Title: Amulets, screw-ups and the real Hell
Rating: R for some language.
Summary: I re-watched the episode Home (Ats S4) and caught something Lilah said when she was giving the amulet to Angel for Buffy in Sunnydale. She said "A bit too gauche for me, but not a slayer." It occurred to me perhaps the amulet wasn't meant for Angel or Spike but for Buffy. That prompted this little story. It's my first attempt at writing Lilah so if you see gross oocness to her please let me know and help me fix it!!
A/N: Lilah's thoughts are in italics
Feedback: Please! Kristiallengames.com Thanks to Maren for a quick beta here.
I fidget with the end of my sheer scarf and adjust it so it covers the nice line across my throat. I don't recommend decapitation as a method of dying. It really messes with your wardrobe. I'm nervous, which is the real reason for the fidgeting. I know I look perfect, I checked the mirror before I got in the elevator. The Senior Partners don't really do private meetings, unless you've screwed up monumentally. I tick over my tasks in my mind. I did my part. This has to be about Angel. He's the loose cannon. I tried to tell them that, however apparently prophecies are more important then my opinion. Imagine that.
I knock on the door, unable to put this off any longer.
"Come in," and the door opens on its own.
I plaster a bright and shiny smile on my face and stride confidently into the room. There are three heavily robed figures standing in a huddle. Great, I think. Four Senior Partners and I get to meet with three of them. A girl just can't get any luckier.
One of the robed figures turned to me. "Miss Lilah Morgan," it hisses.
Keep smiling, keep smiling, keep smiling I chant to myself. "Yes, Sir."
"Do you know what happened in Sunnydale?" one of the figures asks.
I clear my throat. It seems to get particularly dry now with the whole being decapitated thing. "I know the amulet worked as you wished it too. The First Evil will be trapped for a long time, plenty of time for Wolfram and Hart to orchestrate the apocalypse. I assume the wearer of the amulet is as much dust and ash as Sunnydale itself."
"Yes, but the wearer of the amulet was not the intended," one of the figures hisses.
This is much, much worse then I thought, I think but I keep smiling. "Really? I thought I was quite clear when I gave the amulet and the file to Angel. He was to give the amulet to the Slayer," I say.
"Angel gave the amulet to the slayer, however she did not wear it as planned."
Fuck, the plan was really screwed up now
"You do realize this impedes our plans greatly. The Slayer was supposed to wear the amulet. It was supposed to kill her. The other Slayer is confined in a prison for the next twenty years or so. This would have left us conveniently without a slayer to contend with when we started the apocalypse. Her death was also supposed to drive Angel to the dark side, or at least leave him such a broken shell that he wasn't an issue for this apocalypse," one of the robed figures explains to me as if I am a five year old.
I grit my teeth, but the smile never drops from my face, "I understand how the plan was supposed to work, Sir. That particular Slayer has always been unpredictable. She actually quit the Watcher's Council for approximately a year and a half several years ago. She has always been a loose cannon," I say in my defense.
"And yet you didn't think to mention this when we devised the plan?"
This was not happening. Didn't these guys do their homework? It's not like it is a big secret how much of a rebel this Slayer is. "I'm sorry, Sir. I should have gathered my files on this Slayer and kept you all better informed. I merely assumed tabs had been kept on the girl even at the highest levels here," fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm so going to be permanently burning in a hell dimension for this.
"We monitor the activities of each and every Wolfram and Hart office in a dozen dimensions. We can't be expected to keep tabs on one girl," the figure says.
Pardon me, she's a bit more then one girl, since she apparently fucked up all your plans for the apocalypse, I think. Of course I don't say this. There is still a chance I won't burn for eternity. "Of course not, Sir."
"Furthermore, this Slayer apparently created an entire army of slayers to help her defeat the First Evil," one of the partners informs me.
Okay, so burning it is.
"Mom!" the eight year old shouts from his room on the second floor.
"Honey, come down here so Mommy doesn't have to scream. You know it hurts Mommy's throat to scream," I yell.
There is a clatter of noise on the stairs. I expertly flip the omelet in the pan. I burn my fingers slightly as I grab the toast out of the toaster and place it on a plate. The eight year old bursts into the kitchen.
"I have soccer practice today at four," he says.
"Tommy, your sister has gymnastics at four," I say.
He snorts. "Not my problem, I have to go to soccer, if I don't I'll get kicked off the team."
I sigh. "Don't worry, I'll figure out something to get you there. Now eat," I place the omelet on a plate along with the toast and bacon and slide it onto the table in front of Tommy.
"Mommy!" comes another shout from the second floor.
I plaster a bright and shiny smile on my face as my husband walks into the kitchen, dressed for a day at the office. He kisses me on the cheek and grabs a piece of bacon off the plate on the counter.
"I might be late coming home, business dinner after work," he says.
"Oh, well it will give me plenty of time to get the laundry done," I grit my teeth, never dropping the bright and shiny.
"Could you darn my socks too? I noticed several pairs getting holes in the toes,"
Oh yeah, this is the real Hell. Burning would have been so much better.