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samsomTitle: Schism
Author: Samsom
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Cordelia’s kidnapped Connor. AU of s3.
Word count: 654
Disclaimer: If they really were mine…..
Notes: As usual, I have to thank Debbie, who keeps me from drowning myself in purple prose and questionable tenses. This is a ficlet that got inspired by reading about Paul Newman’s house in the woods in CT. I couldn’t help thinking something that sounded so idyllic in the daylight had to be hiding some deep shadows at night.
Or maybe the shadows are just in my mind. :P
~~
She’ll find her peace deep in the woods.
Here the air is cool, deep shadows made by thousand-year-old trunks and branches twisting into each other. She’ll make a bow and rock her baby gently to the sound of the leaves ruffling in the wind.
She’ll build her house cradled by oak and willow, shaded from the harsh sun.
The rich, dark earth will yield carrots and strawberries, potatoes and spices, and she’ll fill her pitcher from the crystal watered river that springs from deep within the earth.
She’ll sing to her baby and make clothes for them both and tell him the rhymes and fables of her own childhood. Witches and fairies, princesses and wizards, these will be his companions. She’ll knead dough and bake pies while she watches him fight pirates from the kitchen window.
When the sun goes down, she’ll pray with him beside his bed and watch as he slips away to dreams.
And then she’ll extinguish her lamps and wait.
Wait with her sharpened wood.
Wait for the sharp-tooth monster.
Every odd noise will be her alarm, every sound from the owls a signal of approaching threat.
She’ll hear the scruff of his boots against the wooden porch and the scrape of his nails along the door. He’ll tap and sniff and listen, face hidden in the shadows, with only the glint of the moon off his razor teeth.
He’ll croon softly through the door while she leans on the other side and listens.
He’ll tell her everything’s all right. He’ll tell her there’s no threat, no need of worry. Their boy is safe with him, and she’ll get what she needs.
He promises.
But she’s not ready to trust that smooth voice, the entreaties which mask the lies he tells.
There is no safety with him, no succor.
Her mind knows this and her head aches and throbs with his untruths.
And it hurts. Hurts like screws turning under her nails, hurts like blades across her skin and the sun on a vampire’s flesh.
She’ll unsheathe her weapons and scrape the lies from his bones, scrape it all away until the monster is exposed.
And when the monster shows his face in her kitchen window she’ll scream like an owl cries, deep in the silent forest. Clutch her weapon in a tight fist and stab the air.
Face in the window, eyes glowing in the dark.
Stab, stab the air.
She’ll protect her boy, her baby.
Cronus will not eat his own son.
Then he’s in, touching her, holding her, taking her down to the floor as she screams.
Other voices, other hands holding her down. Familiar traitors, trading her for the monster’s lies. She fights them too, stabbing at the air until she can’t anymore.
The ropes are hard on her flesh but her head rests in the pillow of his lap. She moans for her boy, sure he is his father’s chalice.
The voices are gentle but she can’t be fooled.
She won’t let them win.
“She’s going to be okay, Angel.”
Soft hands in her hair.
“Are you sure?”
Rustling footfalls and she keeps her eyes closed.
“The stroke was a bad one, but if we get her back to L.A. as soon as possible, she can still be treated.”
She hums softly to block their lies, and imagines she is baking bread with her son.
Her baby.
She needs to protect her baby.
“I almost killed her, Wesley.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself, Angel. The visions overwhelmed her, she attacked you, took your son. Any father would have done what you did.”
“Gunn, take Connor, put him in my truck, I’ll take Cordelia in the –“
“No, Wesley. I’ll take her. Just make sure Connor’s okay.”
Soft as pillows under her head she’s lifted into the devil’s arms.
“I’ll take care of you, Cordy,” he whispers against her forehead.
She believes him.
~~
end
~~
Author: Samsom
Pairing: None
Rating: PG
Summary: Cordelia’s kidnapped Connor. AU of s3.
Word count: 654
Disclaimer: If they really were mine…..
Notes: As usual, I have to thank Debbie, who keeps me from drowning myself in purple prose and questionable tenses. This is a ficlet that got inspired by reading about Paul Newman’s house in the woods in CT. I couldn’t help thinking something that sounded so idyllic in the daylight had to be hiding some deep shadows at night.
Or maybe the shadows are just in my mind. :P
~~
She’ll find her peace deep in the woods.
Here the air is cool, deep shadows made by thousand-year-old trunks and branches twisting into each other. She’ll make a bow and rock her baby gently to the sound of the leaves ruffling in the wind.
She’ll build her house cradled by oak and willow, shaded from the harsh sun.
The rich, dark earth will yield carrots and strawberries, potatoes and spices, and she’ll fill her pitcher from the crystal watered river that springs from deep within the earth.
She’ll sing to her baby and make clothes for them both and tell him the rhymes and fables of her own childhood. Witches and fairies, princesses and wizards, these will be his companions. She’ll knead dough and bake pies while she watches him fight pirates from the kitchen window.
When the sun goes down, she’ll pray with him beside his bed and watch as he slips away to dreams.
And then she’ll extinguish her lamps and wait.
Wait with her sharpened wood.
Wait for the sharp-tooth monster.
Every odd noise will be her alarm, every sound from the owls a signal of approaching threat.
She’ll hear the scruff of his boots against the wooden porch and the scrape of his nails along the door. He’ll tap and sniff and listen, face hidden in the shadows, with only the glint of the moon off his razor teeth.
He’ll croon softly through the door while she leans on the other side and listens.
He’ll tell her everything’s all right. He’ll tell her there’s no threat, no need of worry. Their boy is safe with him, and she’ll get what she needs.
He promises.
But she’s not ready to trust that smooth voice, the entreaties which mask the lies he tells.
There is no safety with him, no succor.
Her mind knows this and her head aches and throbs with his untruths.
And it hurts. Hurts like screws turning under her nails, hurts like blades across her skin and the sun on a vampire’s flesh.
She’ll unsheathe her weapons and scrape the lies from his bones, scrape it all away until the monster is exposed.
And when the monster shows his face in her kitchen window she’ll scream like an owl cries, deep in the silent forest. Clutch her weapon in a tight fist and stab the air.
Face in the window, eyes glowing in the dark.
Stab, stab the air.
She’ll protect her boy, her baby.
Cronus will not eat his own son.
Then he’s in, touching her, holding her, taking her down to the floor as she screams.
Other voices, other hands holding her down. Familiar traitors, trading her for the monster’s lies. She fights them too, stabbing at the air until she can’t anymore.
The ropes are hard on her flesh but her head rests in the pillow of his lap. She moans for her boy, sure he is his father’s chalice.
The voices are gentle but she can’t be fooled.
She won’t let them win.
“She’s going to be okay, Angel.”
Soft hands in her hair.
“Are you sure?”
Rustling footfalls and she keeps her eyes closed.
“The stroke was a bad one, but if we get her back to L.A. as soon as possible, she can still be treated.”
She hums softly to block their lies, and imagines she is baking bread with her son.
Her baby.
She needs to protect her baby.
“I almost killed her, Wesley.”
“You mustn’t blame yourself, Angel. The visions overwhelmed her, she attacked you, took your son. Any father would have done what you did.”
“Gunn, take Connor, put him in my truck, I’ll take Cordelia in the –“
“No, Wesley. I’ll take her. Just make sure Connor’s okay.”
Soft as pillows under her head she’s lifted into the devil’s arms.
“I’ll take care of you, Cordy,” he whispers against her forehead.
She believes him.
~~
end
~~
