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WIP Time

I started writing “Far From Home” sometime in the summer of 2019 and I honestly didn’t expect it to take so long to finish. I probably thought I would be done by Christmas. Haha. Yeah, that one didn’t work out so well.

Since the writing process has been going on forever, I started several other WIPs in the mean time (because that makes total sense).

Anyway, I read over one of those WIPs last night and I still really like it. It has this rainy afternoon mood to me and is a much smaller beast (even though it’s still a multi-chapter fic) than FFH. I hope I can finish it, once I have the other story out of the way.

For some unfathomable reason, I decided that I wanted to write a story about the No.1 Bangel trope aka “What if there were certain consequences to IWRY?” last year. At the same time I watched the PBS documentary Vietnam and somehow this ended up making one story. The plot unravels on two timelines. One that goes forward from an inciting moment in chapter one, and one that goes backward from that moment through different flashbacks all the way back to Thanksgiving 1999. I don’t know if that would drive readers crazy. Probably. In my head it seems cool XD.

Here’s the first un-betaed chapter.

Someday

Fandom: BtVS/AtS Pairing: Buffy/Angel, Willow/Tara, Wesley/Fred Warning: None, IWRY Trope Supreme (in case you are averse to that) Wordcount: ~ 1800 (in this chapter) AN: Don’t get confused by the time frame and ages. I said the plot was a bit more tangled than just not remembering what happened on a day that wasn’t.

Chapter 1 - The First Time You Met

October 2007

It's dark outside when Buffy and Willow return to the castle. The estate is shrouded in a cloak of purple and onyx-grey. The lights in the windows glow like signal fires on the stone facade. Buffy puts her hand on the iron handle of the ancient double doors, and a slight tingle passes through her fingers. The metal warms under her grip, and with a creak and a sigh, the lock opens up, ready to give way to the building. The entrance to the castle is old; the spells not so much.

"I should be used to this by now, but home-automation-magic never ceases to amaze me," Buffy says.

"Psh." Willow waves her hand dismissively. "It's actually a really simple spell."

“Buffy raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

For some people, at least," Willow concedes.

Buffy humors her friend, although she knows the spell is incredibly complex. It took Willow, Tara and three powerful Elder-Witches of the Devon Coven two entire weeks to set it up. It isn't just a protective charm, but an enchantment that recognizes the people who live in the castle as well as their intentions. Only those considered friends are allowed to enter, and only as long as no force or coercion is involved.

Buffy holds onto the handle a moment longer, chanting her personal incantation. "Please be asleep. Please be asleep," she murmurs.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Willow teases.

"Hope dies last? It's after ten and he’s been in preschool all day. If he's still up, he'll be completely exhausted tomorrow." Buffy pushes the door open at last.

They tip-toe into the entry hall of the castle. Not that it makes a difference, but it feels like anything louder would unnecessarily jinx Buffy's luck. The foyer is only dimly lit, the few wall lamps are dousing the room in a soft and sleepy light. On the ceiling above them, small dots twinkle. A magic night sky has appeared on the vaulted arches, complete with stars and crescent moon, mimicking the firmament outside. A soft murmur resonates from somewhere upstairs, quiet footsteps pad along a far off hallway. Everyone who's scheduled for patrol or a mission tonight has already headed out, and a peaceful slumber has enfolded the building, the castle a sleeping beauty itself.

Buffy gives Willow a hopeful smile.

Her friend raises her hands thumbs up.

They exhale.

Then the hectic splat-splat-splat of gripper socks on worn-down sandstone tile shred the calm apart. A figure whips around a corner and crosses the entrance hall in a jubilant victory run. Blonde hair flying. Eyes wide open. A grin stretched from ear to ear, one tooth missing in the front.

"Mom! Mommy! Mom!" The shouts echo from the stone pillars and the walls and the noble lords and ladies in the baroque paintings seem to startle a little at the exuberance.

DJ jumps forward as Buffy kneels down and opens her arms. It's a practiced routine, their welcome ritual.

Willow laughs, "Told you. Nobody puts our baby in a corner."

Skinny arms encircle Buffy's neck and hold onto her tightly. Whatever she has hoped for a few minutes ago, being welcomed home like this is well worth any extra effort tomorrow. They have only been apart for two days, but now a wave of missing him and the pure joy of being together again washes over her. She kisses his forehead and nuzzles the side of his neck, and he squeals. DJ returns her affections with a big wet kiss on the cheek. He smells of minty toothpaste. The soapy scent of face wash. The clean cotton freshness of blue dinosaur PJs. And a whiff of Eau Sauvage.

Buffy freezes as the fragrance hits her. She hasn't noted the scent in years, but the flood of images that it releases, drowns out all other thoughts in her mind.

This isn't right.

"Mommy! Are you listening?! He fought a dragon! A real dragon!"

"What? What baby? Who fought what?" Buffy tries to focus, to pull her thoughts back to the here and now.

DJ fidgets in her arms, widely gesticulating with his hands. Pulling on her jacket. Punching the air. Making roaring sounds. Telling her of dragons and a man, no not just a man, a hero, who battled monsters in a mystical land beyond the night with his ragtag gang of misfit champions.

Buffy can’t keep up. Which one of the Watchers has told DJ such a lurid tale? He is anything but tired and bedtime slowly but surely creeps further and further away.

"Buffy?" Dawn appears from the same hallway as DJ, her face is frozen stiff in an overextended smile that usually belongs to car salesmen and Tupperware ladies. "Hi guys," Dawn greets them again in a hushed, placating voice. "Good trip?" She continues without waiting for an answer. "So Buff, Buffy, before you freak. Let me explain. DJ and I ran into him in town this afternoon, when we were shopping. Like during the day. Oh my god. I almost had a heart attack." She moves her hand over her heart. "I don't even know how DJ found him. But he like zeroed in on him right away. It was totally crazy. And he's actually here to...well he can tell you himself. But I said he could come over and stay the night. We have so much room. I didn't think you would mind. And...I hope you don't." Dawn whispers and rattles down the sentences at the same time.

"Dawn? I didn't get a thing you said. Who did you meet? Why would I be mad?" Buffy looks from Dawn to DJ, trying hard to decide who to make sense of first.

"Err, Buffy…" Willow has taken a step closer to them, and her hand grabs Buffy's shoulder, pinching it tightly. "Really, don't freak because I kinda am."

Buffy looks towards the hallway that leads to the common rooms for a third time.

Another figure has appeared in the dark corridor. He makes no sound as he walks down the hallway in slow, measured steps. His movements fluid and lithe, a living shadow, no motion in excess. Even without seeing his face, Buffy would recognize that walk a thousand times over. Could tell him apart from a row of a hundred men.

Blood starts to rush to her head. Her chest constricts. She feels dizzy. It can't be. He's dead. He's long dead and never coming back. She accepted that fact years ago. For a moment, she thinks she will throw up right here and now, or faint, but then her slayer-senses kick in and help her get a hold of herself. She takes a slow breath and pushes all feelings down.

A small cloud that covered the moon in the magic ceiling sky moves, and a dusty ray of reflected light breaks through.

He steps into its muted halo.

"Angel?" Buffy whispers.

DJ struggles and squirms in her embrace. "Mommy. That's too tight." She drops her arms and lets him go.

"Sorry. Buddy. Sorry." One of Buffy's hands moves up to cover her mouth, as if it was trying to hold in all the ghosts of emotions that suddenly want to escape.

"Hi," Angel says. His voice raspy as if it hasn't been used much as of late.

"You're alive." She can barely turn the thought into a phrase, fearful that he will vanish if she says the words out loud.

"Well...not entirely."

"Yeah, but you're..."

"I'm here."

She gets up from her crouch, trying to suppress the shake in her legs. Moving into a standing position takes forever. She doesn't know if someone is talking to her. If there are still other people in the entry hall or if everyone has left.

He looks exactly the same. His skin pale. His eyes deep dark pools. His cheekbones high and slightly gaunt. Everything is exactly as Buffy remembers. Except for his hair. His hair is different. It is shorter on the sides and combed somewhat over. It's a different side-part. Or maybe it's always been like that. She's so occupied aligning her mental image of Angel with the man in front of her that she forgets they were having a conversation.

From the corner of her eye, she sees Willow moving past her in slow motion. Willow's arms lift and move around Angel at a glacial pace. Willow hugs him and calls his name out loud. Her voice surprised and delighted.

And with that, the world around Buffy snaps back to normal speed again.

"Angel. Wow. You are here. How are you? How long has it been? Five years?" Willow exclaims.

"More like six here?"

"I -- wow -- How are the Phantom Forces? Or what do they call them? The Ghost Brigades?"

Angel shrugs and smiles and politely answers all the questions he's asked. He's fine. It's been longer for him than for them, how much he doesn't know. Time passes differently in other dimensions. They have recently gained a major victory against the demon armies of the Old Ones. So he's on leave. Angel seems attentive, but his gazes wanders from Willow over to Buffy, and then to DJ. There's confusion in his eyes and maybe something akin to disappointment.Then something else flutters across Angel's features like the wing beat of a moth, barely detectable, but when it has come and gone, it has drained all emotion from his face. Buffy knows that look. The ramparts are raised, and all the walls are up. She remembers the expression from the times when she asked too many questions about his past. From the months after he came back from hell. From their meeting right after she came back from the dead.

Buffy herself hasn't moved. Her feet and her legs are made of lead. She can't take a step, even if she wants to. She has played this moment over a million times in her mind, but now her brain is only white noise and static.

Another moment passes that feels like an eternity.

Then Dawn sweeps in and picks DJ up. "Alright, time for bed," she calls.

There are squealing protests and calls for more dragon stories that only subside when Dawn lets him ride piggy-back up the ornate wooden staircase.

"Good night, guys! See you tomorrow." Dawn shouts when she reaches the landing that leads to the first floor. "Angel, Buffy, and Willow can show you where the guest rooms are if you don't find them again."

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