Disclaimer: He may own it, but Joss couldn't keep a story going like I can... apparently.
Author's Note: I know it's been a long time since I updated, and I'm so sorry to keep you readers waiting! But the story isn't dead and it will be finished, I promise! The next couple of chapters are sort of wonky, due to the insane writer's block I've had. All I've been dreaming about is the climax and end of the story, which I swear will make up for the weirdness in-between.
As she had nearly every night for the past five years, Buffy entered her home carefully. She shut and locked the door silently behind her, then leaned against it for a second. She took a deep, cleansing breath, clearing her mind. She inhaled the familiarity of her home and the comfort it gave. She peeled out of her jacket and hung it on the hook in the entryway. Then, as routine called, she made her way toward the second floor to check on her family.
It had not been easy being a wife and a mother and the Slayer all at once. She had suspected that she wouldn't make through the early years, when Angela was still a baby. Buffy could remember thinking that Dawn had never been that difficult, but she reminded herself that she was only in an older sister capacity and motherhood was a completely different thing. But somehow she'd made it. With the help of her friends, and Angel's unfailing will to do anything, she'd managed to raise a beautiful and healthy little girl.
Buffy pushed her door open to find that Angel wasn't in bed. She stopped short, looking around confused. No light was on in the bathroom. Before she had more time to wonder where the hell her husband was, she heard a muffled giggle coming from Angela's room.
As she made her way down the hall, the giggles continued. Buffy frowned; Angela should have long been in bed by now. What exactly was she doing anyway? Out of curiosity, she pressed her ear to her child's door and heard Angel's lowered voice.
"Now, Angie, are you cheating?"
"No!" Another peal of giggles.
"Okay," Angel chuckled. "Put your elbow all the way down... there you go. Now on three we go, okay? Count with me. One..."
"Two..."
"Three!" They both sounded. Buffy opened the bedroom door and stepped in. Immediately, she tried not to laugh. In the middle of their daughter's room, Angel and Angela had constructed a fort. A few chairs served as poles to hold up a couple of blankets and several sheets. They'd set a lamp inside and Buffy could see their shadows through the sheet facing her. Only Angela seem to fit inside; Angel's legs stuck far out from underneath a comforter.
From what she could tell, it seemed that they were arm wrestling. An odd pasttime for a father and his four-year-old daughter. Buffy cleared her throat loudly and the pair of them froze, looking up at her guiltily.
"Isn't someone supposed to be in bed?" Buffy said pointedly, raising a brow. Angel chuckled nervously and Angela pouted.
"We were just playing around," Angel shrugged. "I figured I'd spoil her since it's her birthday tomorrow."
"Mommy, play with us!" Angela spouted, a huge grin spreading across her face. She looked to Angel for support, which in turn caused Buffy to give him 'the look'.
"Ah, maybe not right now, honey," Angel pinched her cheek lightly when her pout returned. "There'll be plenty of time tomorrow to play, with Mommy and Aunt Dawn and everybody."
"And cake!" Angela giggled. Buffy strolled over and knelt by the makeshift fort.
"Yeah, but you gotta go to sleep first, baby," Buffy said, a gentler, motherly tone in her voice now. Angela nodded and flipped over to lay her head on the pillow. Buffy looked over to her right to see that her bed had been stripped and sighed lightly. Angel crawled out from underneath and turned the lamp off as he went.
"Daddy? Can we arm wrestle when I wake up?" Angela asked innocently as Buffy tucked her into a sleeping bag. "Promise I won't cheat."
"Sure, honey," he murmured and gave her a kiss. "Goodnight."
"Sweet dreams," Buffy said, brushing Angela's bangs out of her face. Angela looked up with a smile and suddenly very sleepy eyes. They kissed each other and she nestled into her pillow. "I love you."
"Love you, Mommy."
The parents didn't speak until they had shut Angela's door, walked down the hall and were in the comfort of their own room. Then Buffy smacked Angel's hand.
"Ow!" Angel cried as quietly as possible and Buffy suppressed a laugh at the surprise on his face. "What was that for?"
"You're gonna ruin her sleeping pattern, she's gonna be all sluggish for school."
"Buffy, it's one night. It's not gonna hurt," Angel held up his offended hand. "My hand however does."
"Wh – how'd you get those?" Buffy grabbed Angel's wrist, bringing his hand closer for inspection. There were small bruises forming on the back of it.
"I wanted to talk to you about it. Remember last week when Angie broke her dollhouse by accident? We thought she'd thrown it or something? I don't think that was it."
"Angel, she couldn't have pulled that top off without..." Buffy stopped short, her eyes flickering back to his hand.
"I thought arm wrestling was a good test for a kid. I wasn't gonna have her do something that could get her hurt, but... She's strong, way stronger than she should be at her age."
"Slayer strong?" Buffy looked up with wide eyes, nearly unbelieving. For a moment, she didn't know whether to be filled with pride or filled with dread. Angel's jaw clenched at the word 'slayer' so she could only assume that he felt the same way.
"Proportionally," Angel nodded.
"What do we do? If she hurts someone or hurts herself that -"
"We teach her to control it," Angel interrupted. "Like Giles taught you. I – I don't know what this means, but we'll deal."
"You don't think she -" Buffy struggled with the words. "That she'll – be called, do you?"
"I don't know," Angel's eyes mirrored the same anxiety and fear of that possibility that Buffy was feeling.
"She's just a baby," Buffy said barely above a whisper, her voice breaking. Angel wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her close, attempting some form of comfort.
"I know."
"Hey guys!" Fred bounced into the hotel lobby, clutching a manila envelope. Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley filed out from the office area. Fred held up the envelope, grinning, "It's from Angel!"
"Huh, weird that it came when we're just about to see him," Gunn said. Fred passed the envelope to Cordelia to open.
"It must be the pictures," she said.
"Pictures?" Wesley looked confused.
"Of Angela, duh! We've seen zip of her since she was two!" She said, pointing to a framed photograph that they'd posted on the lobby desk.
"You didn't get this one?" Wesley pulled out his wallet and flipped to a photo of a three-year-old Angela in a pink dress and cowboy boots.
"You have a different picture?" Cordelia growled, hurrying over to investigate.
"In your wallet?" Gunn laughed.
"Well, it fit." Wesley shrugged, smirking. Fred crowded over to look too. "Plus, the boots are quite adorable."
"Awww!" She crooned, pointing. "Look at her curly pigtails!"
"That's classic Buffy," Cordelia said. "That shade of blonde is unmistakable. Definitely got her dad's eyes though."
"Oh," Fred sighed sweetly. "In proportion, look at those big ol' browns!"
"Ahem," Wesley raised a brow. "Don't you want to see what she looks like now?"
"Oh, right!" Cordelia backed up, ripping open the envelope. Inside were several different photographs of different sizes. She pulled out the 8x10 and froze, her face falling. Before the others could ask what the matter was she rushed over to the desk, frantically pulling out the other pictures and spreading them out before her.
"What's up?" Gunn stepped up to her, looking at the pictures. Wesley and Fred followed suit. Cordelia stared with wide eyes at the brunette little girl staring back at her with a smile that went all the way up to her sparkling hazel eyes. Angela was still a perfect blend of both Buffy and Angel – but in reverse.
"Man," Gunn shook his head. "Kids sure change quickly."
"She's so beautiful," Fred said, holding up a small photo. "Wonder if she'll even remember us."
"Cordelia, what's wrong?" Wesley asked, laying his hand on her shoulder. Cordelia finally looked up and crossed her arms across her chest, heaving a sigh.
"It's Angela," Cordelia shook her head as if she didn't want to believe it herself. "The girl from my dream - er – vision that... "
Fred and Gunn snapped their attentions back to Cordelia. Wesley glanced down at the desk, "From five years ago? Are you sure?"
"I wish I wasn't," Cordelia rubbed at her brow.
"We should tell Angel," Gunn offered. Cordelia rounded on him.
"Tell him what? That we think his only daughter is a pawn of Wolfram and Hart's? He'd gut us before we ever got the chance to explain!"
"Cordelia's right," Wesley interjected before Gunn could make a comeback. "We need to have all the facts before we bring this to either Angel or Buffy. We can't just open up our suspicions, it'll just upset them."
"I don't know how much more we can find out without help," Fred said. "Angel and Buffy are our best chance at figuring this out. They know Angela better than anyone obviously. And – and maybe they'd recognize the other woman from your dream, Cordelia."
"Wait," Wesley rose his hand. "We don't need to involve them just yet."
"But how –?"
"We can get inside help," Wesley headed toward the office. "I just need to make a call to Sunnydale."
"Who?" Gunn questioned.
"Giles," Cordelia caught on. "It's gotta be Giles."
"Bloody hell," Giles muttered, coming down the stairs, wrapping his bathrobe tightly around him. He reached the phone shockingly by the fifth ring and tried to make his voice sound less angry than he felt. "Hello?"
Giles sighed audibly, putting his hand to his temple. "Wesley, I realize that Los Angeles is the city that never sleeps but it's nearly three o' clock in the morning here."
"Very well, go on," He grumbled, pulling his glasses out of his pocket as he listened to Wesley talk on the other end of the line. "Angela's quite healthy, I can assure you. Why the sudden interest in her well being? Especially at -" he glanced at the wall clock. "2:43 AM? You'll be seeing us all tomorrow."
"No, she's perfectly normal. Perhaps a little energetic, but nothing out of the ordinary." When he soon realized that this was going to be a long conversation, Giles moved to the kitchen to heat water for tea. "What was this vision?"
Giles' brow deepened, listening intently now. "I see... and you believe that Angela is this young girl in Cordelia's dream?"
"Ah," Giles turned on a lamp in the dining room. "Well, the child of a Slayer is not necessarily an unprecedented event. There have been several in the past, but most of them never survived past adolescence. However, the ones that did are not so thoroughly recorded."
Giles searched his book shelf for a moment before pulling out a small, hard-covered book. He flipped it open on the table, and ruffled through the pages. "The Watcher's diary of Thomas Wilshire has a passage … here – February, 1718: his charge, Mary O'Reilly gave birth to a son. His name was Michael. The labor was normal, the delivery was safe and the newborn healthy. September, 1718: The infant was a bright child. No conflicts between the Slayer's duties and her motherly responsibilities. Um... June, 1719: The boy presents no supernatural abilities that can be verified, but has an unexplainable connection to the mother. Wilshire suspects that it may be something psychic. Let's see, October, 1719: Wilshire tests the boy's connection to the mother, using what is described as a system like Zener cards. It seems that the test was unsuccessful, as he could not relate the image from his mother's mind. In November of 1719 he tries a different system, but the same result."
Giles stopped for a moment, focusing on the next part. "Oh. The tests of the boy's skill were abandoned after January of 1720 and he writes no more about the child until February, 1722: Wilshire fears the boy is becoming paranoid. He continues to warn Wilshire and his mother about a strange figure. He cannot describe it and so the mother feels that it's simply a child's fear. In March, 1722: Mary is sent on a mission some eighty miles away from home, hunting a Darval demon and the boy is put in the Watcher's care. Five days before his mother's return, the boy has a fit in church. Er, he screamed and moved so violently that he had to be restrained. The next day when he finally awoke, he tells Wilshire that his mother has died." Giles closes the book solemnly. "Mary never returned. They found her body, torn to shreds."
Giles walked into the kitchen to pour the tea, listening to Wesley for a moment. "I don't know that Angela possesses any special skills. Slayer strength, that's what Cordelia saw?"
"The woman who spoke in a foreign – Ukrainian? Mishka." Giles set his cup down. "She's a gypsy from the Triabirov clan...in the texts she's supposed to be quite powerful. She – she's with a vampire called Miroslav. Have you – Yes. Quite."
Giles leaned back on the chair he sat in, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Of course, we should. Perhaps we can confer after the birthday party."
"No, Wesley, we must tell Buffy and Angel. If Angela is in danger, or, " Giles cleared his throat. "Buffy is our best chance at protection."
In a hidden cavern just below the surface, Mishka worked diligently by candlelight. A small bowl of burning herbs sat at her left, the fragrance filling the air. In front of her was an image of Buffy and Angel together. She made a mark on a chart and held it up in front of her face.
"Mishka," a deep solid voice said from behind her. Then Miroslav stepped into the circle of candlelight. He looked at her surroundings and nodded. "You have done well."
"I have changed our plan. The mortal first."
"Why?" Anger touched Miroslav's calm tone.
"The child is too well protected," Mishka said, eying the photograph that leaned against a candle. "This Skorost lico will not be easy, but it will work. I am certain of it."
Miroslav leaned over the woman's shoulder to gaze at the chart she held. He noted the position of the planets and constellations, but his focus of interest was the position of the moon. A smile grew across his hard features.
"Tomorrow?"
Mishka nodded and sighed softly, happily. "Sasha will watch over me." Then she looked up at Miroslav. "The Hellmouth will open, I promise you."
"Ah," Miroslav reached forward and touched Mishka's hair, letting it slip through his fingers. "Good girl."