Title: All the Rage
Author: TombCrank the Crafty
Excerpt: Connor’s always had a thing for older brunettes, but this? This is just plain *creepy*.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Notes: My first FFA. Be proud. Be kind. I’m also toying with timelines… set during DH and S5. However, there are no real spoilers for DH, that I know of.
Coming to England had definitely not
been his idea. No, his (biological) father had wanted him to be somewhere safe in the aftermath of his near-suicidal assault on Wolfram and Hart. Sure, it was a sound idea, sending his beloved son to the reformed Watcher’s Council, out of harm's way and under the vigilant eyes of a hundred or so Slayers. Of course, they were also eyeing him with varying degrees of lust and desire, his “androgynous” looks very much appreciated by the super-strong teenaged girls. The fact that he could keep up with them, was fine with their calling, and was the only available teenaged guy in the area was just a bonus.
Dawn had seemed interested. She was gorgeous, she was smart, she hadn’t run off screaming like Jessie after he had saved her from a pack of vampires. The brunette had a wicked sense of humor and was fun to be around. And for some crazy reason, she had liked him, gods knew why. She had also been shipped off, willingly or not, to the heart of Africa where Xander (a member of the core Scooby group that Connor had never met) had found some ruins depicting what seemed to be the origins of the Slayer and the Watchers. It was the archeological find of a lifetime. So what if it would never be announced to the public? Dawn had regretfully kissed him goodbye on her way out. Connor would have followed her, but twenty enthusiastic Slayers stood between him and the door. (He would have made it, had one of them not called for reinforcements. After that incident, the Slayers had been more wary of his potential for bloodshed.) Dawn sent letters and emails, but they were sporadic and Connor sensed that she had moved on.
Angel had been very clear to Giles what would happen if Wolfram and Hart would do if they caught Connor, going into unnecessary details, graphic even for the hardened Watcher. Connor couldn’t take care of himself, he argued. (Connor would have protested loudly at this, had he not been unconscious at the time.) Angel worried; his son was not the toughened warrior of Quor-Toth. Thankfully, Connor wasn’t as hindered as “Connor Reilly” had been after the memory spell, but neither was he as strong and as deadly as “Stephen Holtz”. No, Connor Angel needed training and possibly a large amount of time with a shrink to deal with his multiple personality issues. What better place than with the Slayers, a safe place to live and learn. Connor was protected within Willow’s wards. Pity the wards only reached a three-block radius around the townhouse the Council kept in London. There wasn’t much to do in those blocks. There wasn’t that much crime or violence either, not after Connor had started patrolling in a desperate attempt to avoid some of his more determined stalkers. He now knew the area around Grimmauld Square like the back of his hand.
So when people started staring at the place where number twelve should have been, Connor was downright confused. Sure, it was an odd quirk of the neighborhood, but did it really deserve a twenty-four hour watch? The observers always wore bizarre clothing, robes and masks that screamed “cult”. And they carried around these freaky little sticks, too. It was strange. It was also not his business.
Enough vampires wandered by Grimmauld Square to make hunting every night necessary and the sporadic (evil) demon kept things lively. It was unusual for a group of five vampires to start menacing the observers, though. Doing his duty (and pounding his frustrations out on the hapless vamps), Connor made quick work of them, dispatching the pesky vampires with Gunn’s old battle-axe. It was only after Connor had dusted the last of them did he realize that he still had an audience.
“Bravo.” A gaunt, pale woman with scraggly black hair clapped slowly. “My hero.” She told him coyly, staring directly at his eyes.
Connor flushed. “Err, no.” He noticed belatedly that the metal axe was very shiny and rather atypical for a teenager to carry around in London. Shoving it behind his back, Connor grinned awkwardly at the woman. “Lovely night, isn’t it?” He asked lamely, grasping at straws.
“For destroying vermin like vampires? I suppose so.” She moved forward, stepping over one of the fallen observers nonchalantly.
“Ah, is he, err, was
he a friend of yours?” Connor gestured at the brutally mauled man.
“Avery? A worm, sniveling and sneaky and altogether unpleasant. I knew him, Horatio, a man of infinite idiocy. Better off dead, in my opinion.” She toed the body distastefully.
Connor raised an eyebrow. “Okay then. You wanna help me dispose of the body? I hate having the police come by and mucking around my neighborhood. It screws up all of my hunting patterns.”
“A hunter? I would be delighted to help
you.” Her black dress was very flattering, even if the torn layers looked a little too gothic and she was really far too thin and probably too old for him anyways. The fact that she was provocatively stalking towards him only served to remind him of the way some of the more smitten Slayers had followed him and that he definitely was not comfortable with this sort of thing.
Swallowing nervously, Connor gripped his metal axe tightly. “Thanks.”
The dark-eyed woman flashed him a mad smile, before whipping out one of those strange sticks and murmuring some vaguely Latin words. The body erupted into flames so hot he was forced to move back, before what was left of Avery disintegrated into tiny dust particles on the dirty street.
“You’re welcome, my dear hero.” She had moved closer to him than was really comfortable, he thought distractedly. “What else can I ever do to thank you?”
Connor blinked. Yeah, he usually had a thing for older, brunette women (it was kinda his kryptonite), but she looked old enough to be his mother. And frankly, he had enough Mommy Issues, what with Darla, Cordelia, and Colleen Reilly, without adding this lady to them. “Uh, you can call me Connor.”
“Connor.” She downright purred. “I am Bellatrix Black. I was Bellatrix LeStrange, but I find myself a widow these days.”
“Right. Hi. Um, nice to meet you?” He offered weakly.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Bellatrix told him, her heavy-lidded eyes staring intently into his own. They were a deep, dark brown; mad and writhing and sensual. Stephen Holtz would have thought them the eyes of a succubus. Connor Angel had to agree.
“I’m flattered. Really. But I kind of have a thing to do and it’s getting late. Have a nice night!” He told her quickly, stepping back briskly with a neat half-bow. With hardly any effort, he dashed into one of the grimy alleys off of Grimmauld Square with a bit of super-human speed. Once out of her immediate line of sight, he silently vaulted up a few stories using a rickety old fire escape as a means of propulsion, before landing on the rooftop of one of the buildings over looking Grimmauld Place. Cautiously, he peered over the edge from the shadows, observing the woman who resembled nothing more than an escaped mental patient. She was staring at the alleyway with what appeared to be amusement and a certain amount of… eagerness?
This was not good.
Author's Notes: I make no apologies for the utterly randomness of this pairing. It probably won't get much farther than this (the eww factor, you know how these things are), but there's a second chapter floating around on my hard drive that needs heavy editing before I let loose upon the world. As for Connor and Bellatrix, I hope I captured their quirky personalities. We'll see. Feedback, as always, is much appreciated.
---TombCrank the Crafty