What is this MiSS I speak of? Well, it's a shortening I've so *cough* wittily devised referring to Missing Scene Series: a bunch of standalone ficlets/short fiction that resulted from the need to see more of something, or feeling that there was a scene missing on the show that could use some elaberation. Generally, MiSS will follow the canon of the show and would stick to characterization as best as possible. And if the scene required slash, pre-slash or indication of such, then... who are we to argue? ;)
MiSS usually pop up when me and my friends talk - a handy outlet when WB (that's Writers Block not that the other isn't as bad) strikes hard.
The only rule to MiSS is that they stick to canon as best as they can, character and story wise, in a way that doesn't diverge much from the show, or at best, at all. If there are any pairings within the MiSS it is a canon not fanon pairing, hints and innuendo are exceluded, for reference see the works of Joss Whedon.
To read the stories in the order they were written in (old to the new ones) check here
Now. What follows is a chronological list (canon wise) and short discriptions/summaries, characters and timelines of the MiSS I've written so far:
Title: A Place to Call Home
Feedback: Do it… you know you want to! firstname.lastname@example.org
Rating: Something for all ages *g*
Series: Part of the Missing Scene Series but is in fact a stand-alone like all of them are. Click on miss tag for other Missing Scene Series ficlets.
Summary/TimeLine: Post-Not Fade Away. A lost soul finds his way back home.
Warning: Mention of character death as spoilers to the end of ANGEL.
ETA (Feb22/2008): AN: With the recent comic A:ATF release, this story has been contrasted by Lorne's arrival. I have been retconned! ;)
Other missing scenes.
Thanks to lusciousxander for the quick beta!
A question needed answering and he couldn’t answer it. Why? Why did he turn away?
Having answers was his job for so long that he now defined his life on that perception. He had the answers, or he could find them. He could make them if he was able to. He wanted to help. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He didn’t belong, never did, not anywhere he had gone to. So, faced with something new, he made his own sanctuary, a place he called his own. It was his, his private place to do with as he pleased, and he helped all kinds of people there.
There, he met them. A group of mismatched souls that also never quite fit in. They all had burdens of their own to carry. Somehow, he felt connected to them. Responsible. They came to him, again and again, for guidance, a steady hand, a friendly grin and a kind helpful heart in a world they had chosen filled with demons of all kinds that wanted them dead. He guessed he was a sign of the broken rule. He was always ready with a welcoming ear and a cold drink.
He went to them when he needed aid not just because he needed it, but also because he wanted to know what happened to their stories in this crazy world they called a life. They didn’t make a living by doing it, not really, but they kept with it. Because it was right. They helped those who needed help … the good people. That had made him think. He thought he was doing the same until he met them. He thought he was doing good. However, he had been lending guidance and his seeing eye freely, without any variation or how it might affect anyone’s being except his own.
He began to know them, to care for them. And without realizing it, he was one of them. It might have taken him some time to get to that point but he did. He felt safe in the most hazardous of environments. Not alone. It had always amused him in the worst way how those people had an unusual relationship with danger. Even at the end, he wasn’t sure which one they had been, flame or moth. He had neutrally settled on both.
But that was then and this…
It was a complete circle.
He had left this place knowing that wherever he would end up, it would be a good place. A better place than here. His own kind expected him to be like them yet he couldn’t do what needed to be done to be accepted. He knew he was different even then. So, wherever he landed, he had promised himself when he was being pulled into that swirling vortex that first time, that no matter what happened, he wouldn’t let someone force him to do that, what he was born to achieve, be that person he didn’t want to become. It would kill him inside, the song in him would die. He would be like them, deaf to the colors, something he prided himself in not being.
He broke that promise.
He wanted to hate him for making him do it. It was the big man’s job to complete, but he wouldn’t give the human the satisfaction of being taken down by anyone else. Nevertheless, as he walked this familiar dusty trail once more, he knew he didn’t completely resent that man for his request. He was aware that it was a message to the victim of his lack of worth, a final revenge. Even now, he could imagine the hero’s satisfied grin as he stood ready for the end battle, envisioning those last desperate feeble mortal breaths.
It had been their parting gift. Whatever that man who changed his life and so many others’ asked of him he would do it, albeit begrudged. So he had, he asked the perfect person to finish the job. One who had had clean hands, who was weak, pathetic, worthless, all that would reflect on his unknowing prey.
He wanted to hate that request, who had presented it, what it had led to. But even then, he had seen it in that soul that had forgone the countless chances it was presented with, what its owner was going to.
He ended up hating himself.
And there was no place better than here to do that.
Lorne’s eyes and voice were dead as he stood wearing his homeland garments in front of his gaping mother. He knew killing Lindsey was for the best, he had read the human and saw what he would have done, the only path the man had drawn for himself. He just could not face Angel again knowing what he had done at the direction of the vampire. He knew why he turned away. He just wasn’t willing to face it .
Lorne’s mother gazed deeply at him before smirking. “I had known that Van-tal drokken killer would be good for you.” He flinched. His mother threw her head back and yelled, “Numfar dance the dance of pride and rejoice! The prodigal son retuns drenched in a warrior aura, his own. Come Krevlorneswath now proud warrior son of the Deathwok Clan to the hall of Drink and Chant, and regale your kin on how you slaughtered that cow swine in cold blood!”
Lorne let out a small mirthless smile and allowed his his mother to lead him. “Why, it's the homecoming I always dreamed of," he whispered an echo of his very words three years ago. "No place like home.”
Lorne NFA banner by Zugma