{"id":7496,"date":"2015-08-11T17:08:35","date_gmt":"2015-08-11T16:08:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/?p=7496"},"modified":"2015-08-11T17:08:58","modified_gmt":"2015-08-11T16:08:58","slug":"spinning-in-infinity","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/2015\/08\/11\/spinning-in-infinity\/","title":{"rendered":"Spinning in Infinity."},"content":{"rendered":"

Title:<\/b>: Spinning in Infinity<\/strong> (ST Halloween Ficathon)
\nAuthor:<\/b> Chatty<\/strong> (liz)
\nposted:<\/strong> 11\/2008
\nRating<\/b>: PG
\nDisclaimer:<\/b>: Not mine. Just like to poke ’em and make ’em squirm every once in a while.
\nSummary:<\/b> No such thing as a night off. (I know, it’s a terrible summary, I’m sorry! \"\")
\nA\/N<\/b>: Better late then never? I wanted to write great Halloween adventures and mystery, but this is what came out. Should fit in after Hearthrob. Hope you enjoy!<\/p>\n

\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got to be kidding me.\u201d<\/p>\n

The ship\u2019s hull gleams gunmetal gray in the moonlight, and in her entire life of creepiness, this may just take the cake. It practically screams \u2018Do Not Enter\u2019, and yet here they are, preparing to do exactly that. The night air is sharp and briny and the cold winds streams her hair out behind her, tickling her neck. She jumps, on edge.<\/p>\n

Angel clears his throat, a subtle reminder to keep still and quiet. For a moment she envies him, able to stride in to any situation without the slightest hesitation. His back looms large in front of her, and she hefts her own short ax, testing its weight. He\u2019s already warned her about being careful, a silent eyebrow raise to silently remind her not to screw up. Not that she\u2019s about to. It\u2019s almost Halloween and she\u2019s actually got a party invite, the first decent one to come her way in months.<\/p>\n

Sure, it\u2019s not red carpet and paparazzi, but she\u2019s heard the host is Joel\u2019s Silver\u2019s secretary\u2019s cousin and that is almost as good. There\u2019ll be agents there, and producers and casting directors. It\u2019s the next step to being discovered, and it\u2019s just in time. She can almost see it now: Cordelia Chase, actress. Oscar Nominee. Walking down the red carpet draped in diamonds and Balenciaga. Or maybe Gaultier. Something gorgeous and totally couture and she\u2019ll smile and wave and maybe grant a few interviews amid the bright photograph flashes.<\/p>\n

Angel clears his throat and her dream dissolves away. He\u2019s got that impatient, \u2018What the hell are you doing?\u2019 look with his shoulders all hunched up and face all annoyed.<\/p>\n

It backfires. She has to bite back a giggle, because she\u2019s actually relieved to have him back, him<\/i> back, not some grieving shadow of her friend, but her broody, grumpy, vamp ex-boss.<\/p>\n

Except it is all a little different. She doesn\u2019t want to think about it, but she knows it.<\/p>\n

He is walking away from her, utterly silent and focused. It\u2019s follow or be left behind, and she knows which one to choose. She follows, lugging her axe and trying to peer through the darkness. Jittery nerves prickle her back, neck, arms; perhaps because she\u2019s hunting with Angel again after his months of absence, or maybe because they\u2019re on a deserted dock just before Halloween, with only a dingy streetlamp and a tiny sliver of moon for light.<\/p>\n

Either way, she wishes she were home. Home, with her doting ghost and a scalding hot bath to soak away the vision pain that won\u2019t stop throbbing behind her eyelids.<\/p>\n

Angel stops so suddenly she runs into him. He huffs a little, glancing down at her with another pointed frown. She winces guiltily and smiles up at him in silent apology. He gestures to the gangplank, if it can even be called that. It looks old and decrepit, but that doesn\u2019t stop Angel from crossing it easily and leaping the foot of space from its end onto the deck.<\/p>\n

He makes it look easy. It isn\u2019t. The gangplank bobs with the water\u2019s movement, and her leap is just a little short. There\u2019s a terrifying moment of falling, complete with a half-shriek of fear. Then Angel catches her in mid-air, hauling her onboard with a silencing hand over her mouth and a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Her heart is racing, filling her own ears with echoes of racing blood and fear, and she thinks for a moment that he must sense these also.<\/p>\n

Does it thrill him? Deep inside, does his demon twist in greedy hunger? Months ago, she wouldn\u2019t have worried as much, but maybe Angel is different now. Or maybe she just knows him a little better. She knows now that it\u2019s not just Angelus that is capable of cruelty, but Angel as well, and that awareness burrows deep inside and lurks in her mind.<\/p>\n

He raises a single finger to his mouth, the universe sign of silence, and his fingers slip to clasp her wrist and keep her near. She should pull back, keep her distance, but it is so too late for that, so instead she draws closer to him. The dark presses in, and if she shuts her eyes, they\u2019re hiding in the sewers again, she\u2019s pressing close to him as the tunnels rumble and shake and a sicko vampire hunts their every move.<\/p>\n

The fight is over nearly before she realizes that it has started. The demon is slick and slimy, smeared with sea foam and dripping hungry drool from each sharp, pointy tooth. The tentacles are the worst, uncoiling and striking in mere seconds, and the force of a blow is enough to set her skin aflame and light stars sparkling in her pain-darkened vision.<\/p>\n

She hears Angel grunting, and she can still move fast enough to swing her ax through another tentacle as it comes whipping her way. But it is Angel\u2019s sword that hacks through the demon\u2019s head, sending it tumbling as the body flails, keens, collapses into a bloody pile at her feet.<\/p>\n

Her face is still throbbing, burning actually, the pain so intense it steals the breath from her lungs. She presses her hand against it, but it doesn\u2019t help. It\u2019s worsening, in fact, and she stumbles backward, nausea swirling in her belly, pain thick and acrid in her throat.<\/p>\n

Angel is there in mere seconds. \u201cYou okay?\u201d He sounds almost frantic, pulling her hand gently from her face.<\/p>\n

How many times has he asked her that? He still hasn\u2019t figured out that nothing hurts more than his abandonment did, no bruise or bump or demon pregnancy had been worse than those two little words: you\u2019re fired. But they\u2019re past that now, he\u2019s back, he\u2019s Angel again, except better because he\u2019s finally learned to buy presents. The weight of her necklace is heavy and comforting and she tries to think of that instead of the unbearable burn of her skin.<\/p>\n

\u201cFine,\u201d she tries to say, but her voice sounds all whispery and not like her. Angel isn\u2019t fooled, and peers at her intently.<\/p>\n

\u201cDid it hit you?\u201d he asks, and talking would take too much energy so she nods instead.<\/p>\n

He curses, whispered but vulgar enough to startle her into awareness again. \u201cThere must be some kind of venom in the slime. Hold still.\u201d Moments later, something wet and clammy hits her face, and she sucks in a half-startled, half-pained gasp.<\/p>\n

\u201cOuch.\u201d<\/p>\n

He is everywhere, ushering her down to sit somewhere, tilting her face up into the moonlight. The cloth against her face sends rivulets of cold sea water streaming down her face, stinging her eyes. \u201cHold still,\u201d he says again.<\/p>\n

~*~<\/p>\n

The headlights barely cut a swath through inky blackness; the car is hugging the road\u2019s tight curves, swooping up, over and down until Cordelia\u2019s stomach threatens to revolt. Angel is all Mr. Joe Stoic, hands loose on the steering wheel and foot, apparently, heavy on the gas pedal.<\/p>\n

The fact that she can barely even see the road shouldn\u2019t bother her, because he is the one driving and let\u2019s face it: vampires have some pretty decent night vision. Maybe if he would actual talk, she could distract herself, but he is even quieter than usual. And that is saying something.<\/p>\n

She\u2019d tried to turn on the radio, but he\u2019d sent a pained glance in her direction and her hand stilled despite her best intentions. But without the distraction of music or conversation, her cheek throbs in a painful beat with her angry, upset stomach. A sudden pang stabs at her, of longing for the bright lights and predictable traffic of the I-5 corridor, of civilization and nearby clean restrooms in case she does the unthinkable and actually loses her dinner.<\/p>\n

Angel\u2019s glance flickers off the road and onto her for a quick moment, and his voice is quiet and concerned. \u201cHey. You okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

She tries her best to inject some carefree Cordelia into her answer. \u201cSure? What\u2019s another venomous demon tentacle in my life?\u201d He makes this quiet little humph, but turns his attention back to the road. Guess that conversation is over.<\/p>\n

Flipping down the sun visor, she peers at her face in the mirror. Even in the darkness, she can see the faint outline of an ugly, red welt. And, there goes her fabulous Halloween party plans. Like she can show up at any L.A. party with her face all puffy and disfigured. Maybe in Sunnydale she could have worn a mask, but in L.A., the whole point is to be seen. And she doesn\u2019t want anyone to see her like this.<\/p>\n

She can\u2019t even feel disappointed. Sure, supposedly Halloween is supposed to be their one guaranteed night off, but somehow she\u2019d known something would come up. Something always does.<\/p>\n

She glances over again, only to find Angel\u2019s eyes on her again<\/i>. \u201cYou\u2019d tell me if you weren\u2019t, right?\u201d She casts her mind back, trying to remember the last thing they\u2019d talked about. \u201cIf you weren\u2019t okay,\u201d he clarifies a moment later. \u201cYou would, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

She shifts uncomfortably, tried not to think of the secret doctor visits, the pile of cat scans and test results, and the mounting stash of empty pile vials under her bed. The leather upholstery creaks under her weight and his gaze hones in.<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course I would,\u201d she says, and even to her own ears it sounds not quiet true. But he seems to accept it, or at least he doesn\u2019t continue prying. Course, that\u2019s Angel. Not big with the conversation. But as the car swoops around another bend, sending her stomach up into her throat, she decides to ignore what he wants. She needs to talk. Whether he wants to or not.<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, Fred is settling in a bit better now,\u201d she starts confidently, and from the half glance out of the corner of his eyes, she guesses he knows exactly what she\u2019s trying to do. But he lets her get away with it. He usually does.<\/p>\n

\u201cSeems to be,\u201d is all he says, and she can\u2019t just let the conversation die out.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe still likes that hiding thing though. I\u2019ve started checking under desks and in cupboards when I walk into a room, otherwise she suddenly jumps out and scares the pants off me.\u201d<\/p>\n

His lips quirk in a little smile. \u201cThought you\u2019d be used to that by now.\u201d<\/p>\n

She smiles back, remembering countless times when he\u2019d knocked years off her life by sneaking up behind her, even if he\u2019d thought he was being noisy. Then her smile fades. According to the doctors, she doesn\u2019t have enough years left to be wasting them.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m just saying. I think the girl needs some help,\u201d she says, chattering over the silent fear warring with the not so subtle nausea and pain. \u201cI mean, you\u2019ve seen her room! That\u2019s not exactly sanity personified, Angel. Doesn\u2019t she have anyone? Friends? Family?\u201d<\/p>\n

Angel shrugs, shapes his hands idly over the wheel. \u201cShe hasn\u2019t said.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe you should ask?\u201d Cordy offers, and his jaw tenses.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe we shouldn\u2019t.\u201d His glance now is firm, and a bit disgruntled. \u201cMaybe she just needs time.\u201d<\/p>\n

Her eyes roll up automatically, and she flops back into her seat. \u201cTime isn\u2019t everything, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019s silent again, and it\u2019s clear that their conversation is over. Too bad, because now she\u2019s stuck thinking about really time is<\/i> everything, and she\u2019s really got to figure out someway to extend hers. Because regardless of what the doctors predict and whatever the PTB think, there\u2019s no way she\u2019s just sitting around and waiting for her brain to implode.<\/p>\n

She has way too much to live for, and way too much left to do. There are people to help, movies to star in, innocents to save, directors to wow, monsters to slay \u2026 and she can do it all. Because she\u2019s Cordelia Chase.<\/p>\n

She sucks in a deep breath, tosses her head, and forces herself to relax. She tries staring out of the window, struggling to identify anything in the blackness. She misses her long hair in moments like these. There\u2019s nothing as empowering as flipping her long hair over her shoulder, but she had to go all crazy and hack it off. Maybe she should grow it out again.<\/p>\n

A woman\u2019s hair is her crowning glory<\/i>, her mother used to say, and she\u2019s beginning to understand why.<\/p>\n

And then, through the night and amid a sea of blackness, a thin line of glimmering lights sparkle. What the \u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cAngel, pull over!\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s her \u2018I mean business\u2019 tone, and Angel recognizes it. But still, it takes him a few moments to find a suitable spot, and he stops the car slowly, like the baby he thinks it is.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it?\u201d He sounds a little irritated, but Cordelia is too focused on the mysterious lights to really notice. Instead, she slides out of the car, promptly slipping in the loose gravel.<\/p>\n

\u201cCareful,\u201d he says, and is somehow instantly there, supporting her arm. \u201cWhat\u2019d you see?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not sure,\u201d she says, and gestures what she now realizes is a long way down. \u201cLights, somehow.\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019s watching her intently. \u201cCordelia, it\u2019s all ocean out there. You probably saw a boat or something.\u201d<\/p>\n

She rolls her eyes, hoping his vamp vision is good enough to notice. From the subtle tightening of his arm muscle about her, it is. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t a boat, Angel. Hello? I know a little bit about cruising the seven seas. I know\u00a0<\/i>what boat lights look like.\u201d<\/p>\n

His deep, purposeful \u2013 and by the way, completely unnecessary! \u2013 sigh makes his leather coat creak. He tries once more to get her to drop it: \u201cI thought you wanted to get home for your party?\u201d<\/p>\n

Her pfft is instinctive. \u201cLike I can go to the party like this. No way, buster. Let\u2019s go check those lights out.\u201d<\/p>\n

They start walking up the side of the road, each step almost preternaturally loud in the palpable silence. It takes longer than she expects, and her legs are burning by the time she sees the lights again, eerie little flickering dots, bobbing, blinking, flickering in an oddly compelling dance. A stream of fire on what she knows must be ocean, because the crash of waves on rocks is suddenly loud in her ears, echoing in a timeless, primal rhythm.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat is it?\u201d she whispers, and Angel shakes his head before she even finishes the question.<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he says. His voice is odd, almost hypnotized, and a sudden frisson of unease zips through her. Angel has always been so predictable, until Darla and her mind games made him go bonkers. Everything happened so fast afterwards \u2013 his epiphany, her portal sucking journey, Buffy\u2019s death \u2013 and suddenly he is back and supposedly the same old vamp.<\/p>\n

But everything is somehow completely different. Part of her hates not knowing what he is thinking. Part of her recognizes that perhaps, she never did know.<\/p>\n

So she asks.<\/p>\n

His face is creased with thought, and he\u2019s staring out over the water. \u201cI don\u2019t understand,\u201d he says carefully. \u201cI feel \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

He\u2019s probably searching through years of languages for the exact, precise word, but patience has never been her strong suit. She pokes him with a sharp elbow. \u201cYou feel what?\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a mistake. He shuts down a little, face carefully blank. \u201cI\u2019m not sure.\u201d<\/p>\n

That little nagging feeling of unease blossoms into full on worry. \u201cIs it bad? Is it a sign? A prophecy? Are we all going to die? Again?\u201d<\/p>\n

He unbends a little, that massive brow lifting a titch. \u201cI don\u2019t think so.\u201d He sounds wry, and a little amused, and relief unfurls warmly inside her belly. \u201cIt just feels familiar.\u201d<\/p>\n

Figures. \u201cFamiliar like how? Like running into an old friend? Or, like meeting up with someone who wants to stake you in a dark alley?\u201d<\/p>\n

He squats down, runs his fingers over the small stones by their feet. \u201cNeither, really,\u201d he says, scooping up a small handful, jiggling them lightly. \u201cIt reminds me of a story I once heard. When I was human.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSo, a long time ago then,\u201d Cordelia says automatically, and his face shines ghostly white in a thread of moonlight when he looks up at her. \u201cIt is!\u201d she insists, and he inclines his head in a little nod. He stays down for a moment, looking out over the weaving lights, the dark expanse of water.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s beautiful,\u201d he says finally. \u201cWhatever it is. It doesn\u2019t feel wrong, or unnatural. For some reason, it feels right.\u201d<\/p>\n

She can feel her eyebrows climbing her face in disbelief. \u201cOh-kay,\u201d she says, blowing out an exasperated breath. \u201cWhat do you know that I don\u2019t know?\u201d<\/p>\n

He shrugs again and then rises; the pebbles fall slowly and ping as they hit the ground. \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d After a pause, he adds: \u201cMaybe nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n

She sighs, already knowing where this is going. But it was her idea to stop the car and investigate, so she can\u2019t really complain about trudging down to take a closer look. Except of course<\/i> she can.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t happen to have a pair of trendy yet comfortable hiking boots in that mammoth car of yours, do you? Cause, these,\u201d she gestures to her trendy yet comfortable flats, \u201care not<\/i> gonna make it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll buy you another pair,\u201d he says easily, his voice suddenly as warm as honey, and she can\u2019t help but brighten up.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay, let\u2019s go!\u201d<\/p>\n

The trip down is worse then she could imagine. There\u2019s no real path, no guard rail, just prickly weeds and sharp stones jutting up out of the darkness. She bruises her hand clutching at one, slipping and sliding down as fast as she can. She tries not to think about the expanse of ocean roaring at her feet, cold and salty and probably deadly if she should fall. She wonders if Angel knows CPR, then remembers that he\u2019s not exactly a breather, which isn\u2019t exactly comforting.<\/p>\n

Eventually she settles into a rhythm, leaning into the hill, grasping as rocks as they loom next to her, and her eyes become more accustomed to the darkness. Still, she wishes she\u2019d been going to a gym or a climbing wall or something<\/i>, because her arms are already throbbing under the strain. It goes on forever, until suddenly her feet touch sand, and she can breathe again, a silent rush of relief.<\/p>\n

Angel\u2019s head turns toward her questioningly. Maybe not so silent then.<\/p>\n

And then, the sight catches her, steals all her breath away. The ocean is glowing, aflame with light, and she can see each wave swell, surge and then crash down, and her feet hum from the vibration in the sand. It is beautiful and gorgeous and she can barely even find words to describe it. But she tries anyway: \u201cAre those \u2013\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think they\u2019re pumpkins,\u201d Angel confirms, and the light is enough for her to see humor shining in his eyes.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, not pumpkins,\u201d she corrects archly. \u201cJack-o-lanterns!\u201d It\u2019s true. They\u2019re too far away to see clearly, and the motion of the ocean makes the exact carvings indistinct, but if she stares hard, she can make out the odd eye; a lopsided grin; a flourish glowing by candlelight.<\/p>\n

He stuffs his hands into his pockets and suddenly, despite the big shoulders and the cool swishy coat, he looks a bit lost. \u201cGuess we don\u2019t really need to investigate pumpkins.\u201d<\/p>\n

She wraps her arms around her waist, hugging herself tightly. \u201cI don\u2019t know \u2026 they could be demon pumpkins. With our luck, they probably are.\u201d<\/p>\n

He doesn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n

Stepping closer, she puts her hand on his arm, peering up at him. \u201cAre you okay?\u201d and cuts off his inevitable response. \u201cI mean, really<\/i>? I know you don\u2019t want to talk about it, but instead of communing with monks or living it up in Vegas you got more demons and fighting and I keep expecting to see you brooding and mourning and moping, but you\u2019re not, and not to be rude or anything Angel, but it\u2019s weird. And kinda creepy!\u201d<\/p>\n

He sits on some nearby driftwood, stretching long legs out toward the ocean. She\u2019s completely prepared for him to ignore everything she\u2019s just said, but instead, he actually starts talking. \u201cWe used to hear stories about the old druids, when I was human,\u201d he says, and she doesn\u2019t mention he\u2019s talking about the wrong thing again. \u201cAll these bloody battles and sacrifices, worshiping death in so many ways. When someone especially beloved died, they would wrap the bodies in the softest robes and most beautiful adornments, and float them out to sea on these driftwood rafts.\u201d His hands shape the rafts idly, drawing a picture of the stories until Cordelia can almost see them, pagan and wild, mourning and celebrating, all death and passion and destruction. \u201cMost times, they\u2019d light the rafts on fire, to illuminate the way to paradise,. But sometimes, they would hollow out gourds and light them, and let them float alongside instead.\u201d<\/p>\n

He clears his throat a little, ducks his head against the cold briny wind. \u201cI always wondered why the bodies never washed up,\u201d he says, a bit lamely.<\/p>\n

She sits next to him, ignoring the uncomfortably cold damp wood. \u201cYou miss her?\u201d<\/p>\n

Turning to her, he looks directly into her eyes, and she realizes how rarely he does that. \u201cI do. And I don\u2019t,\u201d he says, so quietly the wind and waves nearly snatch the words away. \u201cI always thought I would. But she\u2019s been gone for so long, it\u2019s hard to feel like this is any different.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut it is<\/i> different,\u201d she protests. \u201cThis isn\u2019t just gone as in Sunnydale, Angel. And you loved her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI loved her,\u201d he agrees. \u201cBut she hasn\u2019t been real. She\u2019s been a dream, a wish, and somehow, I stopped believing. I don\u2019t even know when. And it hasn\u2019t been easy, but it feels\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBearable,\u201d she says. \u201cThat\u2019s what you said before. That you could live without her.\u201d<\/p>\n

He nods, tilts his head back and lets the whole world rush over his bared throat. \u201cIt feels complete,\u201d he says. \u201cThat feeling, up there,\u201d he gestures to the road above them, \u201cit was peaceful. Like everything that starts has to end, and that maybe this was her time. She lived a good life. I have to honor that. And you\u2019re right \u2013 fighting, the mission<\/i> \u2013 those both honor her.\u201d<\/p>\n

They sit a while longer, watching the pumpkins bob on cavorting waves, and when she licks her lips they taste salty. The thought pops into her head and out of her mouth before she can stop it. \u201cDo you think someone is saying goodbye? With the pumpkins, I mean.\u201d<\/p>\n

He smiles, full and bright. \u201cNo. I think the kids down the beach are celebrating Halloween.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWait, what?\u201d<\/p>\n

He laughs a little and taps his ear. \u201cGood hearing.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow long have you known?\u201d she says, and if her voice is a little screechy it\u2019s only because she aches all over and there are rocks in her shoes.<\/p>\n

\u201cI heard them while we were coming down,\u201d he says. He doesn\u2019t move, but somehow seems the tiniest bit closer. \u201cThey\u2019re beautiful,\u201d he says, but he\u2019s not looking at the glimmering pumpkins or even the sparkling stars. He\u2019s looking at her, and her heart skitters nervously until her breath catches in her throat. He probably hears that too, because his gaze flickers away.<\/p>\n

She leans comfortably closer to him, and moments later, an arm settles heavily around her shoulders. She\u2019s not sure if he\u2019s drawing her close, but somehow her cheek finds a perfect spot against his shoulder, and even the cold spray of ocean foam feels almost peaceful and nice. She\u2019s not used to this nearness, to him touching her at all unless it\u2019s post-vision.<\/p>\n

But then again, Angel is different now. They are all<\/i> different now.<\/p>\n

~*~<\/p>\n

Thanks to pythia<\/strong> for a great prompt: wistful, coast, jack-o-lanterns! I didn’t do it justice but it was still great fun to write.<\/i><\/p>\n

Chatty\u00a0<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Title:: Spinning in Infinity (ST Halloween Ficathon) Author: Chatty (liz) posted: 11\/2008 Rating: PG Disclaimer:: Not mine. Just like to poke ’em and…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-7496","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-completed-fics"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7496","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7496"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7496\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7496"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7496"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/goteamfiction.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7496"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}