Disclaimer: I will not claim to own anything of this story. Joss Whedon
created the characters, Billie Letts wrote "Where the Heart Is", which this
is based on.
Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.
Author's Notes: Hi! It's Lily-bug again! I know people have been after me because I have not finished my other stories, "Paradoxal Truths" or "Most Rare Vision". This summer has been really crazy. Also, this idea hit me in June, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head. So far, I have ten chapters archived, which I will post regularly. Once I get settled in my dorm and classes start for my first year at college, I will resume my two other stories. As always, please review because I want to know if you like this story. Love to all.
PS: The song "Something in the Air" is by Thunderclap Newman, taken off the "Almost Famous" soundtrack. Go see it! Go see it, or I will tie you down and make you watch it! ____________________________________________________________________________
Chapter One- A Little Philosophy
Life, no matter how mundane your past has been, or how ordinary it appears to outsiders, can change in a moment.
Yesterday, you were a city construction worker for Salt Lake. Today, you're the newest lottery winner.
This change comes without warning.
A week ago, you repaired shoes in a small town outside of Austin, Texas. Today, you're a paraplegic after that semi truck ran a red light and hit you.
Change doesn't care if you're content with the way things are going.
Eight months ago, you were a waitress in a Nevada.
Today, you're in a car, headed towards Los Angeles, your once-tight belly swollen with a growing baby, the father sitting in the driver's seat, singing loudly to an old Thunderclap Newman number.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
His voice, a rich baritone, filled the car, a rusted '75 Chevy Nova. Along the side of the car, the original baby-blue paint job was still visible in rare patches along the body where the rust hadn't corroded the metal.
For a quick second, he removed his grip from the steering wheel to flick the ashes of his cigarette into an empty Coke can. His hand resumed the original position on the top of the wheel, long fingers curling over the black plastic, thumbs taping out a one-three rhythm to the song.
His birth name was Liam; given to him from a mother in Washington he hadn't spoken to in thirteen years. But he only answered to the name of Angel. He obtained the nickname from a bartender in Chicago on his fifteenth birthday. After a major fight broke out, the bartender told police officers the kid looked too angelic to start it.
The buddies he hung out with back then used the nickname to tease the hotheaded boy. Even after he grew a foot and a half, and packed on fifty pounds of muscle, the name had stuck. It had helped him out in situations. Guys would avoid fights with a guy who had the balls to introduce himself as Angel.
And women, no matter how virginal they attempted to be, found it easier to take off their clothes for a guy named Angel.
It had been the same cycle for years. Go into a town. Start fights, steal, drink, sleep with women, drink some more, and then sneak out before anyone could come after you.
But, in that small, shit-hole town on the border between Nevada and Idaho, he had made a mistake.
He stayed to long.
She understood that now, sitting next to him as she scribbled in her notebook. She was the ultimate epitome for the ways of Angel, so was the child who had spent the past eight months growing in her belly.
Her golden blonde hair was plastered to her forehead and the back of her neck due to the extreme heat and lack of air conditioning. The Nova, which had been bought for sixty-three dollars and spare change, had no working A/C or AM radio, and the floor under the passenger's seat had rotted away.
The gaping hole stared up at her, threatening to swallow her feet and drown her in a pool of concrete and tar.
"Angel," she asked in a small voice, "Could you please be a little quieter?" Her head was pounding, the seat was uncomfortable, and she was desperately trying to finish writing.
"Nope."
All of his responses were usually monosyllabic, as if he had no desire to speak any more than necessary. Unless he had something mean to say.
He laughed, taking a long draw off his cigarette and blowing the smoke inside the cab. "It's a lot better than your snoring. I had to listen to you for two hours today, snoring away like some kinda pig."
"But Angel-"
His left hand, which had been hanging out the half open side window, raised up slightly.
"Just pointing it out, Buffy. You sound like a pig when you sleep. But, then again, you kinda look like one."
This shut her mouth, a small pout poking out from her pursed lips. She wasn't *that* fat. Sure, she had gained an additional twenty pounds to her petite frame within the last eight months. But for God's sake, she was pregnant!
Turning her attention back to her notebook, she made a small notation.
'Seventeen years old, and pregnant, heading towards LA with a guy who smoked like a chimney and fucked anything that had a hole.'
'Yeah, things are just fine,' she thought, writing it down, a scowl making her forehead crinkle.
'Just fine.'
Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.
Author's Notes: Hi! It's Lily-bug again! I know people have been after me because I have not finished my other stories, "Paradoxal Truths" or "Most Rare Vision". This summer has been really crazy. Also, this idea hit me in June, and I haven't been able to get it out of my head. So far, I have ten chapters archived, which I will post regularly. Once I get settled in my dorm and classes start for my first year at college, I will resume my two other stories. As always, please review because I want to know if you like this story. Love to all.
PS: The song "Something in the Air" is by Thunderclap Newman, taken off the "Almost Famous" soundtrack. Go see it! Go see it, or I will tie you down and make you watch it! ____________________________________________________________________________
Chapter One- A Little Philosophy
Life, no matter how mundane your past has been, or how ordinary it appears to outsiders, can change in a moment.
Yesterday, you were a city construction worker for Salt Lake. Today, you're the newest lottery winner.
This change comes without warning.
A week ago, you repaired shoes in a small town outside of Austin, Texas. Today, you're a paraplegic after that semi truck ran a red light and hit you.
Change doesn't care if you're content with the way things are going.
Eight months ago, you were a waitress in a Nevada.
Today, you're in a car, headed towards Los Angeles, your once-tight belly swollen with a growing baby, the father sitting in the driver's seat, singing loudly to an old Thunderclap Newman number.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
His voice, a rich baritone, filled the car, a rusted '75 Chevy Nova. Along the side of the car, the original baby-blue paint job was still visible in rare patches along the body where the rust hadn't corroded the metal.
For a quick second, he removed his grip from the steering wheel to flick the ashes of his cigarette into an empty Coke can. His hand resumed the original position on the top of the wheel, long fingers curling over the black plastic, thumbs taping out a one-three rhythm to the song.
His birth name was Liam; given to him from a mother in Washington he hadn't spoken to in thirteen years. But he only answered to the name of Angel. He obtained the nickname from a bartender in Chicago on his fifteenth birthday. After a major fight broke out, the bartender told police officers the kid looked too angelic to start it.
The buddies he hung out with back then used the nickname to tease the hotheaded boy. Even after he grew a foot and a half, and packed on fifty pounds of muscle, the name had stuck. It had helped him out in situations. Guys would avoid fights with a guy who had the balls to introduce himself as Angel.
And women, no matter how virginal they attempted to be, found it easier to take off their clothes for a guy named Angel.
It had been the same cycle for years. Go into a town. Start fights, steal, drink, sleep with women, drink some more, and then sneak out before anyone could come after you.
But, in that small, shit-hole town on the border between Nevada and Idaho, he had made a mistake.
He stayed to long.
She understood that now, sitting next to him as she scribbled in her notebook. She was the ultimate epitome for the ways of Angel, so was the child who had spent the past eight months growing in her belly.
Her golden blonde hair was plastered to her forehead and the back of her neck due to the extreme heat and lack of air conditioning. The Nova, which had been bought for sixty-three dollars and spare change, had no working A/C or AM radio, and the floor under the passenger's seat had rotted away.
The gaping hole stared up at her, threatening to swallow her feet and drown her in a pool of concrete and tar.
"Angel," she asked in a small voice, "Could you please be a little quieter?" Her head was pounding, the seat was uncomfortable, and she was desperately trying to finish writing.
"Nope."
All of his responses were usually monosyllabic, as if he had no desire to speak any more than necessary. Unless he had something mean to say.
He laughed, taking a long draw off his cigarette and blowing the smoke inside the cab. "It's a lot better than your snoring. I had to listen to you for two hours today, snoring away like some kinda pig."
"But Angel-"
His left hand, which had been hanging out the half open side window, raised up slightly.
"Just pointing it out, Buffy. You sound like a pig when you sleep. But, then again, you kinda look like one."
This shut her mouth, a small pout poking out from her pursed lips. She wasn't *that* fat. Sure, she had gained an additional twenty pounds to her petite frame within the last eight months. But for God's sake, she was pregnant!
Turning her attention back to her notebook, she made a small notation.
'Seventeen years old, and pregnant, heading towards LA with a guy who smoked like a chimney and fucked anything that had a hole.'
'Yeah, things are just fine,' she thought, writing it down, a scowl making her forehead crinkle.
'Just fine.'