).
Author(s): Specks, Nina, and Ky
Rating: This chapter is PG-13 (for language/violence) but there will; Ky hastens to assure, be NC-17 in upcoming (and clearly labeled) sections.
Summary: AU, folks... Everyone has a destiny, even though Buffy and Angel have long been denied theirs. A changing of the guard causes history to be rewritten and proves that, in the end, no one (yes, Joss and Marti, we're looking at you!) can alter what is destined to come to pass...
Spoilers: This *is* AU, but there are references to AtS and BtVS through out the story.
Disclaimers: Brace yourselves, folks, this may come as a shock to some of you: We are *not* Marti or Joss or David Greenwalt. As a matter of fact, we're not any one(three) in any way involved with the shows, the networks, the production companies, the actors, their agents... yada, yada, yada. We're just some B/A fans, having a little fun with these characters while their owners are off making money with them.
Feedback is a welcome thing and can be sent to: themochabitcas@aol.com
Authors Notes:
Thanks
We would like to thank the three people that actually read this story. Individually, Specks thanks The Wondrous Penguin, the color purple and her pet Suzuki. Nina would like to thank Whatever Gods May Be that class is done! Ky thanks God/dess for the Hot Half Nekkid Jogger Man's (HHNJM) sweaty return.
CHAPTER TEN
Mr. Doyle." a small girl at the front of the class whined while squirming in her chair. Red pigtails hung in braids down her shoulders as the child repeated her question in a high pitched, pleading voice.
Alan Francis Doyle smiled in amusement at the eight year old while unconsciously wiping chalk dust on thighs of his black pants, "Yes, Amy, you can go to ta' bathroom."
Green eyes, framed by a fair, freckled face, grew large, "How did you know I had to go? Can you read my mind?" she asked in astonishment.
Doyle's grin got larger as he leaned against the chalkboard and filled out a pass, "It seems that sometimes I can."
Abruptly, the gentle Irishman went to his knees, the pass slips dropping like falling leaves from his hands to the floor as his mouth opened in a silent scream. Usually clear blue eyes suddenly went white before they fluttered shut and he crumpled in a heap. Chaos erupted throughout the classroom, but the poor man didn't see it. Twenty third-graders, shouted in fear. one ran out the door, intent on getting help, but Doyle was unaware of the activities around him.
Instead of seeing twenty anxious little faces staring with growing hysteria, the half demon saw a short, luscious blond relaxing on a slate colored, over stuffed chair. He gulped in admiration at the tiny legs peeking out from her skirt that barely covered anything, and couldn't help himself from staring fixedly at her white see through top and creamy lace bra. She absent-mindedly twisted a ringlet of strawberry blond hair around her index finger as he appraised her. Slowly, he looked up and found himself drowning in her stormy gray eyes.
"I'll let it go this time, cause I know all Irishmen have a breast fixation, but in the future, please refrain from staring so obviously at my chest."
Doyle shook his head in embarrassment and looked away. glancing around; he was overwhelmed by the opulence of the beautiful room that was littered with massive silk covered pillows. His attention wandered back to the beauty before him, and his eyes were drawn again to her marvelous chest. After all, she didn't say he couldn't look at all, just not so obviously.
"Alan Francis Doyle, you are having a vision from the Powers That Be," the blonde's mellow, womanly voice lilted, "You would do well to pay attention to what I'm saying."
He nodded and straightened up as he stopped trying to figure out what unearthly power was keeping that skirt down, this had to be a dream. the Powers would never be interested in as simple a man as himself. well simple half man.
"You sell yourself short, my darling Brachen; we have good reason to be interested in you. You are pure of heart, no matter what you believe of yourself, and we need your help," she paused and looked behind him as if someone he couldn't hear was talking to her, "All right, I'll get to the point, can't have those children running amuck, now can we. We need you to go to Sunnydale, California and act as our seer for the current Vampire Slayer. You have free will, and can refuse our request."
At this the blonde's forehead wrinkled in confusion, as if the mere mention of someone refusing her was beyond her comprehension. She glanced behind him again and rolled her expressive eyes in annoyance. He turned and saw two equally beautiful, but completely different, women behind him. An impossibly short, dark 'woman' with blue/black hair and opaque black eyes impatiently twirled a gold dagger on a finger as she glared at the blond behind him. Next to her stood a red head whose luminescent, pale skin seemed to glow with ethereal beauty. Her long red hair was pulled back into a sensible ponytail and Doyle's fingers itched to let it loose and see it cascade down her shoulders in crimson waves. Oddly enough, he noticed a short blond man in flip flops and a garish Hawaiian shirt sneak up and whisper something into the redhead's ear. The short man's presence amongst these three beauties was the most surprising thing about this vision so far.
"Focus Alan!"
His head snapped forward and he tried to concentrate.
"Go to Sunnydale's High School library this afternoon, as soon as you're able to smooth things over here, and speak with Rupert Giles. Tell him the Powers sent you to assist The Scoobies and The Slayer as a seer from The Powers That Be."
The "woman's" voice faded and he was suddenly aware of the Principal shaking his shoulders as she called out his name.
"Mr. Doyle. Alan!"
He shook his head; trying to focus on anything. sluggishly the world began to come together. He found himself flat on his back with an ugly ache throbbing through his skull. Groaning, he pulled himself up into a sitting position, suddenly aware of the crying children surrounding him. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he thought to himself.
"Are you all right?" the elderly African American woman asked in concern.
He nodded, afraid to speak.
"I think you should take the afternoon off, Alan," she said with concern, "Maybe make a doctor's appointment."
He nodded in agreement, "Thanks Martha, I think I'll take you up on that."
With her assistance, he came to a standing position and headed for the door.
"I'll take over here, just tell the secretary, James, to call in a sub for the afternoon. and Mr. Doyle, feel better."
He smiled grimly at his mentor as he headed towards the door, "I will, and thanks."
---
He meandered through the crowd of students that had filled the Sunnydale High School halls as he headed towards the library. He was probably crazy; at least he hoped he was probably crazy. Getting tapped on the shoulder by the Powers was no easy task. It usually meant a short miserable period of total servitude followed by a painful death. That was if you didn't get sucked into some alternate hell dimension. Speaking of short and miserable, the little troll of a man Snyder hadn't pointed him in the right direction after grilling him for fifteen minutes concerning why he wanted to see Rupert Giles. the little bastard.
After getting directions from a seductive creature that in no way could be a student, he prayed anyway that she wasn't a student. Cordelia, a good Irish name for the dark eyed woman he fully intended on doing terrible dirty things too. he grinned to himself as he approached the swinging doors slowly, wondering how he was going to explain a vision from the Powers to a complete stranger. He hoped to God the guy wouldn't call the little men in white jackets to take him away.
Most humans would. Heck, before his 21st birthday, he'd have been the first in line to dial the number. But that was before his "initiation" into the world of demons. He shuddered at the memory; it was a terrifying surprise to have your face seemingly explode for no apparent reason only to be told by your mother that you were an extremely late bloomer. How embarrassing.
With a deep breath, he pushed the library doors open, for a moment he stopped and stared at the tiny blond goddess-like creature kicking the shit out of a dummy used in self-defense classes. Power radiated from the petite creature, causing him to quickly decide she must be the Slayer. And where there were Slayers, there were Watchers. Hopefully she could lead him to Rupert Giles.
---
The cold, bubbling, sweet, brown liquid danced across her tongue as she swallowed great gulps. With Diet Coke grasped firmly in one hand, Buffy wiped the sweat out of her eyes.
It had been a tough few months.
What with her mother kicking her out of the house, being wanted for arrest for the kidnapping of her Watcher (which Giles had quickly cleared up after they saved him from being tortured by Dru, Spike and Darla), stopping Acathla from opening by sending Darla through a portal to a demon dimension, and most recently, being stripped of her powers by her errant watcher for some twisted vampire test, she had no time to study. Not that she actually WOULD have studied, but she didn't even have time to PRETEND she was studying. Somehow or the other, she was getting by with a very low C average, she thought proudly.
Damn straight she was proud. It was all that paying attention in class...
OK, she didn't REALLY pay attention in class and she was wondering which deity (De!) she had to thank for the low C average when she noticed a short, VERY cute, wild-eyed man standing in front of the brown, swinging, library doors. She studied him while he roughly rubbed his brow as if he had a ferocious headache. Blood-shot, curious, blue eyes zoned in on her and her hands as he stepped forward. Self-consciously she tried to smooth her sloppy ponytail back from her face before arranging her wrapped-for- beating-the-little-foam-man-Giles-kept-for-her-to-practice-staking-in-the- library hands behind her back. As the cute, soon to be upgraded to gorgeous, man stepped forward, he uttered five words that seemed to get her into trouble, "You must be the Slayer."
"How does everyone figure that out?" she squeaked in surprise. God, she really had to work on her stealthy skills, or lack there of.
A smirk crossed his lips as he shrugged, "Ya' have a powerful aura... I'm sorry to be so abrupt, but I'm looking fer' Rupert Giles. Could ya' tell me where to find him?"
Her mossy, green eyes narrowed as she studied the man before her. He was a few inches taller than the petite warrior, and stood in a relaxed slouched with his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his short black, leather coat. She was keenly aware that his "relaxed stance" wasn't and the scent of fear clung to him like expensive cologne. Taking a step backwards, she unconsciously began the predatory action of circling her "prey". As she walked around the attractive man, her slayer senses didn't really tingle, but she detected something "off" about him: He didn't feel exactly human. Before she could launch into a verbal query about his seeming demonic origin, Giles stepped out of his office.
"Buffy, did I hear someone asking for me?"
She sighed as she turned to Giles, all the while keeping watch on the attractive accent guy out of the corner of her eye. They were expecting two new watchers, in all of their ineffective glory, to burst through the doors at any minute, and the stress was getting to them both. After Giles' almost too late gesture of independence from the council on her eighteenth birthday, their relationship was strained... She glanced in concern at the weariness etched across his face; the stress was getting to him and his worry made her heart ache.
Christ, one Watcher was difficult enough to take care of, she wasn't sure she could take TWO more. She crinkled her forehead thoughtfully... Giles wasn't exactly a watcher anymore now that he'd been fired. She was still a bit put out that he'd been in on the whole stripping her of her power's fiasco, but she trusted him more than she could ever imagine trusting the two new fuddy duddy's that were coming to take his place.
God, TWO of them.
"BUFFY!"
Her head jerked up as Giles bellowed her name for what could have been the third time by the look on his face- she must have spaced out there for a second. His blue-gray eyes looked her over with concern, and he walked quickly across the room to where she stood. He stopped a good three feet away, a very appropriate distance to stand away from his female charge, and gave her a once over. Seeing that she wasn't harmed in anyway, he turned to the newcomer.
"I'm sorry, we haven't been introduced," Giles intoned in his very proper, very English way, "I'm Rupert Giles, and you?"
Doyle grinned hopelessly as he gestured to a chair, "You may want to sit down for this..."
Seeing that neither the Slayer nor her Watcher were about to take his advice, he went on with his introduction.
"My name is..." he paused for a moment as he made the decision to edit his annoying name to, "Doyle. I was tapped on the shoulder by the Powers That Be. They sent me to assist your Scoobies and the Slayer as a seer..."
The brief look of surprise on the Watcher's face, and the blank, deer-in- headlights look on the Slayer's, weren't the violent screeches for the men in little white jackets he'd been expecting.
"Indeed," Giles said as he absent-mindedly removed his glasses and began to polish them.
Silence hung in the air for long, slow seconds as the slayer appraised her Watcher's intent interest with his specks. She defensively arranged her arms across her chest and quirked an eyebrow up in seeming annoyance, "What the hell are The Powers That Be?"
TBC! It has been said before, but we'll say it again: Fire bad, Feed back pretty.
Apologies We apologize if we offended any of the following: Trolls for getting compared to Snyder, anyone who has ever let the nice young men in clean white suits take them away, the fuddys and the duddys for getting compared to watchers, the mice who really rule the world, alternate hell dimensions which can't be as bad as advertised and wild eye'd Irish Men for insinuating they might be a tad bit fixated on the chest area of women (there isn't scientific proof of the fixation. YET).
