Better Holiday Memory by DSDragon

Setting: GGGoH

Author's Notes: The title kinda sucks, but it was the only thing I could come up with. The challenge said "a revelation or unexpected gift." They're not big, but I put one of each in this fic.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the settings in this fanfic. I only own the idea. The rest belongs to Warner Brothers.

-----

Perry had given Lois and Clark a few extra days down in Smallville to let Clark recuperate from the Trask debacle (they had sent the story to him by fax already) and to have time with his parents for an early Thanksgiving celebration. Lois, who never turned down food as good as what she'd been fed for the last few days, accepted the invitation to stay when it was given.

Sitting at the kitchen table, she watched Mrs. Kent--er, Martha--putter around her, preparing a full turkey dinner. Well, "putter" was really the wrong word. Martha's gait and ease on her feet were really too vivacious to call them "puttering." *The woman must live on Energizer batteries,* Lois thought. *She just keeps going, and going . . .*

"You seem contented," Martha remarked, startling Lois out of her reverie. "Kind of like the cat that ate the canary, what with that grin you've got."

"Oh!" Lois gasped. "Um, I was just thinking, that's all."

"Really? What about?"

Thinking it would be rude to compare her hostess to the Energizer Bunny out loud, Lois improvised. "Actually, I was thinking how nice it is here. I mean, I wouldn't want to live here, but it's nice not to be mashed into a few city blocks with crowds of other people every once in a while."

"Huh," Martha said.

Perplexed, Lois asked, "What?"

"Nothing. It's just that, from what Clark's been telling us, and what I've seen so far, I was almost sure I had you pegged for the workaholic, never-leave-the-city-on-your-life type."

Caught, Lois blushed. "Well, yeah. But a girl can appreciate some time off; no matter how much she loves the work, can't she?"

"Absolutely."

Thinking it was time to change the subject, Lois asked, "So where are Cl--the boys?"

A twinkle in her eye as she turned back to the turkey in the oven, Martha answered, "Oh, they're around somewhere. Since this will be our only chance to have Thanksgiving with Clark this year, he and Jonathan decided to hang the Christmas decorations earlier than usual."

"What do you mean? Christmas isn't for another month and a half."

"We decorate on Thanksgiving," came the answer from the sink as Martha prepared some brussels sprouts for boiling.

"Why is that?" Lois asked. "I've never done much more than find a tree on Christmas Eve myself."

"Just a Kent family tradition, I guess. We don't take down any decorations until New Year's either."

"More than a month of Christmas?" Lois couldn't decide whether she was in awe or pure catatonia at the thought of all that . . . cheer. "How can you stand it? I can barely tolerate the decorations they put up at the Planet in the middle of December."

When Martha's answer did not come right away, Lois looked up. The older woman had a somewhat sad expression on her face. "Bad memories?" she asked.

Lois scrunched her head further onto her shoulders and rubbed her entwined fingers together on top of the table. "I don't really like to talk about it."

-----

Clark put the finishing touches on the staircase. He'd wrapped the rails in garland and white Christmas tree lights—for the next two months, his parents wouldn't have to worry about breaking their necks if they went downstairs for a midnight snack. And, hey, it was also festive!

Suddenly, his super hearing kicked in:

~"How can you stand it? I can barely tolerate the decorations they put up at the Planet in the middle of December."~

*Hmm,* Clark thought. *I wonder why Lois is so repulsed by Christmas decorations?* Shaking his head, he resolved to try not to eavesdrop anymore—and to help Lois enjoy the holidays.

But before he could turn off his hearing, he heard his mother's question. ~Bad Memories?~

Hoping it wasn't true, Clark's heart broke a little when his partner answered very quietly, ~I don't really like to talk about it.~

Desperate now to find a way to cheer Lois up about the season, Clark searched the room. He must have been staring in certain places, because his father was looking at him with a question in his eyes. Clark shook his head in a "not yet" gesture, then spotted exactly what he was looking for in a box balanced precariously on the back of the couch.

Going as fast as he could without alerting the kitchen's occupants (or rather one of the occupants) that he was super-speedy, Clark grabbed a bit of mistletoe, tacked it right outside the kitchen, and went back to his place by the stairs just as the door started to open.

-----

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Martha nodded, and turned back to her cooking just as a timer sounded. "Whoops! Looks like that's dinner. Want to help me get it all to the table?"

"Sure." Lois stood and took the dish of mashed potatoes toward the dining room. She carefully opened the door, and took only a step or two into the other room before Martha called, "Stop, Lois!" She stopped.

Looking back to the Kent matriarch, Lois asked, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," came the answer. "You're just standing under the mistletoe."

Lois looked up; sure enough, there was a tiny sprig of the dratted weed tacked to the ceiling just outside of the kitchen doorway. Her eyes widened--how the hell could she get out of this one?--"Oh."

Movements out of the corner of her eye made Lois turn her head. Clark was walking toward her. *He'd better not do what I think he's going to do,* Lois thought to herself in vain. Clark grabbed the potato dish from her nerveless fingers, gently set it on the table just to her right, and--quick and soft--put his lips on hers.

*Hey, where'd he go?* Her thoughts contradicted themselves as Clark pulled back with a smile.

"Happy Thanksgiving, Lois," he said as Lois mused to herself, *Maybe the holidays aren't so bad after all.*

Only Fell

A Firefly fanfic by DSDragon

A Non-Firefly-Related Note: To all of you waiting for chapter seven of The Pitfalls and Pleasantries of Kryptonian Multiplication, I am sorry to disappoint you with yet another non-Lois & Clark fic. The truth is, I haven’t even started thinking about what will happen in that chapter, but rest assured that I will. I just happen to be on a kick with another fandom at the moment. One of these days, I’m sure I’ll crack down on myself and force my fingers to type some good ol’ L&C.

Disclaimer: I do not own Firefly, or any of the characters therefrom. Joss Whedon, FOX and the studios that the BDM was filmed by do. More’s the pity, ‘cause if I did, I certainly wouldn’t let that be all there was.

Spoilers: Our Mrs. Reynolds—much of the dialogue for this story has been yoinked straight from that episode. Other than that, I’ve tried to explain everything in as close to my own words as possible.

“You guys don’t understand,” Captain Malcolm Reynolds protested as he staggered to his feet. Nearby, Simon was stowing his stethoscope in his bag and the Shepherd, Zoe, Wash and Inara had found places around the captain’s bunk.

“Seems pretty straightforward to me,” answered the Shepherd. “You were taking advantage--”

“I was the one being taken advantage of!” Mal shouted as he pulled on his left suspender.

“My apologies. You were victimized, Wash was beaten, and then Inara found you here.”

“Uh-And then I fell,” Inara interjected from Mal’s bed as she pointed to the floor. Mal thought her voice sounded different—maybe she was sleepy? “My head got hurt like Wash.”

“I don’t get any of this,” lamented the captain, ignoring the Companion on his bed for the moment.

“I only fell is all,” Inara persisted, slightly louder.

“No, you didn’t,” Simon answered her.

“How you know that, when you ain’t even examined her?” Zoe asked.

“No need.” The doctor stood and faced the captain, rubbing his face roughly with a cloth and backing away before Mal could even think to block the other man’s arm.

“Ow!” Mal protested. “What was that for?”

“The Good Night Kiss is tasteless,” Simon began as he lowered the handkerchief to his side.

“Yeah, so?”

“So, Captain, since the narcotic is tasteless, you should be able to tell me whether or not Saffron was wearing lipstick, which has a distinct flavor.”

Mal’s lips pursed as he tried to remember. “She wasn’t--not a smudge. But what’s that gotta do with anything?”

Simon brought his hand up to Mal’s eye level, showing him the side of the cloth—a snow-white handkerchief—with which he had wiped Mal’s face.

Mal peered at the fine white fabric. In the center, barely noticeable, was a patch of color. Mal couldn’t decide whether it was a light purple or a dusky pink, but he didn’t have to look at the woman on his bunk to know where it came from. “Huh,” he said, staring at the smudge. Suddenly, Inara's "sleepy" tone of voice made sense.

“What?” Wash asked from his position beside Zoe.

“Nothing to go crazy over,” Mal answered, filing the information away for a later, more private conversation. He grabbed the handkerchief from the doctor and pocketed it, deliberately not looking Inara’s way. Mal suddenly wondered why half of his crew was currently crowding his bunk and turned to Zoe.

“What the hell’s our status?”

A Certain Essence

A Firefly fanfic by DSDragon

Disclaimer: I do not own Firefly, or any of the characters therefrom. Joss Whedon, FOX and the studios that the BDM was filmed by do. More’s the pity, ‘cause if I did, I certainly wouldn’t let that be all there was.

Spoilers: Shindig.

He should have been paying attention to what that hick was saying, instead of to the tone in her voice as she answered the other man’s greeting. If he’d been doing as he ought, Atherton might have been able to refuse Reynolds’s request in a socially acceptable manner. (Never mind that there really was no way to do so.) But he had been too busy pondering the difference in Inara’s voice from just a few moments before.

Before, her voice had been as warm and lovely as the tones of a fine viola, not unlike the ancient Stradivarius from Earth-that-Was he’d once heard played solo on Londinium; now, it still reminded him of the masterwork viola, but there was something different to its timbre. Some added extra that had nothing—or was it everything?—to do with the irritation she used to color it.

He was shaken from his reverie as Inara’s arm was pulled from fingers he hadn’t realized had tightened in the few seconds that had passed since she had introduced that feh feh pi goh.

As he turned to watch her dance and ignore the “Captain,” he pondered what that difference could have been, but it was so mo min chi meow that when he heard Sir Harrow’s mocking compliment, the thought left him entirely for a moment.

“I know what’s mine,” he answered, putting as much scorn as he could into the sentiment, not looking away from the dance floor as he spoke, propriety be damned.

And then it was there again—that indefinable something—even though the dance had barely begun. Only this time, he couldn’t hear her voice. It was in the way she moved as she danced. He had seen her dance before—held her, even, as she did it. She was very graceful, and danced as flawlessly as she did everything else. But if a dance or a movement could have a timbre, then that strange timbre would be coloring the music of her movements in this dance as well.

He studied her some more as she joined that man for the first turn, saw her lips move as she spoke. It seemed they might be having an argument, and that lifted his spirit for a moment.

But it was only for a moment, as he noticed that, even in her disagreement, that indefinable, unfamiliar quality mocked his ignorance. He did not like to be mocked, and he prided himself on his lack of ignorance, but for all his wealth and all the times he’d contracted with Inara, he had never seen this part of her before.

He thought on it some more as the dance came through a second turn and the palm of her hand came together with Reynolds’s. Was it his imagination, or did her hand slide a bit as it parted from his, as if it were loathe to do so? The thought burned Atherton, but he pushed it to the back of his mind in favor of continuing his previous train of thought.

Just what was it that was different at this moment from the way she normally spoke, danced and looked? Surely, there was no lack of warmth or propriety; Inara was much too professional for that.

Then it struck him—professional.

Could it be that he had never seen the real Inara Serra? A less observant man might miss the slight differences between a well-trained act and the genuine woman, but there was no other possible conclusion in Atherton’s mind. And that realization made him want nothing more than to rip that man’s head off. Inara belonged to him tonight, to Atherton Wing. She had no business showing herself to some wu ming shao jwu this evening, when she was supposed to show it only to him. What right did Reynolds have, pulling that out of her when Atherton was supposed to be the one to do it?

The oaf tripped over his own feet, and Atherton, in a rage, barreled past him, grabbing Inara on the way.

“Woah, now. No need for any hands-on,” he heard from behind him.

Atherton swung around. “Excuse me,” he spit. “She’s not here with you, Captain. She’s mine.”

“Yours? She don’t belong to nobody.” Honestly, where did this sah gwa get his ideas? Inara was contracted to him for the next three days; therefore, she belonged to him.

“Money changed hands, which makes her mine tonight. And no matter how you dress her up, she’s still—“

Te ma duh, the man had a fist like a battering ram! Atherton shook himself as Reynolds made some smartass remarks to Inara. Picking himself up off of the floor, Atherton said the one thing he could not do when it came to his own shortcomings:

“I accept.”

--

Feh Feh Pi Goh – Baboon’s ass crack

Wu Ming Shao Jwu – Peon, small fry, a nobody, literally, “nameless little foot soldier”

Mo Min Chi Meow – Ridiculously strange, illogical or nonsensical, literally, “not understanding the peculiarity”

Sah Gwa – Fool, literally, “stupid melonhead”

Te Ma Duh – Damn, damn it, literally, “your mother’s . . .”

PPKM Updated!

I've finally finished writing Chapter Six of The Pitfalls and Pleasantries of Kryptonian Multiplication. My betas have had their turn as well, and the result is at the link below. Enjoy, and leave me feedback!

The Pitfalls and Pleasantries of Kryptonian Multiplication: Chapter Six - Marriages and Mayhem

Written Works Posted!

Since I only got one vote (thanks, Heather!), and that one vote was a positive one, I decided to post all of my written works here on the blog. You can see the different categories listed in the menu on the right. If you click on a category, you will be taken to a single entry, listing all of my writing from that category, with links. Click on the links in the entry, and you'll be taken to the individual entries for that story, poem, or whatever.

All of the previously-written works are back-dated to January 1, 2007, since that was before I started this blog. I did that so that my regular posts would stay at the top of the blog. Any updates and new writings will keep their original posting dates, and I will simply add links to those entries in the appropriate categories.

If you want to review, please leave a comment on the individual story. I'll appreciate any and all constructive criticism as well, even on the stuff I never plan to look at again.

Another Strange Dream (or three)--Plus a Question

I had another strange dream last night (and the night before, but I couldn't remember it well enough to recount it). I don't know what's made me have such strange dreams so frequently lately. I mean, I've been getting more sleep in the last three nights than usual. Could that be it? I actually went to bed at eleven the last three nights! That never happens, since I consider my bed time between midnight and one in the morning.

Anyway, last night's dream:

I think I was a teacher or something (Yikes! I don't have any desire to be a teacher!) because I was chaperoning a bunch of kids on a field trip. And where, pray tell, was this field trip? Oh, only Jurassic Park. *rolls eyes at subconscious* I have no idea why my brain came up with that.

The first part I remember about the dream is that there were these little four-wheeler things that could hold four kids (or three kids plus me). We were being attacked by the T-Rex, but we got away and decided to get out of the little vehicles for a rest and some lunch.

Then, this Pterodactyl-thing (it didn't have feet, only wings and a body--and yes, I spelled that without looking it up!) came up, walking on its bottom wing-tips, and started to peck at everybody. So, we all scrambled back into the vehicles, and I told the kids to get to the main building as fast as they could.

We got there, then the next part of the "field trip" was this maze which was accessed through the main building. I think they were supposed to be hunting some of the dinosaurs or something, but (and this part is a bit disturbing) the kids ended up turning on each other! I managed to get all of my group out, but by the time the parents had come to pick everybody up, there were body parts strewn all through that maze. Why in the heck would my subconscious come up with something like that?!?

At this point, the dream changed. I dreamed that I was caught up in a storm. Or maybe, I was controlling the storm, because once the storm was over, I just walked around, then I walked back to the place that I'd started walking and I knew exactly which roads to take to get home from there--only I asked for a ride the rest of the way. During my travels though, I visited a lot of people, sometimes just in their yards, but sometimes I walked right into their houses unannounced. I even came upon a toddler's birthday party in a kitchen once.

The dream changed again, and this time, I knew exactly why I'd dreamed what I dreamed--because I was reading Lois & Clark fanfic and posting on the L&C Fanfic Message Boards before I went to sleep.

Clark Kent was missing Lois Lane for some reason. I was sitting there watching them as they talked. They were both very sad. Lois was committing herself, and Clark was begging her to stay and talk about the problem with him, because it was the same problem he had--their daughter had died in some sort of accident, and he hadn't been there in time to save her or something.

It was around then that I woke up.

Now, the question . . .

As some of you (or all, depending on how many/few people actually read this blog) know, I write fanfiction. I have it posted in various places, some here, some there, and some just sitting on my hard drive. For years, I've been meaning to make up a website where I can keep all of it and not worry about which fandom it's for. But I can never seem to keep up with the site updates well enough, so I just let those old sites die.

Anyway, my question is, would any of you actually be interested in reading my stories if I posted them here (with tags for the different fandoms/stories, and links on the side bar) so that I could keep them all together? Or would you prefer if I found some place else (not fanfiction.net) like maybe fanficauthors.net or some other high-quality multi-fandom fanfic site to post my stories, and then put a link in the side bar here?

Where did that come from? . . . It was kinda fun!

No, this is not a post about my Christmas. I haven't really figured out what to say about that--there really isn't that much to say anyway.

What this post is about, however, is a dream I had last night.

When it started, I was in this building. I think it was a combination of all the schools I'd ever gone to or something, 'cause it looked a lot like a school, only bigger. Then, when I went outside, I found myself at this really swanky outdoor party. There was a fountain and everything.

But the weird part is, there was also this huge parking lot with lots of expensive cars in it. Now that I think on it, that was weird too--I mean, why would anyone keep such expensive cars outside, instead of in a garage?

Anyway, this kid started bugging me, then ran away, so I was looking for him. Then all of a sudden this guy starts talking to me out of nowhere. I turn around, and the guy looks like Michael Keaton for some reason. And he's got this kid with him (different from the one I'd been looking for), around late teens, early twenties.

I gasp, and say something like, "Um, uh . . . Mr. Wayne!" because, apparently I was at Wayne Manor. The kid was probably one of the Robins, and I don't know why, but he called Bruce "Dad" in my presence, which was even weirder.

So Wayne says something about my car being towed (I had apparently left it sitting in the streets of Gotham), and asks if I want to drive to get it back, handing me this ring full of keys as he gets into one of the cars on the lot, a Porsche, or that's what he said. I don't know one expensive car from the other, so the cars in my dreams probably really weren't Porsches.

Then, he points to a car that goes with the key he'd stuck up for me in the ring . . . only I'd accidentally dropped the key ring and didn't see which car he'd pointed at. I did hear him and Robin saying something about "the 100" though, which didn't make any sense at all, but I guess it had something to do with the car he'd pointed out.

Anyway, "Robin" leads me to this car. It was supposed to be green, but looked more cream-colored to me, and I try the key which is the one I think Bruce handed to me. No dice.

I try another one, and the doors unlock. So me and the Robin guy get in the car, and follow Bruce Wayne in the red "Porsche" he'd gotten into around the parking lot a few times. I remember chuckling to myself and saying to the Robin guy (either in my head or out loud, I don't remember) that it would be funner if one of the cars was the Batmobile. We finally made our way to this really messed-up alley way with bricks laying around and the manhole open in the middle of the street and such.

There's this weird-lookin' bike there, and a couple of cars, but mine isn't there. So I get on the bike thing, and thank Mr. Wayne before . . . I wake up.

I don't know where that dream came from. The last time I had anything to do with anything even remotely Batman-related was a few days ago, when I read a couple of stories from LaraMoon's Lois & Clark fanfic series called, "Clark Kent is Batman . . . NOT!" And a week or two before that, I'd dubbed the original Batman movie from a home-recorded VHS to a DVD. But anything I'd been doing the past few days had been pretty much strictly Lois & Clark.

Strange.

Amazon Kindle

One of my bosses bought an Amazon Kindle. I had never even heard of them until last week, and even then I didn't know what it was until Gabe (the guy I share my office with) was setting up the one my boss bought. Turns out, they're back-ordered until like, February right now.

I got to hold Willem's (my boss) Kindle for a little bit, check out the features and stuff. It's pretty nice, and the screen doesn't strain your eyes. But the cost! Oh, my goodness, the cost!

Just the reader itself is $400! Then, you have to pay about $10 for every book you put on the Kindle from the Kindle store. You'd think, if they were making you pay so much just for the technology, they'd at least let you pick out 20 (better 100) books from the Kindle store for free! Not to mention, regular e-books usually don't cost more than 1/5th of that!

Some people have figured out how to put other e-books and PDF files onto their Kindles, and you can e-mail text files to the Kindle too, but still.

I do like the fact that you can get magazine and newspaper subscriptions on the Kindle though--not that I actually subscribe to anything except the TVGuide. I don't subscribe, because that means I have to take time out of reading books and fanfic to read the magazine/newspaper/whatever. And some months/days/weeks, I just don't want to put the book down, or I just want to get through the fanfic, y'know? But if I had a Kindle, they'd all be on the same thing, and I could just switch between them if one couldn't hold my interest for long.

Overall, the Kindle is awesome, but I will have to wait until the price--both for the reader itself, and for the content--comes down to my price range.

Busy Week

Monday was the usual craziness--I had to get my allergy shots after work, and then I had to wait until Jen R. was done with the machines so that I could do my laundry. I didn't get dry jeans until Tuesday.

After work on Tuesday, I stopped off at Fox's Sport & Bait store to get my bow re-strung. It was pretty cool. The guy there had this machine with four wheel things on it. Two of the wheels went on the outside of the bow, at the ends, and then the other two went in the middle of the bow, right where the arms join the handle. The two wheels in the middle got pushed down as the guy turned a crank, and that bent the bow enough so that he could get the string into place.

I also bought half-a-dozen Venture carbon arrows, and got to watch while the guy cut them to the right length (26 inches, as opposed to the 29-inch arrows I got before) and put in the inserts to hold the tips. I bought tips, of course, and a target.

It was about 6:30 when I got home, so I got some dinner and sat on the computer for a while. Then, a couple sisters from the Relief Society presidency came to welcome me to the ward and give me a list of all the sisters in the ward.

Yesterday, I actually managed to get home on time and managed to get in two rounds of archery practice before I felt hungry enough for dinner. The target kept jumping around whenever it was hit though--I think I'll grab a few bricks from my parents' back yard to help keep the target steady next time.

A while later, Anna showed up so that I could look at and beta read the next chapter of her story. But first, we went to Auto Zone so she could buy some new wiper blades, and to Wal-Mart so she could get a few other things.

When I was almost done beta reading the chapter, Kimba called Anna asking if she wanted to go to Kohls and get some new shirts. So, Kimba came over, and the three of us then went to Kohls. I tried on about five shirts, but none of them looked right, so I ended up just getting a new set of black sheets, so that I could put them on my bed when I wash the red ones.

Tonight, Smallville is a new episode, so I'm going to watch that. Other than taping two episodes of Phil of the Future though, I don't have much else to do.

Maybe I'll actually take some time and type up one or two of those fanfics I've been meaning to write. Or I could use the time to get even closer to the end of Anna Karenina, because seriously, it's taken almost two months for me to get through the first six parts, and that's just ridiculous!

TOC: The Pitfalls and Pleasantries of Kryptonian Multiplication

The Pitfalls and Pleasantries of Kryptonian Multiplication

by DSDragon

Table of Contents

Prologue: Long Journey's End

Chapter One: Voices in My Head

Chapter Two: Excitement and Confusion

Chapter Three: Planning, Plotting, and a Personal Favor
Chapter Four: Rivals and Arrivals
Chapter Five: Explanation and Exasperation
Chapter Six: Marriages and Mayhem
Chapter Seven - Coming Soon!

Lost and Found

Summary: Response to my own Angel-verse challenge, as posted at Visions Of... and Crumbling Walls. I never welch on my own challenges, so here is the response.

Disclaimer: I do not own Angel the Series, or any of the characters, places, or ideas therein. I merely use them to wile away the time between work shifts. :)

The Challenge:

Ok, basically, I want:

-Cordy to come back with lots of exciting "saving the universe" stories.
-Someone (not Fred or Gunn or Wesley) to find Angel... you decide how... and his mental/physical state when he gets out of the water (ex... shriveled up from starvation, mad as a hatter, angry as a wet hen... you decide).
-Can be angsty, fluffy, dramatic, humorous, dark, mixed-emotions, whatever... just DON'T KILL ANYONE (unless I tell you to)... I beg you!
-Rated R or below... if you wanna do NC-17... you're welcome to try it... and I'll probably read it, but I'd prefer the line to be at R-rated.

Required Minutiae:

-The movie "Home Alone," and someone trying to immitate the comb-singing sequence.
-A hamburger smothered in honey-barbecue sauce.
-Justine dies... painfully.
-Mis-matched earrings on the same person... or two people wearing one set of earrings (one person wears one earring, the other person wears the other).
-As many foods that have the word "Angel" in the names as you can think of.
-Someone playing either Tetris, Pokémon, or both, on a teal-colored Gameboy Color.
Think you can do it? Well, get to it:)

Prologue

The small ocean liner plunged through the briny waves majestically. It was a good hip, praised for its reliability despite its old age, and its crew, the same crew since the ship's maiden voyage, couldn't help but come back whenever her captain asked for "just one more."

On this particular day, the crew of the S.S. Couraguex was testing out a new sonar system, searching for irregularities--or maybe even buried treasure--on the ocean floor.

The captain was a jolly man with an explorer's soul. The nearly seventy-year-old Captain John Corruthers couldn't get enough of the feeling of accomplishment he got after every voyage. It mattered not whether the mission itself was a success or a failure; Captain Corruthers was just happy that he had had the opportunity to see the beautiful globe one more time before he was "too old" to sail.

The crew loved their captain, just as they loved the ship. Each time "Jolly John," as they affectionately named him over the years, told them he had an itch to ride the waves again, the crew found themselves itching as well. The couldn't help it; they loved the sea just as much as their captain.

And so, when the sonar monitor beeped, signaling the presence of something less natural than sand or rock, the crew weren't bothered by the captains abrupt orders.

"Quickly!" Captain Corruthers instructed. "Set the anchor! Get a diver down there, get a chain ready in case we can pull it up! I want to see what it is!" Corruthers was like a kid in a candy store at the promise of a new adventure waiting just beneath the hull of his beloved vessel.

His crewmates--his dearest friends--rushed to do as he bid. Indeed, they were just as eager to know as their captain.

The diver went down, coming back up a few minutes later with a thumbs up to say that the object could be lifted.

Quickly, an iron hook on a heavy chain was lowered with the wench mechanism at the stern of the Courageux. In minutes, the diver had hooked the chain around the object, and it was pulled to the deck of the vessel by eager hands once the chain was fully retracted.

Everyone on board gasped when they saw the contents of the rusty metal box before them.
It was a man. A corpse, more like it. Although he couldn't have been dead for more than a few days--by the crew's estimation anyway. His cheeks were sunken in, his frame and general visage unhealthy-looking. But, then again, one couldn't really expect a corpse to look healthy, could they? Definitely not.

Then--horror of horrors! The crew who had seen the world many times over, the crew who had battled modern pirates and seen the worst things there can be seen in the daytime world, indeed, the brave crew of the good ship S.S. Courageux, had never seen a sight as ghastly as the horror of the next seconds.

The corpse's eyes snapped open of their own volition.

Chapter I

He was being moved. Too weak to do more than just let it happen, Angel rejoiced at the rescue.

Cordelia, he thought in the interminable minutes it took for his water-logged coffin to be hauled to the air above. She must've finally had a vision. She and the others must have found me . . . I wonder what took so long?

His thoughts were interrupted by voices--voices he didn't recognize--shouting and receiving orders and instructions.

A single voice--almost-feeble, yet affectionately authoritative--caught Angel's attention in particular.

Gathering the last bit of strength he had after such a long starvation, the vampire waited for the voice--and heartbeat that he could hear echoing off the walls of his metal box--to come nearer. Then, using that last bit of strength, Angel opened his eyes.

What he saw was a group of men--not a single one under fifty-five years old--looking in horror at his coffin. Feeling guilty for scaring his rescuers, the vampire struggled to speak, and--just in case he couldn't be heard--to make his lips move with the words.

"Don't be afraid," he managed to get out.

The men--Angel surmised they were sailors--seemed to understand, because their erratic heartbeats eased considerably.

Angel observed, weakly, a single man--easily the eldest of the group--stepped forward, shouting through the box to him.

"Who are you?" the sailor queried.

Angel, again, gathered strength to shout. "Open the box . . . can't shout . . . too weak," he managed to get out in spurts.

The man gestured for two of his men to open the box, and they scrambled to get the necessary tools.

When the box had been opened, the sailors noticed that Angel had been restrained and started to remove the heavy cords that bound him inside the box like a new Ken doll at Christmas.

"No!" the vampire cried, confusing the sailors. "I can't guarantee that I won't hurt you . . . I've been down there a while, and I'm so hungry . . ."

The sailors had backed off, but Angel could clearly see that they still had questions.

"Listen . . ." he began. "I know you have questions, but I really need to get to a butcher shop . . . Where am I?"

"We're a couple clicks off of Point Dume . . . Why a butcher shop?" the leader asked.

"I'll explain everything, but you won't believe a lot of it. You'll just have to take my word that it's real," Angel fell easily into his old "Cryptic Guy" routine--even mostly-starved--left over from his Sunnydale days.

"Mister, we've seen the world hundreds of times over. There isn't much we won't believe these days," the same man stated.

The vampire couldn't control it any longer. So many heartbeats--so much blood--were pounding in his ears, the bloodlust was just too great to control anymore.

"Would you believe this?" Angel asked, game face slipping to the forefront.

"I wonder what happened to them," Fred sighed for the millionth time in three months.

"I know. I do too. It's not like them to be gone this long without telling anyone," Charles Gunn gave his girlfriend a squeeze as they huddled together in the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, a take-out container of Angel Hair Pasta with white sauce on their stacked laps.

Suddenly, a bright light filled the headquarters of Angel Investigations. The light seemed to reach all corners of the exceptionally-large hotel, spilling onto the street before it dimmed in intensity.

Once the light was gone, and the pair were able to open their eyes without trama, they saw a decidedly-feminine--decidedly familiar--figure smiling at them.

The figure inhaled, as though enjoying a garden's scent after a refreshing spring rain.

"Ah . . ." the sigh became vocal. "Home!"

"Cordelia?!?" Fred asked, while Gunn merely gaped.

A young man stalked the streets of LA. The woman he had been following had betrayed him, and because of her betrayal, he had betrayed his father--his flesh-and-blood father, that is. His other father--the one who took him to the place he had called home for most of his life--had been a part of the betrayal as well.

The young man was on his way to get his father--his real father--back, when he saw the light show at the Hyperion.

He ran through the doors, only to see the three beings standing in a tableau of confusion.

"What happened?" he asked. "What was that light?" The young man hadn't been present the last time Cordelia's power had filled the hotel to the brims, and so he was a bit disoriented.

The two people nearest the couch swung their gazes to him, saying his name like a question--not sure of the reality of his presence.

"Connor?"

"Why are you so surprised to see Connor?" Cordelia asked, confused.

"Because," Gunn started, unsure of how to finish.

"He's been missin' just as long as you have, Cordy." Fred neglected to mention the other absence that summer, but the Seer-turned-higher-being caught it.

"Where's Angel?" she questioned. "He would've been down by now . . . He had to have been able to see it from his room, even with the door closed."

"Uh . . ." Fred stuttered, not eager to have Queen C's wrath upon her.

"He's been missing just as long," Gunn cut in. "We don't know where he is. We thought he was with you two."

"He wasn't with me . . . I never got to Point Dume in the first place," Cordelia was starting to get worried.

Connor seemed to fidget a bit before he spoke. "I know where he's been. That's what I came back for . . . Help getting him back."

Gunn, Fred, and Cordelia looked at him, expecting further explanations.

"Justine . . . She tricked me," the four-month-old teen began. "She killed Holtz and poked holes in his neck with an ice pick . . . Told me my father had done it. I didn't find out otherwise until I overheard her nightmares a few nights ago . . ."

The three listeners' eyes widened.

"And . . . ?" Gunn stated the obvious question. "Where is he now?"

"He's in a metal coffin at the bottom of the ocean . . . Which is why we need to get him back. It's been three months, and he's probably starving." Connor hung his head in shame, his voice fading after the last few sentences.

"Do you know where in the ocean? It's a big place," Cordelia was angry as she bit out the question, folding her arms across her chest as she narrowed her eyes at the boy.

"A few miles off of Point Dume," he whispered in answer. He lifted his eyes to Cordelia's, sorrow and shame clear in their irises. "I got to him before you could have . . ."

"I don't believe it," Corruthers exclaimed in irony. "What are you?"

"A vampire, and yes, they do exist," Angel subconsciously pleaded for the man to believe him. "Please . . . A butcher's shop . . ." the vampire hated to demand anything from his saviors--they'd done so much for him already--but he was just so hungry that he just might've ended up snapping the heavy cords himself, just to get at someone's neck if he didn't feed soon. "I'm so hungry, and all of you here at once is just making me hungrier"

John's eyes widened. "A vampire?" he whispered to himself so his crew wouldn't hear.

He was surprised when the man--no, vampire--in the box answered.

"Yes, a vampire," Angel elaborated when he saw the puzzled look on the captain's face. "Vampires have enhanced senses . . . Not only can I hear every man's heartbeat on the ship, but I can hear whispers from almost as far. Now . . . a butcher's shop? Please?"

Corruthers was startled out of his surprise. "Yes-yes, of course . . ." he turned and gave the orders to raise the anchor and turn the ship toward port. His men went to fulfill the task automatically, years of experience lending efficiency to agility.

"I'm sorry, but would you mind telling me your name? And, just out of curiosity, what were you doing in the ocean? And how long?" the "Kid-in-a-candy-store Syndrome" had returned full-force to Jolly John, and those of the crew that were left on-deck listened with rapt attention as the vampire told his tale.

"My name is Angelus, but my friends--my human friends, anyway--call me Angel . . ."

Chapter II

A phone rang, somewhere in the richer district of Los Angeles. A man picked it up, and the ringing stopped.

"Hello?" the man greeted. "Cordelia! It's good to hear from you!... How've you been? Still fightin' the good fight?..."

At the woman's reply, the man's demeanor became serious.

"Oh-Oh dear... Yes, I'll help any way I can... Say, Cordelia, do you mind if I come along?"
Back at the Hyperion, Cordelia answered.

"Sure, David, but please hurry. We need to find him ASAP... Alright, thanks so much!... It was good talking to you again too, David... Goodbye."

"So, Nabbit's in for another adventure?" Gunn quipped as the brunette set the phone back on its cradle.

"Yes, he is. He said to meet him at Point Dume around sunset. He'll have all the equipment we'll need then."

"Ah hope we find him," Fred spoke. "Y'all have been gone so long, Ah've been so worried. And now, you and Connor are back, but Angel's still missing..."

"We'll find him," Gunn reassured his girlfriend, glaring at the cause of their leader's extended absence.

"We have to."

"So, I've been in this box ever since," Angel finished his tale a short while after the Courageux got to shore and two crew members were sent to get Angel blood from the nearest place possible. The tale-telling helped the vampire to keep his mind off of his stomach.

"How long?" Captain Corruthers asked, jolting angel out of "story mode," or what passed for it in the vampire, anyway.

"I don't know . . . What day is it?" the vampire pondered.

"Tuesday," one of the men responded, thinking that the vampire had been in the ocean less than a week.

"No, the date . . . What month and day?" Angel corrected him.

"Uh . . . September the 10th."

"But it is still 2002, right?"

"Yes, of course it is . . . How long were you down there?"

"A little over three months . . . I can't remember exactly the day I was put in there."

The crew, John Corruthers included, just stared in awe at the long-starved, long-suffering vampire.

Cordelia shivered in the night air. True, Los Angeles was still warm during the day in early September, but it wasn't day.

To the contrary, it was about 11pm, and the ocean breezes didn't help keep the heat either. Cordy wished, for at least the millionth time that night, that one of her powers was temperature compensation.

"Anything?" the brunette inquired of the millionaire manning the sonar as she paced, trying to stay warm.

"Nope," Nabbit responded. "Are you sure this is the place?"

At David's question, Cordelia glared at Connor, who had been silent most of the trip.

"This is the place," the false-teen certified. "He should be here . . ."

"What if somebody else found him?" Fred voice her opinion.

"But wouldn't he have been back by now if they had?" Gunn countered.

"Not if he was found recently," Cordy got into the discussion. "His first priority would be food . . . David, is there a way to find out if anyone else found him?"

"Sure," the millionaire answered. "We know that whoever found him would've needed a boat to do so, so we could just radio the nearest vessels and ask if they found a strange metal box." Nabbit turned from the sonar indicator to the ship-to-ship radio.

"This is David Nabbit on the Nabbit's Dream, calling all vessels. My friends and I seem to have lost something . . ."

"Nabbit's Dream, this is the Coast Guard Night Watch. What is it you've lost?"

At the beginning of the radio exchange, Angel's ears perked up.

"What is it?" Captain Corruthers asked, not hearing the radio from his position outside the main cabin.

"Shh . . ." Angel--who had since fed and been let out of the box--held up a hand. "I think I hear something important on the radio. Is there a volume control? Can you turn it up?"

The captain ambled into the cabin to turn up the radio himself, catching the tail-end of the conversation.

". . . Steel . . . About 6½ feet long, 2 feet wide and deep . . . Sealed water-tight, with a plexi-glass-and-steel lid, welded closed with two long, metal poles at the sides . . ." It sounded like the speaker was getting the details from someone else; he kept pausing, as though listening.

"Got it, Nabbit's Dream. We'll put out a report for any vessels who found a box with the description you gave me--"

The captain interrupted the radio conversation excitedly.

"Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but this is Captain John Corruthers of the S. S. Corageux. I believe I've found what you're looking for."

A woman's voice came over the airwaves.

"And the . . . contents . . . of the box?" the woman asked. "Intact?"

"Yes, everything's fine here. The contents of the box have been very . . . educational." The captain was as reluctant to mention that a man was the contents as the woman on the other end was; burial at sea had been illegal for years . . . Not to mention burial of someone not-really-dead.

There was cheering on the airwaves. Corruthers turned to the vampire, who had been listening intently.

Angel was smiling. He recognized the voices from Nabbit's boat--his family. He whispered to the captain, who nodded his head and began speaking into the receiver again.

"I can have one of my crew bring the box's contents to the Hyperion Hotel within the hour. Would that be alright, Nabbit's Dream?"

"Perfect," Nabbit answered. "An hour it is. Thank you, Captain Corruthers. And thanks to the Coast Guard as well. Nabbit out."

"Just doing our jobs," the Coast Guard Night Watchman answered. "Coast Guard out."

"Corruthers out," the captain hung the radio receiver back in its place on the side of the radio, and turned to the vampire.

"You ready to go home? My car's just up the dock from here," the captain asked.

Angel smiled. He was going home.

A smartly-dressed and immaculately-coiffed businesswoman sat at a bar in a rather swanky pub. She was joined by a male who could only be described as "lumpy," wearing a ratty brown robe that looked as if it hadn't been washed in eons.

That's the price you pay for being non-corporeal for so many eras, I guess, Lilah Morgan thought to herself as she spoke to the millennia-old demon before her.

As the unlikely pair held a meeting at the bar, they failed to notice the figure listening from in another corner of the room.

Wesley Windham-Pryce didn't need to be close to the conversation to know what was being said. He didn't need any special lip-reading skills either.

Quite to the contrary. Wesley simply used the law firm's own technology against them. Before the infant Connor was taken to Quor'toth by Holtz, Wes had managed to find a couple of the bugs that the over-zealous Wolfram & Hart had planted in the hotel. A few simple modifications, and a little chewing gum (to stick the small device underneath the bar), and voilà--one spy device for Wesley.

He had to be sure to remove the bug that night, or else he'd surely never see it again; the bar--since it was owned by the redundantly-evil law firm--was checked for bugs and other spy devices every night.

As for Wesley being recognized by the bar's patrons, he had that covered too.

With a few subtle changes to his face--a mustache, but no beard, some hair dye, colored contact lenses--Wesley was barely recognizable unless one were to pay very close attention to him.

Ah, but Wesley had learned to lurk from the best. Just watching Angel stalk the various demons and vampires he hunted on a nightly basis gave Wesley enough lurking knowledge for this simple recon mission. With his hair slicked back, and one of the suits he pulled from his closet--left over from his more naïve Sunnydale days--Wes looked like nothing more than your average paralegal minion. No, Lilah was not likely to pay a lawyer's helper with such low rank any attention. Perfect.

Wesley sipped his drink, papers spread on the table as though working on a case. In reality, he was taking notes. It was only a matter of time before the demon and the vixen lawyer revealed anything of their plans, and he was going to be sure to hear when they did.

Chapter III

Angel and the captain were the first to make it back to the hotel. Almost four months' worth of cabin fever seemed to overcome the vampire as soon as he realized his family hadn't made it home yet. He paced the length and breadth of the lobby agitatedly, stopping only to interject comments like "What's taking them so long?" or "Come on, guys . . ."

Corruthers had tried, once, to calm the ensouled blood-sucker, but got a face fulll of bumps for his troubles. Instead of trying again, and risking a heart attack, the captain merely sat on the couch that covered the pentagram that none of the AI crew had been able to remove since Angel put it there when Connor was missing in Quor'Toth.

When the doors opened, the vampire sprang up the stairs, searching the faces for his seer.

But it was the seer who saw him first. Cordelia ran to the vampire, surprising Angel even more when she crushed her lips to his. She hadn't even realized he was in game face until one of his fangs nicked her tongue, but that didn't stop Cordy from kissing her vampire properly, either.

"Ahem," Fred tried to break the two apart verbally.

"Ahem," Gunn tried next.

"Uh," Connor began. "Dad?"

That did it. Angel stopped kissing Cordelia, and backed up a bit, looking toward the direction of his son's voice.

"The vampire smiled. "Hey," was all the forgiveness Connor needed. He ran to his father, wrapping him in a hug.

"I'm sorry, Dad."

Wesley had been spying on the demon and the lawyer since the over-zealous Gavin Park had opened the urn imprisoning Sahjahn, thereby pissing off not only Lilah Morgan herself, but also the senior partners.

Needless to say, Gavin was no longer among the ranks of elite Wolfram & Hart lawyers--nor of the living, for that matter.

But Wesley Windham-Pryce didn't care to dwell on Lindsey's replacement's demise. He had bigger fish to fry.

He had to make Angel listen to him while the Fang Gang still had a chance.

After the big reunion, Angel had demanded that the Fang Gang help him find Justine. Connor readily supplied her last known whereabouts, and the Gang was off.

After a few hours' drive in Angel's still-running-after-four-months Plymouth, they found her, in a motel, not far from the campsite Connor had left a few days before.

Angel slammed the redhead up against the motel room wall, game face on.

"You tricked my son, Justine," he menaced. "Now, you're gonna pay."

Fred started to protest, but Cordelia shut her up. Angel looked at the seer, as if for permission.
"She took your son from you . . . I say go ahead."

Fred changed her opinion quickly, while Gunn stood back, folding his arms, to watch.

Justine had the decency to cower in the group's presence.

Many painful hours later, Justine's cut and bruised corpse was flung into the Pacific Ocean. Angel did a ritual cleansing of the motel room, as well as a thorough finger-print wipe.

Satisfied that justice had been done, whether they took it in their own hands or not, the crew of Angel Investigations jumped back into the Plymouth convertible and drove home.

Chapter IV

"...And then, Skip showed up again, and said that I could go home, as long as I came back whenever they needed me." For the last few hours, the Fang Gang had been catching up on the past few months' events. Cordelia's tale, by far, the most exciting, had taken the longest.

"You're gonna leave again?" Angel asked like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times while it was down. He had just gotten her back; the vampire didn't want to spend any more time apart from Cordelia for a long while.

"Oh, don't worry," the woman answered, reassuring him a bit. "Skip said that trouble in that dimension doesn't happen nearly as often as it does here. Remember Slaying in Sunnydale? Kinda died down in the summer? Well, it's kinda like that, except the "summer" lasts about three times as long, sometimes, even longer."

Angel seemed to deflate in his sudden relief. Tentatively, he asked his next question. "Do you have any idea when you'll be needed there the next time?"

Cordelia smiled, catching on to the vampire's distress. "No, I don't," she teased a bit. "But," she quickly allayed the vampire's fears. "Skip did assure me that it won't be until next summer at the earliest."

Angel, Fred, Gunn, and even Connor, visibly relaxed once the seer pronounced the good news. The five warriors spent the next few minutes, chatting amicably about their hopes for the next year and the weather in L.A. as well as basic evil-fighting "shop talk."

"HELLOOOOO!" Everyone was startled from their conversations by the familiarly musical voice coming from the hotel's doorway. "I come bearing candy and compact discs . . . Not to mention lots o' mulah from the craps tables!"

"Lorne!" Fred was the first to snap out of her shock. "We really missed you! Well . . . when we weren't missing everybody else, or being bored out of our skulls, anyway. Where did that phrase come from, anyway? 'Bored out of our skulls?' I think-"

"Freddie," the green-skinned, red-horned demon smiled, shaking his head in amusement. "Oh, how I missed those dulcet, southern tones . . . Hey!" The demon finally noticed the others sitting around the room, basically doing nothing. "Where's the 'Welcome Home' party? Didn't you all get my message?"

The gang had decided to hold a reunion party, and Connor was taking a shower in his father's suite while Angel watched a movie on the television he had gotten just hours before. The not-really teen walked into the room, towel around his waist as he held a comb, just as McCaullay Caulkin came on screen, using a similar grooming tool as a microphone.

Still not quite sure about the point of movies and television, Connor thought that the boy on screen was trying to learn something important, and did his best to immitate.

Just then, Cordelia walked past Angel's door, carrying an Angel food cake she had just baked--from a mix, of course--downstairs for dessert. Giggling, the woman watched father and son dance around, enjoying themselves.

When the song was over, Cordelia shouted, "Bravo!" thereby making the boy blush, and his father wish that he could.

"Cordy!" Angel yelped, embarrassed. "How long were you standing there?"

"Long enough," she snarked, as the pair started getting dressed in matching slacks, shirts, and coats.

They had even pierced their ears and shared a pair of gold hoops; it was sort of a father/son bonding thing Angel had thought up: they'd do something together, and stick with it. Connor had chosen to dress like his father.

Cordelia had laughed, joking that one male with such horrible fashion sense was enough, thankyouverymuch, but had gone along when father and son asked her to be their "fashion consultant," and go to the mall with Connor to get their matching outfits.

When Connor had pointed to the shiny objects hanging from other shoppers' ears, asking what they were, Cordelia and Angel explained that they were for decoration. The vampire even reminisced that he had had an earring himself, back in his Angelus days, and it was decided. Father and son would pierce an ear each. Surprisingly, the jewelry didn't look so bad, and Cordelia had approved, so the two were happy.

Shaking herself out of her memories, Cordelia continued on her way, setting the cake down on the desk in the lobby downstairs where Fred was enjoying a hamburger, smothered in honey-barbecue sauce while Gunn played Tetris on a teal-colored Game Boy Color.

Angel and Connor walked down the stairs when Lorne walked into the room, whistling a jaunty tune, happy to be home again.

The peace and tranquility of the scene was interrupted, however, when Wesley burst into the hotel, panting in his panic.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!?!?" Angel roared, pinning Wesley to a nearby wall, a hand around the ex-Watcher's throat.

"Trouble," Wesley managed to choke out, and Angel reluctantly let the man go at Cordelia's urging.

"Get on with it," the vampire spat angrily. Apparently, Wesley still hadn't been forgiven, even though Connor had been back from Quor'toth for months now.

"Lilah," Wesley wheezed. "Sahjahn . . ."

He couldn't finish before the aforementioned demon crashed through a window, swinging on a rope, and grabbed Gunn's Game Boy from his hands.

"You'll not be spying anymore, Vampire," Sahjahn held up the toy--apparently, not knowing that it was, indeed, a toy--triumphantly as he dropped to the hotel floor.

"Give that back!" Connor yelled, bowling the demon over, knife in hand. "It's not yours!" He snatched the Game Boy away from the demon, tossing it back to its rightful owner before plunging the knife into the demon's vocal chords, killing Sahjahn instantly. Wesley winced in sympathy.

"Well, it's about time that prophecy was fulfilled," Lilah Morgan said from the doorway. "He was really starting to get on my nerves."

"Oh, Lilah," Wesley sing-songed, walking over to the lawyer.

"Yes, Lover?" Everyone's eyes widened at Ms. Morgan's "endearment."

"Go to Hell," Wesley chirped, just before punching the woman out. Fred, Lorne and Cordelia whistled and cat-called in appreciation, while Gunn applauded, Connor smirked, and Angel tried not to cheer.

He was stoically trying to stay angry at the ex-Watcher, but was finding it extremely difficult, seeing as Wesley'd done the one thing Angel had fantasized about for the last three-and-a-half years: hitting Lilah.

As the cheering died down, everyone noticed Angel's silence, hoping he'd not throw their best researcher out again. Instead, Angel merely stalked toward the other man, but Wesley showed no outward signs of intimidation.

Once he reached his old friend, Angel held out a hand, which Wesley took, shaking it as he was pulled into a manly, back-slapping hug.

"Welcome back, Wes," Angel laughed. Wesley smiled as everyone else came to welcome him back as well, crowding around the two men.

Angel had one more thing to say.

"I'm keeping my office, though."

Huh?

This is another of my early works, rife with bad characterization, good grammar, and bloody-awful story-telling. Read at your own risk.

Rating: Watch BtVS/AtS? You can read this too.

Pairing: Surface B/S, C/A, and others.

Summary: Angel gets a couple visitors, and confusion ensues.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Buffy-verse, or the Angel-verse, and, although I wish I did, I certainly don't own Spike. Oh, and I don't own MTV either. I made up a middle name for Anya, and got the last name from a discussion in a trivia thread at the Crumbling Walls Buffy/Spike 'Shipper Forum.

Spoilers: Sixth season, up to and including either "Wrecked," or "Gone," I don't know which would be better to say, but definitely passed "Smashed" and spoilers for "All the Way." AtS after "Birthday" and "Provider," but before "Waiting in the Wings." I have, however, adjusted the calendar (it's nice to have power :) ) so that this story takes place three weeks before Saturday, March 16, 2002.

Special Thanks: To my sister, yungin3, for the great ideas, and the sentence that started it all.
Distribution: Just tell me where it goes.

Feedback: Hate it in musical equipment, love it in writing . . . There are various feedback links at the bottom of every page of fanfiction.

"Did you get those nasty airplane peanuts?" Angel asked, a hopeful look on his features.

"Yeah . . . And I must say, for the millionth time, eww." Cordelia couldn't believe her Vampire boss; regular food made him gag, but it took airplane peanuts to make him enjoy eating . . . can you say "oxymoron?"

"Man, I wish I could taste chocolate again." the Brooding One murmured, remembering the near-orgasmic experience he'd had being human for a day . . . and the literally orgasmic one he'd had with Buffy . . .

"What'd you say? Speak up!" Cordy snapped the Master Vampire out of his reverie.

"Huh? Oh, nothing." the dark-haired Vampire quickly, and lamely, covered. Have to remember . . . nobody remembers . . . Angel was saddened to think that he'd always remember a day more than anyone else . . . It didn't seem fair to them. He got to enjoy one more conglomeration of experiences, fit into a twenty-four hour period, and he didn't even deserve it . . .

Basically, his soul was bothering him again.

"Sure, whatever." Cordelia said, dropping the discussion as she sat at her desk for the first time since she left for her vacation to Cancun. Sure, MTV Spring Break had been fun, but she had missed Angel's weird Vampire quirkiness and soul-filled broodiness-not that she'd ever say so.

"So, how was your trip?" Angel changed the subject, snapping the Seer out of her own reverie.

"Just what the doctor ordered . . . or at least the Host." she replied. The whole reason for Cordy's vacation was to stop some avid goth Rock fans from casting a spell that would ruin the vacationers' fun. Cordelia was glad for the chance to physically help out; Angel's self defense instruction was all she'd needed to keep the ritual makers from performing their lyrical spell on stage.

Changing the subject again, the brunette let some of her "rich girl shallowness" shine through. "And you know, Carson Daly is such a hottie. I only regret sitting through that live Jerry Springer Show. Jerry Springer sucks!"

Shaking his head at his friend's avoidance of serious subjects, the Vampire went to heat up some coffee for her. "Well, it's a good thing I don't watch TV then, isn't it?" Angel joked, handing her the coffee.

Eyebrow raised, the young woman joked too. "Sure you don't . . . at least you know who Chow Yun Fat is.

Angel chuckled, "I still can't believe Wesley threw up on Chow Yun Fat," he said, remembering Cordy's annoyed facial expression when the ex-watcher couldn't even get the oriental actor's name correct.

Their trip down Memory Lane was interrupted, however, as the hotel's main entrance, or at least half of it, was knocked down with a loud crash . . .

From the other side, a familiar voice spoke.

"SPIKE! You didn't have to knock down the door!"

*****

The Peroxided Offender ran in, a flaming blanket over his head. As soon as he was out of direct sunlight, the Vampire tore the blanket off, stomping out the flames.

"Oops." he said, looking back to the doorway where Buffy was helping Cordelia to hang the door back on its hinges. "Sorry, Grand-Poof. I'll run and get some new hinges after sunset." the brunettes in the room were more-than-shocked at Spike's politeness.

The duo from Sunnydale was even more shocked when Angel jumped to his feet, grabbing his Grandchilde by the lapels of his duster.

"Where's Spike, and what have you done with him?!?" the Soulful One demanded, glaring into the younger Vampire's blue, stormy eyes.

"Can't you tell?" Cordelia asked from the background. "He's Slayer-Whipped."

No one had time to notice Angel's surprised head-whip toward the part-demon Seer, or Spike's cocky grin, before they heard a baby cry from above.

*****

"Goody! Connor's awake!" Cordelia jumped up, running up the stairs. Of all the people who frequented the hotel, Cordy had missed the baby the most.

Angel turned back to the Sunnydale visitors. "Yeah, and you woke him up," he said, glaring at Spike.

For the first time since stepping into the hotel-turned-P.I. Office, Buffy finally noticed the baby paraphernalia lying about. Bottles, teething rings, rattles, a stroller, and lots of little-bitty stuffed toys and kiddy books, not to mention the baby monitor, which was what had alerted the group to the infant's wakefulness.

Turning back to look at Spike, she found him staring back. They both looked at each other questioningly, one eyebrow raised, then shrugged, deciding without words to wait for the explanations.

Although the duo seemed to be in their own world during the exchange, they most definitely weren't. Angel had noticed the looks exchanged, and, breaking them out of their silent conversation, he asked the pair, "Did I miss something?"

It seemed to be the day for interruptions at crucial junctures, however, when Cordelia came back downstairs, holding the baby to her chest, cooing playfully to him.

"I think we all did, mate . . ." Spike intoned in his I-can-see-through-everyone voice, indicating the baby boy gurgling happily in Cordelia's arms as she fed him a bottle of formula.

"Nothin' like a game of Twenty Questions to enlighten yourself in the morning." Cordelia quipped a little too perkily.

"Maybe we should all sit down." Angel said, indicating the couches in the foyer. The order in which they sat wasn't lost on anyone either. Angel sat on one couch, Cordelia to his right, while Spike sat across from her, the Slayer to his right, across from Angel.

"Speaking of questions," Spike began once they sat, "you seemed pretty worried when I acted all polite `n' apologetic earlier. What's the matter? Would ya really miss the old me that bloody much?" He smirked at his Grandsire cockily, grinning wider when it seemed that Angel was embarrassed.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Spike, get over yourself." She then turned her attention to the seer.
"So Cordy, who's the father?"

"I don't think you're asking the right question, Buffy." Angel interjected when the former May Queen shook her head.

"You should be asking `Who's the mother?'" Cordelia confirmed.

*****

Realizing the implications, Buffy's and Spike's eyes widened.

"Back up a mo' here, kiddies . . . Vampire equals dead person, equals dead seed . . . And I have just one bloody question--"

"-How? . . . Wha-? . . . Huh?"

"Now look! You've confused the Slayer! In my experience, that's not a good thing, mate." Spike joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Spike, have I told you to shut up lately?" Buffy said, a little annoyed. "Alright, I'll bite. Who's the mother, Angel?" She turned back to the brunettes who were looking at the blondes as though they were crazy-which they probably were; with all the supernatural Hellmouth stuff always going on around the Sunnydale crew, one never could tell who was sane.

Sheepishly, the Soulful Vampire looked the Slayer in the eyes, and spoke one word, a name from the past.

"Darla."

*****

Surprisingly-to Angel and Cordelia anyway-Buffy was the only one confused. Spike just seemed surprised.

"Uhm . . . Cordelia? Is he delusional? `Cause, you know, I saw Angel stake Darla myself." Buffy asked.

The Seer was not the one to answer the Slayer's question. Both brunettes shared a surprised look when Spike piped up.

"Y'know, luv, you're not the only one with a stake in the resurrection business."

After everyone groaned at the Vampire's bad-really bad-pun, Buffy realized what the other bottle-blonde had said.

"You knew?!?" She, Angel, and Cordelia yelled at the same time. Buffy moved to pummel the Vampire, and he started to back up in the opposite direction, almost falling off the couch.

"Hold it a minute, Slayer!" the younger Master Vampire begged. "There's a very good reason I didn't tell you when I found out, so just listen for one bleedin' minute, alright?"

Angel intervened in his Grandchilde's behalf. "Yeah, Buffy, I'd like to find out how he knew too. Let him explain."

Reluctantly, Buffy complied, moving back to her original seat while glaring at the peroxided Vampire. "So spill. Let's hear the story . . . and there better be a really good reason for your silence, Bleach Boy, or you will be dust when you're finished."

"Got it, Slayer. Now, let me see . . . I found out the last time Dru was in town. You remember when, so I won't go anymore into that." Spike began.

"She said that she and `Grandmummy,' whom she had re-sired herself," Angel winced at the mention of Darla's second Turning while Spike continued with the story. "Were going to wreak havoc on the world and bollocks like that. She came to Sunnydale to ask me to come along, but, as you know, Slayer, I refused. That's how I knew Darla was back, but, other than the part about the chains-which I'm really sorry about, by the way-the reason I didn't say anything was because you had a lot to deal with anyway, and you sure didn't need to hear about the Poof's penchant for taking Shakespeare seriously at the time."

Buffy, although she understood about Darla, didn't get what Spike meant by his last comment, so she voiced her confusion.

"What does Shakespeare have to do with anything, other than that your first names are the same, William?" she asked, and Spike knew that the words Explain now, or else. were hidden in the way she used his given name instead of the nickname Drusilla had given him.
Cordelia answered before anyone else could, missing Angel's wince.

"Kill all the lawyers."

*****

Spike snickered. "Didn't know Cheerleaders knew Shakespeare besides Romeo and Juliet." he said, making fun of Cordelia.

"I didn't." Cordelia answered. "But when you put Shakespeare and Angel in the same sentence . . ."

Buffy was a bit more than flabbergasted.

"Huh?" was all she could get out, gaping at the Seer and the two Vampires like they had turned into rutabagas. "You killed some lawyers? But your soul . . ."

Angel sighed. Cordelia answered, while Spike, wisely, stayed out of the storytelling. The L.A. crew deserved the chance to tell their side of the story, instead of Spike's second-hand story as told by Drusilla. And he really didn't want to get any more on Buffy's bad side than he already was.

*****

"So then, there was a really big group of demons and vamps and lawyers, all after Connor-although he didn't have a name yet-and Angel had this really great plan." Explaining had taken a long time, but Cordelia and Angel had nearly finished.

Angel took up the slack where the other brunette had left off.

"I played decoy . . . well, a teddy bear was actually the decoy-a teddy bear strapped to some C4, that is." the Formerly-Broody One said with a small smirk.

Spike chuckled. Buffy gawked.

"One thing's for sure," the Slayer interjected as the account came to a close. "Your summer was definitely better than mine." she smirked coquettishly.

Spike did a double-take.

"Slayer, did you just make a joke . . .?" About dying, Buffy knew he wanted to add.

Angel and Cordelia were confused. They hadn't heard anything resembling a joke.

"I . . . guess . . . I did." the blonde grinned uncertainly. "I mean, visiting another dimension has to be better than lying flat on your back for 147 days." she lifted her eyebrows amusingly.

One would think that Angel and Cordy were natural blondes . . . They had only just gotten the joke. Cordelia cracked a smile . . . as long as it was OK with Buffy, it was OK with her.

Angel, however, was a bit uncomfortable.

"Buffy?" he asked, unsure of how to express his discomfort.

Thankfully, the opening-and promptly, falling-door saved the Vampire from saying anything more.

"Yo. Angel. Fred around? Me an' English-Well, hellO there . . ." Gunn noticed the blonde woman sitting on the couch and came closer.

Then he noticed the other blonde . . . the really pale one. And, come to think of it, the first blonde wasn't really sporting all that much of a tan either . . . Gunn had flashbacks of the last blonde to have grace the hotel with her presence, and began to panic.

But before the young man had a chance to get hysterical, another voice floated through the door . . . one with an upper-crust British accent.

"Dear Lord . . . Angel, what happened to the door?" Wesley asked, stepping through said door and looking at the couches, his view partially blocked by Gunn.

Wesley stopped at the sight of the Slayer.

"Oh, hello, Buffy. How are you?" he asked, somewhat distracted.

"So that's who she is?" No wonder she's so pale! She was dead the whole summer . . . no time for a tan . . .Gunn thought to himself, voicing his next question aloud. "But who is he?"

"Who?" Wesley asked, stepping around Gunn to get a closer look, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Spike.

Spike started to stand as Wesley pulled a crucifix out of his jacket, sputtering "St-Stay away f-from me! . . ." not very convincingly.

"Well, it's good to know I still have that effect on some people." Spike interjected in his usual sarcastic manner. Then nostalgically, "I haven't gotten a reaction like that in over two years."

"Oh great. Another Brit." Gunn complained. "Can I kill this one?"

The blonde Vampire chuckled. "You ever killed a Master Vampire, boy? Even the Slayer has trouble getting rid of me . . . you really think you could pull it off?"

Looking at Angel, Gunn asked, "Family of yours?"

"Grandchilde . . . Drusilla is definitely as crazy as she was in 1880 . . . maybe more so . . ." was the answer.

"Huh?" another question.

This time Spike answered.

"William the Bloody, at your service," he said, giving a rather showy bow. "But everyone usually calls me Spike."

Yet another voice interrupted.

"Wow! I've read all about you!" said a distinctive Southern Drawl as Fred came down the stairs. "Is it true that you got your name from--"

"-Gunn really doesn't need to hear that part, Fred." Cordelia interrupted, thinking that the girl was about to say "railroad spike torture."

"Why? What's wrong with poetry?" she inquired innocently.

"Alright! Who published that? I'll kill `em!" Spike sputtered indignantly. How dare they write the truth about him? How dare they reveal his inner "teddy bear?"

Everyone except Fred and Buffy was confused.

"What are you talking about, Fred? What does poetry have to do with Spike?" Angel demanded.

"You mean you don't know?" Buffy answered, surprised. "I would think he'd have told you . . . or at least Drusilla."

"Drusilla knew . . . I didn't tell her though." Spike jumped in.

Angel was getting frustrated. "Alright, what's going on here?" he said, starting to lose his temper.

Buffy started to speak. "William, the Bloody is short for--"

She was cut off by Spike's hand on her mouth.

The blonde Vampire couldn't reach Fred, however. Angel looked to the girl, askance.

Guilelessly, Fred finished Buffy's sentence.

"William, the Bloody Awful Poet."

*****

Spike, embarrassed, groaned, putting his head in his hands. Cordelia laughed, Wesley and Angel gawked in surprise, and Gunn . . . Gunn was looking as though he was feeling left out.

Raising his hand awkwardly, he spoke up. "I don't mean to sound blonder than these two . . ." he said, indicating the Vampire and the Slayer. "But would somebody please clue me in on why this is funny?"

Buffy answered, "Because . . . he's a Vampire who's killed two Slayers in the past 122 years, and he's not supposed to have a "soft, gooey center."

"Well, we already knew about that, anyway." Cordelia said with a wink to her blonde friend.

"And, yet again, huh?" Gunn still wasn't getting it.

Angel was confused again too. "Yeah, Cordy, what are you talking about?"

"I already told you, moron." the Seer was getting aggravated. "It's so obvious, I'm surprised no one else has gotten it."

Buffy groaned. "I think I know what you mean, Cordy, but they don't need to hear about that . . . really, they don't."

But Angel would not be discouraged.

"What? What's going on that's so obvious?" he asked.

Spike started to get up. "I'm going to the hardware store. Go ahead and tell once I'm gone, Cheerleader . . . That should give everyone time to cool down before I get back so I don't have to go home in a dust-buster." The peroxided Master Vampire hurriedly left the hotel, pulling the door back up behind him.

*****

"OK, get this." Cordelia started, moving closer to Gunn, Wes, and Fred while trying to stay as far from Angel as possible. Buffy had gone to the kitchen to make a sandwich while the Gossip Queen-come-Seer spilled her proverbial guts.

"Spike is so totally in love with Buffy. Hence, soft, gooey center with a Vampire exterior. I'm surprised none of you noticed before, especially you, Angel. You've known him the longest."
Angel was jealous, and furious as he remembered the look he had witnessed between the two blondes earlier.

"And Buffy knows about this?" he asked, already knowing that, not only did she know about his Grandchilde's feelings, but she had also slept with the other Vampire fairly recently-sometimes he hated a Vampire's sharp sense of smell . . .

"I'll kill him!" the Soulful Vampire raged. "I'll kill him for touching her!"

Now it was Cordelia's turn to be confused.

"I didn't say anything about touching . . . What are you talking about?"

Angel stomped into the kitchen, yelling for the Slayer.

"I can smell him all over you, Buffy. Did you think I wouldn't find out? What? Did you think you'd walk all over your chances for a normal life?" Angel was basically sputtering sentences with no real organization to them, trying to articulate his anger and feelings of betrayal.

"How dare you?" Buffy seethed. "How. Dare. You? You left me, expecting me to have a normal life, but you didn't even care to think that a `normal' life is impossible for me! How dare you question my judgement and decisions?"

Trying to hold on to his anger, Angel yelled again, not quite convincing in his argument.

"I left so you could have as normal a life as possible, but I see you'd throw that away too!"

"I tried the `normal' thing, Angel." the Slayer pleaded, tears coming to her eyes. "Remember Riley? He left. He left because I couldn't love him after you left me! My life is far from normal, Angel, and you'd better not judge me. Not when you have your own decisions to think about!"
Angel winced at the round-about reference to the lawyers and Darla.

"I'm sorry, Buffy." the Vampire replied, ego deflating. "Will you just answer one question for me? Please?"

"Alright." Buffy nodded.

"Do you love him?"

"I . . . I don't know."

*****

The Slayer and her Vampire ex-boyfriend, after talking out their troubles, rejoined the gang just as Spike came back from the hardware store carrying a bag of hinges, screws and screwdrivers in his hand.

Setting down the parcel, he turned to speak.

"Anyone wanna help me fix the do- . . . Oi! You Poof!" he yelled at his Grandsire after seeing Buffy's face. "You made the Slayer cry! . . . You alright, Slayer?"

"Yeah, I'm OK, Fang Face. And you broke the door, you fix it yourself." As her tears dried, her wit returned, allowing her to make fun of the Peroxide Prince just as much as usual.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the Vampire grumbled good-naturedly, turning to the task at hand.

*****

About twenty minutes later, everyone had lapsed into meaningless conversation with Spike interjecting a few comments from the doorway at short intervals.

Not long after that, Spike had finished with the door.

Stepping back to admire his handiwork, the Vampire began a verbal critique.

"Well, I'm not as good with tools as the Whelp, but hey, at least it doesn't fall down every time you open it."

At Spike's mention of Xander, Buffy realized something important, and groaned.

"Speaking of Xander, Spike, you do remember why we're here, don't you?" she tried subtly reminding the egotistical thorn in her side about the purpose of their trip to the City of Angels.

Angel interrupted. "You know, I was wondering about that all day . . ."

Wesley, Gunn, Fred, and Cordelia were equally curious.

Spike's eyes widened at the prospects. "You mean, we've been here all day, and not even mentioned it?"

"Nope." Everyone-except Connor and Spike, of course-answered.

Buffy slapped her forehead. "Y'know, maybe we really are blonde, Spike."

"I wouldn't know. I can't remember what I looked like the last time I showed up in a mirror." was the witty rejoinder.

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "If you two are finished being nauseatingly cute, do you think you could get to the point?"

"Oh. Yeah." Buffy said. "Spike?"

"Huh?" the blonde was a bit out of it at the moment-watching Buffy sit down. "Oh. Right." He finally snapped out of his reverie, pulling something out of his duster.

"The Whelp-er, Xander-wanted to invite the lot of you to his wedding in about three weeks. If you can't make the wedding, he says to try for the reception."

Buffy jumped in. "It looks like there's an extra, even if you count Connor, and Xander said that, if there were any, to just bring a friend with you." she explained while Spike tossed each person their invitation, giving two of the ones without names to Gunn and Fred, and the last two to Angel for safe keeping.

"He'd have mailed them," Buffy explained, "but he wanted to make sure you got them, and you know how the Postal Service is these days."

Everyone laughed at that, reading the invitations.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of

Alexander LaVelle Harris

to

Anya Marie Emerson

On Saturday, March 16, 2002. The ceremony will take place after sunset at approximately five-thirty, to accommodate friends of both bride and groom. As friends and family of the bride and groom will all be in attendance, the couple asks that no weapons or Holy Items be brought to the ceremony, which will be held at the home of Rupert Giles, who will be performing the wedding ceremony.

There will be a reception at The Magic Box, beginning at eight o'clock for the newlyweds.

Addresses, as well as directions, for the wedding and the reception are enclosed with this invitation.

Please RSVP as soon as possible to either Mister Giles at 555-3475, or Mister Harris at 555-1396.

"Definitely a Hellmouth invitation . . ." Cordelia remarked as everyone chuckled, noticing the provisions about weapons and Holy Items. "Wait a minute!" she said, re-reading the invitation. "Anya? Anyanka the former Vengeance Demon?"

"One and the same." Spike answered.

"Grrr . . ."

Buffy interrupted before Cordelia could go on a jealous tirade. "Anyway, we have been here all day, and we've done what we came here to do . . . and then some. So, I guess we'll see you all in three weeks or so." She quickly started to head for the door, Spike following.

"G'bye, Buffy. It was nice to meed you!" Fred called after them.

"I like them. They're nice." the girl said naïvely once the duo had left, shutting the door behind them.

*****

Three weeks later, the Sunnydale gang, plus a lot of demons, witches, and vampires . . . not to mention a werewolf or two, were milling about The Magic Box, mingling, as the Harrises enjoyed their new matrimonial status. The L.A. gang had yet to show up.

At about fifteen minutes to nine, the door opened, allowing one Vampire, one Watcher, one part-demon Seer, one baby, and four human adults to enter.

The group found the newlyweds, and Angel spoke to the groom.

"Sorry we're late, Xander. We had to make a few stops on the way . . ."

Seeing the two women-besides Fred and Cordelia-at the back of the group, Xander couldn't help but smile. "That's alright, Deadboy. Thanks for bringing everyone." He turned to one of the two women he had noticed.

"Hey, Faith."

"Hey, Xand. Congratulations on the new Ball `n' Chain." the brunette Slayer turned to the bride. "Take good care of this guy, chickie. He's one-in-a-million."

Anya grinned. "Don't I know it. You know, I never thought I'd be conversing on friendly terms with you, considering past history and all, but from the last few minutes, I can see that you've truly turned over a new leaf. You're welcome to visit me and Xander any time you like, Faith."

"I'd love to take you up on that offer, but this whole Get-Out-of-Jail-Free Card is a Cinderella deal . . . Gotta be back in the Pen by noon tomorrow or else, you know?" Faith explained.

Meanwhile, across the room, Buffy had noticed the other face in the group.

"Anne? Oh my gosh! Anne? It's so good to see you!" she ran to the Shelter Manager, giving her a careful hug.

"Buffy!" Anne answered. "How are you? It's been so long . . ."

Angel interrupted, Cordelia on his heels.

"You two . . . know each other?" the Seer asked.

"DUH!" the Slayer replied, rolling her eyes." Remember back when Ford was here? Anne was part of the Sunset Club . . . only then, she was Chantarelle . . . And then, when I ran to L.A. that one summer, I met her again, this time going by the name Lily. I saved her life-again-and went back to Sunnydale, while she took over the waitressing job I had gotten using my middle name . . . ergo, Anne."

"Y'know, I thought she looked familiar." Spike cut in, making everyone jump as he came up behind them.

Anne started to back away, frightened by Spike's presence. Buffy, realizing the woman's discomfort, chided the sneaky Vampire.

"Spike! Inconsiderate much? You have to remember, the last time she saw you, she was being offered to you as dinner!"

"Oh. Bloody Hell . . . I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. And you know, I don't even think that if this chip came out today I'd want to hurt you . . . bloody weird, if you ask me . . ." Spike realized his mistake, holding out his hand to introduce himself properly.

"I know we've already met, Pet, but I think I should introduce myself again. I'm Spike. It's nice to see you." he said, taking Anne's hand, bowing and kissing it in a gentlemanly manner reminiscent of his Victorian upbringing.

Anne blushed. Buffy giggled. Wesley, Fred, Cordelia, Angel, Faith, Xander, and Anya gawked.

Gunn said, "Huh?"

Eternity . . . It's a Long Story

This was the first fanfic I ever wrote. At the time, I had never so much as heard the word "fanfiction." If I remember correctly, I was still in high school when I wrote this. No, wait . . . I say the year is 1996 in the story somewhere, so I was either just finishing 7th grade, or just starting 8th grade.



*Note: This story takes place shortly before the events in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, and the author realizes that Star Trek is copyrighted.*


Eternity Myerson sat in her appartment littered with old issues of Scientific American, to which she had been a faithful subscriber, watching her favorite T.V. show. As the commercials came on, she decided to make herself her favorite drink (a mint julep), and do a little stargazing, in the off chance that she might see some "little green men," even though she knew that there were no such thing.


Eternity's boyfriend, Raistlin Dathomir, a test pilot for the United States Government, sat on the couch, flipping channels as the commercials played, sipping a mint julep that Eternity had made for him earlier.


As the show came back on, Eternity noticed a strange object in her telescope. An object that she had been lucky enough to see a small portion of in the earlier part of her life, but never hoped to see again.


Quickly, Eternity looked back to the television, just to be certain that what she was seeing was real, then looked at her mint julep, thinking what did I put in it THIS time?


"Raist, honey, I think you'd better come have a look at this . . ." Eternity sounded a bit distressed.


"Sure, Erni, what is it?" he replied, a little annoyed that she was interrupting their favorite show. At least he was annoyed until she pointed at the eyepiece.


Looking into the telescope, Raistlin did an almost-identical double-take to the one "Erni" had done just seconds before. "What did you put in the mint juleps, dear?" he said, not believing his eyes.


"Only the usual ingredients. That could only mean one thing . . ." Eternity replied, looking at her boyfriend in awe.


"It's real!" both chimed in unison . . .


*****


Captain's Log_Stardate 6327.1:


The Enterprise has been assigned to transport the vulcan, andorian, and tellarite delegates to Starbase one, where they will be further transported to Earth for conferences concerning the nomination of candidates for the presidency of the United Federation of Planets. There have been no problems in the journey so far, and even the tellarite ambassador, Ambassador Shirn, is on his best behavior. I find it odd. It is very rare that any mission goes right from the start on the Enterprise and stays that way for the duration. After our passengers are beamed to Earth, the officers and crew of the Enterprise will have three weeks of shore leave and R&R.


As Admiral James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise finished his log, he switched off the terminal at his desk in his spartan quarters, and headed toward the door to see what old-fashioned remedy Bones had for boredom that had sunk to the marrow.


*****


In his office in sickbay, Doctor Leonard McCoy was finishing another boring day of inventories, hand scrubbings, and broken limbs by performing the only appropriate action. . . dozing. But, when the cherry-red doors of his office slid open with an almost-metallic whisper, admitting James Kirk, he was as alert-and witty-as ever.


"Finally decided to take your physical, Jim?" the doctor continued the long drawn_out joke as he came around his desk and sat on it.


"Don't you just wish." the captain countered, it seemed, for the millionth time since their mission began. "Anything out of the ordinary, Bones?"


"Not one thing." McCoy grumbled. "I just don't get it, less than two hours are left until our mission is over, and nothing's happened." he stipulated. "I'm starting to think that Murphy's law doesn't apply to us anymore."


"I know what you mean. Maybe something will happen. It's bound to." Kirk argued.


"Come on Jim, nothing's going to happen, we're basically home free." the doctor was very enthusiastic, for this particular mission's prognosis was actually looking good.


At that very moment, the red alert sirens began their ever-annoying song.


*****


"Report!" Kirk barked as he marched onto the bridge with Doctor McCoy on his heels.


On the screen, the bridge staff beheld a monstrous hole in the fabric of space itself. The anomaly was a twisting, writhing conglomeration of gases, dust particles, and now, the hapless starship. Kirk couldn't help thinking to himself Well, the mission just got interesting...


"We seem to have traversed the path of a spatial anomaly which has pulled us into a collision course. Impact in ninety seconds." Spock dutifully reported while looking at the scans that the sensors gave of the anomaly.


"Well, that's obvious." drawled the doctor.


At that moment, the ship penetrated the anomaly, causing all hands to be temporarily paralyzed while their lives reversed before their eyes. After their lives, they beheld the lives of their ancestors and countless others flash in front of them, all reversed. When it was finally over, instead of seeing the anomaly, they saw Earth. Kirk was the first to gain enough control to ask when they were.


"Judging from the amount of pollution in the atmosphere, we are in the late twentieth century, Admiral." Spock droned, just coming out of his own stupor.


"What is the condition of the anomaly, Spock?" Kirk pleaded askance.


"The anomaly closed shortly after it deposited us in this time, Admiral. We are trapped in this century, Jim."


"I refuse to surrender to that statement. Uhura, tell the ambassadors what has happened, and tell them that we are doing everything that we can to get back home." Kirk ordered, turning toward the beautiful, ebony-skinned communications officer as he spoke.


"Aye sir." was her ever-dutiful, ever-melodious reply.


"Mister Spock, Doctor McCoy, Scotty, meet me in the briefing room." Kirk ordered to the scottsman standing at the engineering consol. "Mister Sulu, you have the bridge, and ask Ambassador Sarek to join us. I believe he might have some input as well." Kirk snapped as he headed for the turboshaft.


"Aye sir." chimed Sulu as Captain Kirk left the bridge with Spock, Doctor McCoy, and Scotty.


*****


Sarek was in his guest quarters meditating, when he felt the ship jolt as if being pulled by a tractor beam.


As he was requesting information of Uhura as to what had happened, he was interrupted by his own life flashing backwards before his eyes.


After this experience, which he shared with everyone else aboard the USS Enterprise, Uhura finished telling the ambassador about the spacial anomaly which they had encountered, and told him that Kirk had asked for his presence in the briefing room.


"Fascinating." was Sarek's reply as he headed for the briefing room.


*****


Nurse Christine Chapel was updating medical records, a task which seemed to have lasted the whole mission fifty times over, when she felt a jolt, as if the ship were being pulled off it's course.

Then, her life went in reverse before her very eyes, and the doctor's life, and the lives of people she had never met.


One experience which shocked her to remember was a time she had tried to bring Spock some soup, many years before. She did not know why, but he had hurled it back out at her through the door that day . . .


After the ordeal, she overheard one of the orderlies asking a comm unit what had happened and, shaking her head, with a smile at the memory, Nurse Chapel went back to the records updates.


*****


Once in the briefing room, Kirk solicited the advice of his staff, and ambassador Sarek.


"Any ideas on how to get home, gentlemen? Or at least what it was we went throught to get to where we are?"


"I believe, captain, that it is very similar to many other temporal anomalies that the Enterprise has encoutered before. They seem to be interconnected into some sort of a "nexus" of temporal phenomena." Sarek broke in with his own hypothesis.


"However, since the anomaly closed shortly after we were deposited into this time, neither I, nor my father can study it, nor can we formulate a feasible route home at the moment." Spock stated.


"Any ideas along that line gentlemen?" Kirk implored to the rest of his officers.


"Jim, I'm a doctor, not the gateway." McCoy complained under his breath so that only Kirk could hear.


Kirk chuckled, then said, "Alright, back to your stations, if anyone finds a way to get home, report to Mister Spock, whom I and Doctor McCoy will accompany down to Earth to get a few answers as to when we are and how to get back. Until a feasible solution is found, this meeting is adjourned." Kirk quickly ended the meeting.


*****


Eternity Meyerson blinked her intense hazel eyes, shook her long, light brown hair, and stooping over, took another look through her telescope. They like to land in Central Park, remember, Erni? . . . Miss Meyerson's thoughts wandered back to a time just a few years before which she had told no one about except her boyfriend, whom she trusted everything with.


As she focused the lense on Central Park, she caught a glimpse of the sparkling effect of a transporter . . .


*****


Spock, Kirk, and McCoy had beamed down to Earth in the middle of a hot mid_July day, in the unlikely event that they would find a clue on how to get back to their own time. So far, the search was unfruitful.


All of a sudden, as they were walking down a street in downtown San Francisco, they heard a young woman pleaded them from the window of her apartment to stop. After a minute, they saw her run out of a building, panting and looking as if she had something to tell them.


"Wait!" She breathed as she stood in front of them, almost doubled over from the effort of her sprint down three flights of stairs and through the park.


Upon getting a glimpse of the woman close up, Spock believed he recognized the face, but he couldn't have been certain, he was much younger when he had first seen it.


Kirk and McCoy also believed they recognized the woman, but they couldn't tell how.


"Yes? What is it you need, miss? . . ." Kirk asked, curious.


"Meyerson, Eternity Meyerson." the woman answered the unspoken question, shaking the Kirk's hand. Upon inching closer to the Admiral, she whispered "I saw you beam down, I know where you're from."


"There was a television show made in the late sixties that tells all about you people and your missions. Everyone thought the creator of this series had made it all up, but I know otherwise. I can tell you all about it, if you'll just come with me up to my appartment . . ."


Pulling out his tricorder, Spock used it to search the Enterprise's computer banks for just such a television show, but the search turned out to be fruitless.


"I am afraid there are no records of this series in the Enterprise's history files, Admiral." Spock reported, "but that error could be due to the destruction of the third world war and other such destructiveness in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Perhaps you could tell us, miss, what year it is?" he asked, turning to the woman.


"It's nineteen-ninety-six." she replied. "How about you three come in out of the heat up to my appartment? I'll make some lemonade and tell you what I know."


Kirk and McCoy debated the situation a moment.


"I don't believe there is any harm in speaking to this woman further." Spock said, as though he knew the woman personally. "Indeed, she may be able to help us find a way back to our own time."


"I agree." Kirk said. "Bones?"


"Alright." the doctor sighed. "But don't blame me if the situation gets worse."


*****


As Eternity prepared some lemonade and fruit in the kitchen for her guests, Kirk and McCoy debated on her identity, still unable to remember where they had seen her before.


"Could she be related to us by chance?" McCoy asked Kirk.


"I don't know, maybe. We'll just have to wait and find out." he answered, turning to his first officer. "Spock, you look like you also recognize her. How is that?"


"Oh, Spock and I go way back." Eternity interrupted, coming out of the kitchen, a smirk on her face. "It's kind of a long story. At least it will be if Spock tells it."


"Oh really?" McCoy drawled, copying Spock's usual raised eyebrow.


"Yes, that is quite true, Admiral. Although I was just a boy then, while Miss Meyerson only seems to have grown a few years." Spock confirmed the woman's allegations.


"When I was much younger, my parents and I made a trip to Earth. It was one of many we had made to the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco. On this particular journey, however, my father encountered a slight "glitch" in the shuttles computer system, and we were forced to make an emergency landing in Central Park.


We searched for hours for the Embassy building, but it was not where it should have been.
Eventually, my mother noticed that the vehicles on the roadways had wheels and spouted noxious fumes. Automobiles, she called them . . . With internal combustion engines. It was really quite fascinating at the time.


Upon returning to the shuttle, we found that we had gone through a temporal anomaly not unlike the one we just encountered.


A day or two passed, and still we had no way to get home. Then, Miss Meyerson, a few years younger than she is now, found us. We never visited this place, her home, but from what she told us in the way of scientific knowledge, we knew she had been well read." ask he said this last statement, Spock gestured toward the magazines and books littering almost every flat, elevated surface in the dwelling.


"She and my father discussed many options and theories on a route home, and finally decided that the best course would be to slingshot on a hyperbolic course around the sun, thereby causing our shuttle to be thrown back to our own time period.


Miss Meyerson was sworn to secrecy until now."


Kirk and McCoy listened intently as Spock told his narrative, and as he finished, a knock sounded on the door.


The three began to get up in order to find a place to hide, but Eternity gestured for them to sit back down.


"It's probably just my boyfriend, Raistlin. He was there when Captain Spock and his family were here the first time. Don't worry. He might be able to help." she said, going to the door and opening it.


Sure enough, Raistlin Dathomir was there, staring at Admiral Kirk and his two friends as if he they were friends he hadn't seen in a very long time.


Eternity invited him in, then quickly shut the door.


"Raistlin Dathomir, I'd like you to meet Admiral James T. Kirk and Doctor Leonard McCoy. Admiral, Doctor, this is my boyfriend Raistlin." Eternity quickly made the introductions.
"Nice to meet you." Mr. Dathomir said, shaking McCoy's hand. "It's good to see you again, Captain Spock."


"Likewise, Mr. Dathomir." Spock replied.


"Now, as I was saying out on the street, there was a television show about all of you, and your voyages on the Enterprise. I myself have a copy of every episode on video." Eternity quickly re-capped while loading a tape into the VCR and pressing the play button.


As the video played itself out, Eternity explained that it was called "The Paradise Syndrome." Kirk just watched in awe, remembering, as the screen showed an actor who looked not unlike himself walking around calling himself Kiroc . . .


*****


"Where is Gene Roddenberry? How can we find him?" Kirk asked, as he took the lemonade offered him by Eternity.


"You came a little late for that." Raistlin explained. "He died a few years ago. His wife, Majel Barrett Roddenberry,--who played nurse Christine Chapel--(at this revelation, Spock's eyebrow rose) asked for his ashes to be sent up into space."


"Captain, I do not think we need to ask Mr. Roddenberry. All the information we need, except for the answers to the question of how Mr. Roddenberry knew about us, is probably in the memories of this couple." Spock suggested as he picked up an orange and began to carefully take it apart, section by section.


"Actually," Raistlin declared. "I happen to know how he learned of the Enterprise."


"Oh you do, do you?" McCoy asked as Spock rose an eyebrow.


Kirk complied. "First, I have just one question, where are you originally from? We know you've lived in San Francisco for a while, but we don't know if you've been here your whole life.
"Well, not here. I was born in Iowa." Eternity explained.


*****


"Really?" Kirk asked. "Now I know where I've seen your face before." All throughout the conversation, Kirk had been staring at Miss Meyerson. There is something vaguely familiar about her. He thought, remembering the old family photo albums, saved from the nuclear holocaust of World War III. Until that moment, he couldn't see what made her seem so familiar.


He looked over at McCoy to see if he had come to the same conclusion. McCoy just stared back and nodded, wide-eyed.


"Where?" Eternity asked a little too eagerly.


"Yes, I think I see it too." Doctor McCoy, who had been silent until then (enjoying his mint julep), piped up. "One hell of a mint julep." He said, smacking his lips. "I bet that's where good old grammy learned it." he whispered to Kirk, who just smirked in reply.


"Where?" the young woman repeated.


"Come to think of it, we can't tell you. You probably know about the prime directive, don't you?" Kirk queried.


"Yes, but what does it have to do with me?" Eternity asked.


"What the admiral is trying to say Miss Meyerson, is that just as you cannot tell us about our futures, we cannot tell you about yours." Spock explained.


"I understand." Eternity said.


"By the way Mister Spock, how are your parents?" Miss Meyerson asked, even though she probably knew what he was going to say.


"They are both doing quite well." he replied.


"That's all well and good, but just how did Roddenberry know about us?" McCoy impatiently jolted everyone's memory to the topic at hand.


Mr. Dathomir began his own narrative.


"As I was looking through some old records from the air base I do test piloting at, I came across one of Mr. Roddenberry's journals. As I looked through this journal, I read about an encounter he had with the crew of the U. S. S. Enterprise after an accident had almost caused him to lose his mind. I don't know how he learned everything about the missions, but I do know that he met the three of you at that time."


Mr. Spock interjected his own hypothesis.


"Yes, I seem to remember a pilot, whom had accidentally found us in his deliriousness. As to his memories, I believe I am at fault. For, in order to cure him of his mental . . . instabilities at the time, I was forced to mind meld with the man. I believe a residual effect of that meld must have been some of my own memories being transferred into his own subconsious."


"Now, we've got a problem." McCoy said, just loud enough for Kirk to hear . . .


*****


"Indeed we do, Bones." Kirk replied aloud. "It's good to get some history that we lost back, but this is not a very good way to get it." One could almost hear the groan in the Admiral's voice as he said it.


*****


Amanda Grayson Sarek strolled in the arboretum, enjoying the fragrance of flowers she could not grow in her own garden back on Vulcan. Thinking of her own garden made her homesick, and gave her a bit of "triple-century jet lag."


Just as she began to get lost in the thought of her own garden, her husband, Ambassador Sarek walked through the cherry-red sliding doors, on his way back from the briefing room.


As they walked, Sarek and Amanda talked about the strange experience they had had just a couple days earlier.


"It was really quite fascinating, wasn't it, my husband?" Amanda opened.


"Yes, quite fascinating actually." Sarek said as they wondered to themselves Have they found the woman yet, I wonder?


*****


"I believe we may have an even bigger problem than we thought, Admiral." Spock said, holding up a diskette from beside Eternity's computer. "When the Enterprise was here last time, they did not have data discs like this. In fact, they did not have computers at all."


"Ah, you're very right, Captain Spock." Eternity affirmed. "Star Trek changed all that. Soon after the series first aired, a race to build computers began. Not long after that, the floppy was invented. We even have flip-out communications devices." she added the last while pulling her own cell phone out and flipping the top.


"Now this is one hell of a problem." McCoy put his two cents in.


*****


Kirk, Spock, and McCoy conferred amongst themselves while Eternity and Raistlin watched another episode of Star Trek. They were still doubtful of the prospects of an hyperbolic solar slingshot, even though it had worked before.


"I do not know that there is any other feasible solution, Admiral. We could not try to reach the Gateway, since it is weeks away, and the crew is already in need of rest." Spock put in his own argument.


"Not only that, but we can't fit the whole ship through that monstrous doughnut." McCoy replied.


"All right. Let's go back to the ship and start preparing for the maneuver." Kirk ended the conversation quickly, then turned to the couple watching the television.


"Thank you for your hospitality Miss Meyerson. We're very grateful that you could help. Now, we must be getting back to the ship." He thanked the woman.


"Wait!" the two said in unison.


"Yes?" Kirk asked.


"I mean, we've never seen the inside of the Enterprise before, other than on television, and that is not real, so we'd be very grateful to you if you'd give us a tour." Eternity diplomatically asked her favor.


The three discussed the possibilities of the two seeing anything that they did not already know about, finally deciding that a trip to the Enterprise for these two would not do anything against the Prime Directive.


*****


As the transporter finished re-materializing the Admiral, Spock, and McCoy, Scotty wondered who the other two people on the pad were, and how they could be coming aboard from the twentieth century, in clear view of the Prime Directive.


As soon as Eternity finished materializing, however, he knew the answer.


"Hello Mister Scott. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Eternity Meyerson, and this is my boyfriend Raistlin Dathomir." she quickly made the introductions before anyone else had a chance.


Scotty was shocked. "Admiral, how does this lassie knoow me name? I've never seen her before in me life."


"It's a long story Scotty." Meyerson, Kirk, Dathomir, and McCoy said in unison.


"Not that long, Admiral, but I see your point." Spock interjected, commencing the explanation while the door slid open and they walked through.


*****


After they had explained the situation to Scotty, Spock, Kirk and McCoy gave the couple a tour of the Enterprise, starting with the warp nacelles and ending with the bridge.


During the tour, both Eternity and Raistlin surprised their favorite "characters" by saying their names before the poor crew members could introduce themselves.


Ambassador Sarek even raised an eyebrow when he found Eternity and Raistlin on the ship, although he probably expected the occurrence.


*****


As Christine Chapel was recalibrating the displays on the diagnostic tables, she heard the almost-metallic swish of the doors opening. She looked up to see Admiral Kirk, Captain Spock, and Doctor McCoy giving a tour to two civilians.


She didn't realize until the woman introduced herself and her boyfriend that the ship was still caught in the twentieth century.


"Nice to meet you, Nurse Chapel." She said. "My name is Eternity Meyerson, and this is Raistlin Dathomir. I must say, it's amazing to see how much you look like Majel Barrett Roddenberry."


"How did you know my name?" Chapel said, a bit rudely. "Did McCoy tell? And who is Majel Whozewhatzits?"


"I didn't say a word, Chris! I swear!" sputtered the doctor.


"It's a long story." all, but Spock chimed in.


*****


While Ambassador Sarek was in their quarters meditating, his wife, Amanda Grayson decided to stretch the muscles she had tightened during her walk in the arboretum earlier that day.


As she was getting ready to bend down for a toe-touch, Eternity Meyerson, Raistlin Dathomir, Spock, Admiral Kirk, and Doctor McCoy walked through the doors with a semi-metallic swish.


"Spock, did you tell?" Amanda chided her son.


"Actually, it was Eternity who broached the subject of our first meeting. I merely added the commentary." her son dutifully replied.


"One hell of a long story, if you ask me." Doctor McCoy commented with a snicker.


*****


Captain's Log_Stardate 6330.5


We have successfully returned to our own time, thanks to help from Eternity Meyerson, a woman living in the twentieth century, who knew enough to get us home. We have successfully transported the ambassadors to Starbase one, where they were immediately beamed down to Earth. The officers and crew of the Enterprise are enjoying their shore leave at this time. I shall join them momentarily while Enterprise is looked over and repaired by the engineers at Starbase One.


Again, James Kirk finished his log. And, as he headed for the turboshaft, Spock inquired something of him.


"Where did you see her face before, Jim? And why does the doctor seem to have seen the same visage too?"


"Face? What face?" Kirk was puzzled.


"Eternity Meyerson's. You said you had seen her face before. . . after she mentioned that she was born in the state called Iowa." Spock explained.


"Iowa, if you looked in the computer memory banks, is one of the United States of America. I was also born there. Ten years after Eternity Meyerson helped us, she went back to her home in Iowa and married my great-great-great-grandfather, Raistlin Dathomir. They had decided to move back to Iowa because it was safer for children than San Francisco. Their daughter married my great-great-grandfather Kirk.


My mother used to show me old photographs of my ancestors. Most of them were too old to make out, but Eternity Meyerson's was the earliest recognizable photograph." Kirk beat around the bush.


"Still, I do not see how Doctor McCoy could have heard of her before we met her, Jim." Spock was ever-curious.


"As for McCoy's knowledge," Kirk disclosed. "he and I are distant cousins. I found that out a few years after I met Bones. Eternity and Raistlin are the place that our families branched off of eachother. Only he comes from their son's line. But that, my friend, is a long story, and I do not have Eternity to tell it."



Spock could only raise an eyebrow.