Port in the Storm
Title: Port in the Storm
FFA response to Willow/Alec (Dark Angel) non-pairing
Disclaimer: This may get a little confusing if I forget to change the fandom information, so please be patient. None of them are mine, obviously, and I’ll try to keep up with which fandom is which. BtVS/AtS is easy – Joss Whedon’s of course. Dark Angel – James Cameron
Note: Most of these FFAs are going to be drabble to ficlet length and I’m not sure how closely they’ll be related, or if they’ll be related at all. If someone sees a plot bunny that they would like to run with, drop me an e-mail and let me know your thoughts. I might be happy to see the story played out even if I don’t have the time to write it. Or, if you see a strand that you think I should continue, let me know and I’ll see if I can add it to my list of stories.
In honor of Mother’s Day, I was feeling like someone needed a good mothering…
As always, thank you to MaraLiz and Rorylondra for your lovely beta assistance!
Timeframe: Way Post-Season 7 BtVS; S2 DA
When Alec woke up, he was disoriented and confused. At first, he even forgot that he was Alec now; he slipped back into being 494 at the blurry sight of the gray walls and the medical equipment surrounding him. A spike of fear ran through him, thinking he was in Manticore’s medical facility before he remembered that Manticore had burned to the ground months ago. He blinked a couple of times and his vision cleared somewhat. He was in a facility, but it wasn’t one he had ever seen before. He brought his hand up to his face and was relieved to find that he wasn’t strapped down, was apparently free to leave if he wanted to, if he could manage to stand upright. His head swam, a wave of vertigo slamming into him, as he tried to move his head and the field medic in him noted his concussion. He tried to remember what had happened. Flashes of events passed before him: his fight with Max, storming out of Crash, having to pick the lock on his apartment door because he left his keys behind, finding Familiars waiting for him and having to dive out the window when they had him cornered. He was proof positive that cats don’t always land on their feet, he supposed, considering the pain he was in. Of course, that might have been because of the fire escape railing his head made contact with when there had been a Familiar waiting for him there as well. If it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of a red-head, he knew he would likely be enjoying the Familiars’ hospitality at that moment.
Wait…a red-head? He searched his memory and realized that it had been his neighbor—Willow. She was in her late thirties and had always seemed nice, but even with his head splitting into pieces, he remembered seeing her in a whole new light. Gone was the smiling lady who brought him homemade cookies, teased him about coming home all hours of the night smelling like various perfumes, and made him feel guilty about lying to her when she asked him about his family. In her place had been a terrifying sight: lightning crackling from her fingers and the earth opening up to swallow the Familiars whole. He had no concept of someone, or something, that could do that, but he had seen it with his own—albeit concussed—eyes. But, when she leaned over him, and began looking him over, her eyes were no longer the dark pools of pure danger; they were once more the inviting green they had been the day she told him that she thought he needed looking after. He had felt warm then, as though she had been making more than a neighborly effort, but then she hadn’t known who or what he was.
Now, he didn’t know what to think. He didn’t know how much she knew or where he was or whether there would be someone breaking down the door any second now to take him away for testing or possibly dissection. The panic that rose in his chest should have been compounded by the touch he felt on his cheek, but instead, he felt a calmness sweep over him and he instinctively turned toward the source of the comfort and saw Willow leaning over him. Briefly, he wondered if he had actually had a mother, would she have leaned over him with worried, tear-filled eyes if he were hurt?
A moment later, he realized that she was speaking to him, but it took another minute to understand her words.
“Just take it easy, Alec,” she was gently telling him. “You took quite a hit tonight. But, you’ll be okay. I know it. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of you.”
It seemed like a dream, and maybe it was, Alec realized as he listened to her. He wasn’t a ten-year-old boy having fallen out of his tree-house. He was a twenty-year-old Transgenic fugitive. No one cared about him like that. That’s why he always had to be alright on his own. But, the soft hand running through his hair was doing its best to convince him that it was real and that there was someone there, worrying over him.
He opened his eyes again and sought her face. He couldn’t see her too well, but moving his head would only induce more vertigo, so there wasn’t much he could do about it. She was still speaking to him when he noticed the IV in his hand and followed the line up to the bag attached to the IV pole. It was filled with a clear liquid that once again sent a surge of panic through him. She seemed to know what the problem was at the same time he realized it and she pulled the bag off of the hook to show it to him.
“It’s just a saline drip, Alec. You were getting dehydrated,” she told him. “And, I had them add some tryptophan into it as well. I wasn’t sure if the stress of the ass-kicking you took tonight would bring on your seizures.”
Alec froze. Tryptophan. Seizures. How much does this woman know about me?
He looked at her and tried to speak, but words didn’t come out properly. Still, he managed to eek out, “You…how?”
Again, she seemed to know exactly what he needed as she spoke, “Yes, Alec. I know. I’ve known since the first time I met you. It’s okay. No one here will hurt you. Even if they wanted to, I won’t let them.”
And, he believed her. Just as surely as he knew that she was the fiery red-head who had saved him in the alley, he also knew that the auburn-haired woman watching him now had declared herself his protector.
“Familiars,” he rasped.
“They won’t be bothering you again…at least not those particular ones,” she informed him, her eyes hardening and he glimpsed the fire beneath her gentle countenance.
“Why?” Alec asked her, not quite knowing which ‘why’ he was asking. Why did she save him? Why did she put herself in danger? Why did she make herself a target by attacking the Familiars? Why…just why?
“I told you that you need looking after,” she said gently, running a light hand over his forehead. “And, I am going to do just that. And then, when you are better, you and I are going to figure out a plan to help the rest of the Transgenics and Transhumans. I have a feeling some of them could use looking after as well.”
End FFA? (One of my betas wants me to continue, but I’m on the fence. What do you think?)