Connor, the Witch, and the Goldfish
PAIRINGS: Connor and Willow, but not in that way - eeew.
RATING: PG-13
FEEDBACK: Very welcome, to keswindhover@yahoo.co.uk
SETTING: This fic is set during the events of ‘Orpheus’ in Angel Series 4, when Willow shows up to help re-soul Angelus. I've twiddled with the time sequence in the episode a bit, but just call it artistic licence.
DISCLAIMER: The characters belong to Joss. I’m borrowing, and I promise to put them all back in good condition, and only slightly used.
SCENE: The Hyperion Hotel, in Los Angeles
“I think you need a witch.”
“Willow!”
Connor turned. Standing in the doorway was a skinny redhead sporting a backpack, and a cocky expression. Willow?
“She’s a witch?” he said distrustfully to Wes. And yep, turned out she was just that. And a cocky witch too, he thought distrustfully, that has got to be like totally the worst kind.
Willow smiled at him. “Hi, you must be Angel’s handsome, yet androgynous son.”
Connor sniffed. “It’s Connor,” he said. Androgynous my ass! he thought indignantly. I banged up Cordelia first time out. I’ve got balls all right - I’m so damn fertile it’s frightening. My sperm are super strength, baby, just like the rest of me! He flexed his skinny biceps absently, and sneered.
The witch was still blathering on and now she was giggling like an idiot with Fred, but he took no notice, of course - except.... she’s flirting with Fred! thought Connor indignantly - why does everyone always pay so much attention to her skinny ass? I’m cute too! And I know stuff about spells! I just think using them is wrong. No, no forget all that. Focus, focus. Cordy - and their baby - that was the important thing. He tuned back in to the conversation - Wes was droning again, and the witch ...
“....where's Cordy?” said Willow brightly.
Connor sneered again, “Unfortunately, the guy you're all trying to magically re-ensoul shot her with a crossbow. She's not up for visitors.”
But that wasn’t good enough for Wes of course. Mr Pompous was all “I think she'll want to see Willow. Blah, blah travelled a long way, blah blah.... they have a history together.”
Willow grinned at Connor from behind Wes’s shoulder, “Damn straight we do - and boy it’s gonna be fun to see her fat.”
Connor stomped angrily up the stairs, not looking to see if Willow was following him. This witch was a bitch!
........
Willow walked into the corridor, closing the door to Cordelia’s room behind her. There was funny twanging sound from just inside. Willow frowned. Strange.... but here was the kid again, lurking in a stalkerish fashion in the corridor. Hmm, she thought, apparently lurking and brooding are genetic as well.
The kid had his lower lip stuck out, and a belligerent expression on his face. “Do you really think you,” he put a world of contempt into the word, “can re-ensoul Angelus?”
Willow grinned at him again, since that seemed to annoy him so much. “Done it before,” she said. “And you know they always say the first time is the hardest.”
Connor narrowed his eyes. Was that some kind of sex joke? He wouldn’t be surprised, since she was a witch and all. Everyone knew witches went around ripping their clothes off and having orgies and stuff. And consorting with the devil of course.
“He’s in the basement,” he said sullenly.
“Oh, I don’t want to see him.” said Willow, “I’ve met Angelus before. Not wanting to do that twice. He tried to kill me, and he did kill my goldfish. There was a long pause, “and someone else I was very fond of.” Willow looked away. “Angelus is a Bad News Bear all right.” She gave herself a little shake, and set off determinedly down the corridor “Anyways, let’s get down to the mojo.”
...........
Connor slumped in the corridor, his arms folded. Apparently the witch was going to release Angel’s soul, so she said. According to her it would just be flying around in the ether, looking for a home. He scowled. It sounded like a load of bullshit to him. He looked up. Willow was approaching, accompanied by Wes and Fred, all of them talking animatedly about spells like the nerds that they were. Connor scowled at them all.
As they approached him, still yammering, an unearthly hot wind rushed down the corridor, passed right through the three of them, and struck Connor.
They all shivered. “Brr,” said Wesley, “what was that?”
Willow and Fred stared wildly at each other.
“Oh no!” said Fred.
“Nostomania!” said Willow.
They stared at Connor, who stared back at them. There was a funny sensation in his midriff, like a hot little coal was lodged there.
“Oh dear,” said Willow. “Angel’s soul has just found a new home, not entirely dissimilar to its old one.”
“No-o-o-!” screamed Connor. Get it out of me! Aaargh!” And he fell to the floor in convulsions, the horror of it all too much for him.
“Shit, shit, shit!” said Willow. "I've got to release it again." She rushed up to his twitching figure, mumbled a hasty line of nonsensical foreign syllables and sank to the ground in an untidy heap on top of him.
“Ah, said Wes, “well, this was unexpected.” He looked resolutely into the middle distance. “But I did it for the best,” he said firmly. “I may have been wrong, but I had the purest of motives.”
Fred rolled her eyes. “You didn’t do anything,” she said. “Except persuade us to de-soul Angel in the first place. I called Willow, and she chose the spell.”
“Ah, said Wesley again, “true, true. He smiled down at Fred, “And I’m sure you had the purest of motives too,” he said.
Fred thought about Willow’s ass, and blushed. Fortunately Wesley was too busy looking resolutely into the middle distance in a sexy, stubbled, blue eyed fashion to notice.
............
Scene: A dark street in NY in the 1970s, outside a donut shop. Angel can been seen inside through the lighted window
Thud! Connor and Willow landed in the street amid a shower of gold. Connor jumped immediately to his feet, and glared around him, fists clenched. “What’s going on?” he said agitatedly, “Where are we, what happened?” He gazed down at himself, and his voice rose hysterically, “and why am I wearing paisley?”
“Oh dear,” said Willow, getting slowly to her feet, and looking down at her bell bottoms and crocheted waistcoat, “this is worse than I thought.”
“Too darn right,” snarled Connor, “I’ve got high heels on!”
“They’re platform boots,” said Willow absently. She gestured at the window where the figures of Angel, and a guy behind the counter were dimly visible through the steamed-up window. “And we’re in Angel’s subconscious. His soul is trying to reunite with him, and it’s dragged you along for the ride - and me.” Suddenly she screamed and pointed.
“What, what?” said Connor, peering into the window.
“My hair!” said Willow, pointing to her reflection in the glass, which revealed a frizzy perm of terrifying proportions. “It’s appalling!” She poked at her hairdo futilely for a moment. “Apparently right now Angel’s re-living the Age of Aquarius.”
Connor folded his arms. “I don’t believe in astrology,” he said firmly.
Willow looked at him. Connor had almost certainly never seen That 1970s Show. She wondered idly for a moment what shows Connor did watch on tv - when he wasn’t battling demons, fighting with his dad or knocking up his girlfriend, of course. Kung fu movies maybe? Or documentaries about the building of the Hoover Dam? Who could tell?
She put her hands against the glass and peered into the donut shop window. The plangent strains of ‘Mandy’ echoed faintly into the night. Angel began grooving to the juke box, and Connor, who had followed her example and was peering through the glass, gave a little shudder of revulsion. “Ugh!” he said disgustedly, “I wish dad wasn’t so darn weird, and embarrassing. Why can’t I have an ordinary dad? Or at least one with rhythm.”
“Well, we can’t give him rhythm,” said Willow, “but hopefully we can give him soul.” She nudged Connor, “Give him soul, give him a soul - it’s a joke.”
Connor sighed theatrically, then turned away and rested his back against the plate glass, and slid down to sit on the pavement, his head in his hands. A man sidled past him nervously, and entered the donut shop.
“I’m sitting on something wet," he said after a moment. He reached down, and then stared blankly at the flattened goldfish in his hand.
“Sammy!” squealed Willow. She grabbed the fish from Connor, and then pointed excitedly at the sidewalk, where another pathetic fishy corpse lay. “and Frank!” She scrabbled about in the gutter and came up with a handful of fish. “And Dino, and Joey, and Peter....” She held the fish out to Connor, who flinched away from her. “These are my goldfish, that Angelus killed.” She looked about, frantically. “Oh this is very bad,” she said. “they have to come from my subconscious, not his. Things are getting confused.”
Connor looked at her suspiciously. “Why did you name your goldfish after the Rat Pack?” he said. “That’s stupid.”
Willow stopped dead, fish in hand. “The Rat Pack?” she said.
Connor glared back at her. “Angel watches that stupid movie all the time,” he said. “After the nth showing I can’t help but know what they were all called. He keeps going on about hanging out with them too, in LA. Blah, blah, blah, dead white guys, why the hell should I care?”
Willow stared at the fish in her hands again. “Actually, I didn’t name my fish after the Rat Pack,” she said. “I named them after the Electric Mayhem Band in the Muppets - Janice, Floyd, Zoot, Animal and Dr Teeth. Dr Teeth was my favorite.” She touched a little golden corpse tenderly, a tear in her eye. She looked up, “The Rat Pack bit has to come from your subconscious,” she said. “Or no - more likely Angel’s, of course. Everything else here is Angel’s. But somehow I brought the fish into things. Now why...” She thwapped Dr Teeth absently into her palm as she thought furiously.
Connor shuddered, revolted by the idea that his subconscious had anything in common with Angel. He looked about him at the dark cold street, and the frizzy haired witch beside him beating a dead goldfish against her palm. Why, oh, why did all the Gods and Powers that ruled the cosmos have it in for him? The whole demon-child of-two-vampires, brought-up-by-a-madman-bent-on-vengeance thing wasn’t torture enough for them? Now he had to visit his undead dad’s mucky subconscious, with said undead dad’s soul lodged in his stomach? It just totally was not fair! Not for the first time Connor reflected how much he hated the world.
“Got it!” shouted Willow suddenly. “The fish aren’t fish at all.” She turned to Connor excitedly. “They’re what’s left of my spell,” she said, “You always have to draw on your own unconscious to empower a spell!”
Bang! A shot sounded behind them, and they both ducked nervously. A man waving a gun ran out the donut shop and past them down the street. Willow looked in the window again. “Oh boy,” she said, “Angel’s about to have a major catharsis. This could get uncomfortable. He’ll flash to somewhere else in his past, and if we’re lucky we’ll get dragged along.” She looked around the street, searching for inspiration, absently clutching the five little corpses in her hand.
Connor sighed a deep long suffering sigh. “What happens if we’re unlucky?” he said unenthusiastically.
Willow shrugged. “If we’re unlucky, we’ll get lost in the endless Void that exists between the Spirit and Material worlds.”
“How can it be endless if it’s in-between two things?” said Connor irritably. “That’s stupid.”
“Magic,” said Willow, in a discouraging tone. No way was she getting into a discussion of multi dimensional non-corporeal space with a sulky teenager. Her eye lit on the goldfish in her hand. “But luckily I’ve got an idea, to set that soul back in the Muo-Ping and get us out of here,” she added.
“Oh good,” said Connor bitterly. “Because your ideas have worked so well up to now, haven’t they?”
Willow ignored him as she bent down and arranged the by now seriously battered fish in a pentagram around Connor’s feet, giving Dr Teeth an extra loving pat as she did so. “By the power of Five,” she began, “Janice Frank and Floyd Dino, Zoot Jerry and Animal Joey. By the love I bear for Sammy Dr Teeth , through their sacrifice, relinque, anime Angelus, relinque Connorus!”
“But this is stupid!” said Connor, staring down at the pathetic little corpses about this feet.
“No stupider than any of my other spells,” said Willow. She continued to chant.
Suddenly the goldfish glowed with a fierce golden light. They rose to float at platform boot level, and began to rotate, slowly at first, and then so fast that they formed a glowing golden ring around Connor’s shins.
Willow’s eyes turned black, and a stiff breeze appeared from nowhere and blew her frizzy perm back from her face. “Relinque, anime Angelus, relinque Connorus!” shouted Willow.
“Shouldn’t that be Angel?” asked Connor.
“Not in Latin, no,” said Willow, “and will you please shut up.”
Connor folded his arms, "I don't believe that is proper Latin," he said sullenly. "It sounds made up to me."
Willow closed her eyes and drew a deep breath; Connor was one annoying kid - and she was doing her best with the Latin stuff, considering she hadn't thought to bring a spell book with her. She concentrated.
Connor lapsed into a sulky silence as the fish spun faster and faster around him.... and began to burn, and then exploded into five little pinprick beams of golden light that shot towards the heavens. Connor’s eyes rolled back into his head, and a glow began to emanate from his stomach. Inside the donut shop, Angel sank his teeth into the neck of the luckless counter guy.
There was a ‘Pop!’ as Angel’s soul emerged from Connor’s stomach. It coalesced into a ball of light and then shot upwards, guided within the five little beams emanating from the fish. As it disappeared into the distance, the five little rays shut off abruptly and Willow and Connor tumbled back into their own bodies in the Hyperion.
Willow's eyes snapped open, still a solid black. “Okay!” she said, a blissed-out smile on her face. “Well that was a little wrinkle that I wasn’t expecting, but it’s all sorted, thanks to the fish.” Wesley and Fred exchanged a concerned glance; Willow was babbling again. Willow turned to Fred, "Angel's soul is back in the Muo Ping - and this time we'll do the whole ritual as per the book - although my way worked, sort of." She gave a little squeak, as Connor stirred beneath her.
“What happened?” he said belligerently, untangling himself from Willow’s prone body, and blushing hotly. Willow, Wesley and Fred exchanged a significant look. Connor bounced to his feet and made a quick survey of the corridor to check it was secure.
“Looks like he doesn’t remember a thing!” Wes hissed out of the corner of his mouth.
“He’s probably repressing,” Fred hissed back, “and don’t whisper so loud!”
“No need to remind him,” hissed Willow a little more quietly, "I think most of us would prefer to forget it if we were ever catapulted into our dad's heads."
Wesley cleared his throat, “We’ll just tell him he fell unconscious for no good reason. He’s a very suggestible lad, so I think we may get away with it.”
Connor stared back at them sulkily. His ears were ringing, and he had a stomach ache. Wes and Fred and Willow were yapping on again - yada yada yada. Did they never stop? “What happened?” he said again.
“Ahem,” said Wesley. “You and Willow just had some kind of mysterious convulsive fit and fell to the ground unconscious, that’s all. Possibly some kind of attack by an Evil Power. But nothing to worry about, nothing at all.”
Connor narrowed his eyes. There was something Wesley wasn’t telling him, he just knew it. But focus, focus! Cordy and the baby, that was the important thing, always - and he was used to getting knocked unconscious anyway. Holtz used to knock him unconscious on a daily basis just to make a man of him - and it had worked! He rudely brushed past Wesley and Fred, and marched off down the corridor, the incident already half forgotten.
Willow staggered to her feet, her eyes suspiciously bright. “Now for the next spell,” she said, absently rubbing a few golden scales from her hands. “Let's get the Orb of Thessulah - see what exciting thing happens next!”
Meanwhile, on the New York street outside a donut shop in 1975 five little charred corpses flopped to the sidewalk, and the smell of broiled fish perfumed the air, inexorably drawing the attention of the neighbourhood cats. They appeared from dark alleys, and leapt lightly from dumpsters, whiskers twitching. The crunching of tiny bones was heard, until soon every trace of the Electric Mayhem Band had vanished, and the cats’ attention turned to the open door of the donut shop, and the delicious smell wafting from there.
The End
(But the sequel is Sealed with a Kiss)
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