Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 23
First chapter & notes here (on LJ), for DW just follow the tags, and Master post of whole 'verse here (also tagged on DW).
Can also be found on AO3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): 3680 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathyh
Chapter 23
Willow looked up from the computer as she sensed Buffy and Spike approach.
Slayer, vampire. Heartbeat, no heartbeat. Prey/predator, but which was which…
She blinked, took a deep breath. It was still difficult, all these new senses. Hopefully Kennedy would come round soon… Her human side felt so overwhelmed most of the time, she could do with a kite string.
“Willow — I thought it’d be easier to show Spike, rather than try to explain?”
Willow nodded, feeling the air currents change as she did so.
“Sure. We’re- I mean, I’m- Sorry, do you want to do the talking thing?”
Instinctively she reached out, felt the reassuring touch of rough hide under her palm.
Buffy did that nervous smile they had all perfected now, and somewhere at the back of Willow’s mind was the worry that they’d never adjust to her. Them.
“Right,” Buffy began, “please let me introduce you to Talnor, the Beast Master.”
Willow saw how Spike pursed his lips, eyeing the three heads and six legs, the fantastical horns, the faces both terrible and hideous…
“It’s a bit… small?” he eventually offered, and Willow almost laughed:
“It was a lot bigger when I found it. Massive, actually. But I-”
Couldn’t resist? Was drawn to its power? Felt something I had never felt before? Became ensnared in a thrall I wouldn’t break even if I could? Finally understood what all the ancient texts had been saying?
It was all of the above, and more. Something beyond words. Something mystical, magical and ancient that was hers, all hers, and no one else’s.
She felt Talnor nudging her hand, and she scratched a tiny chin, smile deepening.
“This was in the desert,” Buffy continued, seeing as Willow wasn’t going to finish her sentence. “It’s where she disappeared to. Went into some pocket dimension as far as we have been able to work out. Didn’t return until the day of the Apocalypse…”
She hesitated, and Willow knew why.
A Slayer army assembled to save the world — they had been well-prepared, their powers and their magic focussed on Talnor whilst merely holding the beasts at bay, rightly assuming that if Talnor fell, its hordes would lose focus.
Except when the Beast and its multitude arrived as foretold, Willow was on its neck, leading the charge.
Willow had never been able to work out how long she had spent with Talnor. It felt like forever, or no time at all. She had been drawn to it, instinctively, and found so much more than expected. Wisdom, blood thirst, loyalty, an awareness of life — living, breathing, pulsing — beneath her skin, all around her, and a vision that left her staggered in its simplicity and beauty.
She had in that instant grasped the truth beyond and behind the ancient writings she had struggled to translate. How ‘Talnor, the Beast Master’ wasn’t just the creature itself. Talnor was of course Talnor, but ‘beast master’ was more complex. It wasn’t until she had arrived that the whole had been completed. Talnor was powerful, and bore within it ties to all living creatures; but it had no capacity for planning, no understanding of time, living purely by instinct. It knew it was the appointed time, knew that she was the one to unlock the events that needed to unfold and had welcomed her. If she had been forced to explain it, she would have said that Talnor was the ‘Beast’, and she the ‘Master’ — or maybe (going with that old metaphor of Xander’s) that Talnor was the power and she was the control; but the bond ran so deep that saying which part was Willow, and what was Talnor, was a moot point.
They just were.
And she had known nothing except this fact, and that they had a purpose, that they would bring about paradise.
It wasn’t until she looked up from where she was leading the charge and saw the Slayer army — heard Buffy screaming her name, saw Kennedy’s face, shocked and fearful — that she had found Willow again; had managed to use her power to halt the battle, to stop what she realised was (from a human point of view) an apocalypse, and not a brutal but necessary return to the world that had once been. (She still dreamt of that vision, waking to sharp disappointment and wishing she could just leave — run away and never look back, be free.)
It had been wildly disorienting. She had tried to describe it as what an astronaut probably felt like, returning to Earth and once more being bound by gravity after being weightless.
She knew they didn’t really trust her, and wasn’t even sure if they should. She had managed to help the Slayers, and save Talnor from their onslaught, even if she had wanted to blast them all to hell for daring to hurt it. Changing its size had been the only thing she could think of to allow it to stay with her, to make it seem as if it was safe. She had felt like she was being torn in two — forcing Talnor to submit to her will, halting the army and sending it back had almost broken her. Thanks to the hive mind she had felt every cut, every injury, every death; and forcing them all to stop, retreat, and to go back, had drained her to such an extent that had she not been bonded to Talnor and drawing on its strength, she didn’t think she would have survived.
They had come for it — Slayers, with shiny weapons and death in their eyes. Buffy raising the Scythe to deliver the first, fatal blow and Willow with one, final exertion had simply focussed on saving Talnor — there wasn’t time for anything clever, nor had she had the strength. She had turned it small, and then curled around it protectively, listening as they debated their fate and ready to die rather than let them hurt Talnor again.
It looked like a toy from a fantasy movie now, the size of a handbag dog, and she was beginning to adjust to somehow being human and Talnor, to see everything in duplicate, to have senses that extended so very far beyond what she was used to. (She could reach out with magic of course, but this was physical, taste and touch and smell and instinct, and she sometimes wondered if this was how Oz had felt.)
Realising she had zoned out again, she tried to pay attention. She idly wondered where Spike had been all this time. She knew Buffy had been upset that he’d missed Christmas, but hadn’t quite been able to focus further than her own issues. How did you navigate everyday life when bonded to a hell beast? There was no handbook.
To her surprise, Spike reacted to the tale by reaching out and patting Talnor’s heads.
“Well, it’s a cutie, I can see why you were smitten,” he smiled, before laughing as Talnor tried to bite his fingers.
“You think it’s… cute?” Buffy asked, as he crouched down to study it at eye level and it walked to the edge of the desk, poking at him with one of its heads.
“Met a lot of hell beasties over the last few years. You quickly learn to figure out which ones might be friendly, and which ones want to eat you.”
Looking up he continued, the transition so smooth Willow almost didn’t notice the barely there change in topic, despite the quick, penetrating look he shot her.
“Speaking of friendly — how forthcoming is your new little pal?”
She hesitated, unsure where he was going with it.
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve tried to find out more information about this Dead Key of ours, and come up with sod all. And your little pocket monster here seems like the kinda creature we have been looking for. I’m guessing he’s old and full of ancient little bits of info, all hidden away in dusty corners?”
She nodded, wondering if he guessed how the ‘real’ world seemed like smoke and mirrors, insubstantial compared to the endless ages Talnor contained… She had been hesitant to explore, knowing that a girl could easily lose herself (again). But this was for a good cause, right?
“What do you need to know?” she asked, and he explained about ‘the Dead Key’ — she had vague memories about their quest, but had never been particularly interested. Now, however, her curiosity was awakened. And Spike didn’t seem fazed at all by Talnor, no hint of the unease and nervousness everyone else displayed.
“Hang on,” she said, closing her eyes and delving down; like falling, softly, softly, nothingness around her and Talnor’s mind stretching out, eon upon eon, but she had a lodestone, keywords that she repeated like a mantra.
“Wolf, Ram, Hart, Dead Key. Wolf, Ram, Hart, Dead Key. Wolf, Ram, Hart, Dead Key. Wolf, Ram, Hart, Dead- Oh.”
She allowed herself a moment to absorb the information before resurfacing, and then had to spend another few minutes trying to translate what she had seen into words.
“There is a… place. A special, magic place where they were going to use the Key. Like. Like a lock? But one that would unlock Wolfram & Hart’s power. Undo it. Unbind it. I don’t know. The magics are… old, like - like Dawn’s Keyness?”
“You didn’t happen to see where this place is?” Spike asked, and she hesitated.
“They… Wolfram & Hart, that is - they found it. And… moved it? It’s-”
She frowned, tried to capture she shape of what she had experienced.
“It’s in the Home Office?” She looked up. “I don’t know what that means.”
Spike shrugged.
“It rings a bell. Can’t place it, but Angel probably knows. Anything else?”
A sudden growl from Talnor, as it headbutted one of Spike’s fingers.
“It says- don’t go,” she translated, a sudden chill welling up inside. “There is a price to pay, a reason no one has ever-”
Abruptly she stood, the chair falling to the floor behind her, as she stumbled backwards, the imagery in her head suddenly unfolding further and further.
“Stop, stop! Talnor, I don’t want to see-”
Pain, pain, pain, an endless scream in her head that wouldn’t stop-
She gasped as Talnor somehow muted the vision, her hands clutched in her hair, and Buffy beside her, holding her up, calling her name.
“Willow — Willow are you OK? Willow! What happened?”
She felt winded, and was dimly aware of others surrounding them. Library. They were in the Library. Tables, chairs, books, computers. Talnor. Talnor, studying her calmly, as she tried to grasp what had happened.
(Talnor lived in the now, could not grasp the horror of eternity.)
Eventually she managed to speak.
“It was… a warning. Like… setting off a tripwire. You look for information and they — they embedded a taste of the punishment. I’ve never-”
“I have,” Spike said, tonelessly, then looked past her and met Buffy’s eyes.
“It’s exactly the same as Dru. Except Dru was worse, I don’t think she could turn it off.”
“Dru?” Willow asked. “You mean Drusilla?” She could feel cogs turning, trying to remember why the name had been relevant recently. Her head was so full of other… And the echo of the pain was still reverberating through her.
“No wait, didn’t she attack some Slayers a few weeks ago? Or last week… I get time muddled.”
A silence followed, then Spike stood up, voice oddly toneless when he replied.
“Dru’s dead. Thank you Willow.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She felt exhausted. Why couldn’t she just run away? Why was life so difficult? Talnor licked her hand, and she wanted green pastures and fresh water.
***
Spike made his way back to Buffy’s room on autopilot. Buffy caught up with him when he was nearly there, having obviously wanted to make sure Willow was OK.
She didn’t speak until the door was closed.
“Spike…”
His ears were still ringing with Willow’s scream, which was overlaying Dru’s… The terror which was already in his bones now felt like frost boring down and down and down; permafrost encasing him. No escape. No escape anywhere. Dimension after dimension after dimension of ruins and death, and it would claim him too.
“Do you understand now?” he asked — although it was almost more of an accusation — willing her to see how the despair had driven him into Dru’s arms. (Fear and guilt were a horrible combination, and if he could do nothing about the former, he wanted rid of the latter, if at all possible.)
“We can fix it,” she replied, fierce determination practically shining out of her. “There must be a way.”
He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “Look, you already burned up once saving the world, and you’re here, good as new. So whatever this Key will do, we can fix that too!”
For a long moment he merely stared at her, then sank down onto the bed, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
“Buffy — that amulet came from Wolfram and Hart. This what they do. Controlling an’ - an’ manipulating everything from below. Pulling all the strings. We are going to destroy all that. Trust me, if we pull this off, I’m toast.”
“But there is a prophecy, you said so. You defeat them, you get to be human.”
He felt strange, it was usually the other way around — him propping up the hero, not undermining them.
“And how many prophecies have you subverted over the years? Hell, there’s Willow’s lil’ hell beastie that was supposed to run amok, and now it’s a witch’s lapdog. And before you start talking about the Powers that Screw, then the reason Angel ended up as CEO of Evil Inc was because he took down one of them. One of the Powers, yes. She wanted to get a little closer to humanity and such, it was a hell of a mess apparently. So believe me — I don’t get out of this one.”
“Well, I’ll be the judge of that.”
Her arms were folded, mouth a straight line. All Slayer, all woman, all confidence, and he could not have loved her more.
But still he shook his head, the sense of doom continually encroaching. Like the dimension of continual night, without even a single star in the sky…
“Appreciate the sentiment love, but considering I just cheated on you, you may want to think twice before tryin’ to save me. It’s my choice, don’t ruin it by trying to stop it.”
He knew her reaction; the hyper focus on what could be done, excluding all personal issues. Part coping mechanism, part survival strategy — except this time, the personal and the mission were intrinsically linked. And it wasn’t like he was an innocent…
No, he realised — he was a pawn; about to be sacrificed so a bigger game could be won.
But he had placed himself on the board, and trying to move him out of harm’s way was a fool’s errand.
He laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. He was so tired. Except all he could see was Dru, burning and laughing…
(Why had she laughed? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Why couldn’t he just rest?)
There was a pause, and he idly wondered what Buffy was thinking. Then…
“I’m calling Angel,” she said, and he half-opened his eyes, and did a little shrug.
“Fine. Knock yourself out.”
He felt like a tennis ball, lobbed back and forth between them. And oh, it wasn’t like Angel was going to help… No, he remembered that conversation much too clearly still, despite the many years separating then and now.
Angel, whispering in his ear: ‘You think any of it matters? The things we did. The lives we destroyed. That's all that's ever gonna count. So, yeah, surprise. You're going to hell. We both are.’
He’d not understood.
‘Then why even bother?’ he’d asked. ‘Try to do the right thing, make a difference…’
And in response words he’d not quite grasped at the time, but something he clung to in this moment, like a life raft.
‘What else are we gonna do?’
They had focussed on their task for years, travelling so very far, gone to so many places, for this one purpose. And yet, here he was again, back in the exact same spot:
‘So that's it, then. I really am going to burn.’
No happily ever after. Buffy deserved it, but did he?
He almost laughed at the thought. No, Buffy would get no help from Angel that was for sure…
Angel; holding him, his teeth within a heartbeat of changing to fangs, to pierce his skin where it was still raw from Dru’s onslaught…
Why hadn’t Angel done it?
He should be appalled, but he’d wanted it. Wanted to… mourn? If that was the right word.
No — he had wanted to share the pain.
And it wasn’t something he could explain to Buffy.
She’d understand the impulse, he knew that, but…
First off it would dredge up far too many painful memories of their own dysfunctional past, when her pain and his darkness had nearly dragged them both under, and second…
Second there was the actual issue of wanting to throw himself into Angel’s arms. And that was something he could not give voice to. Something he could barely admit to himself.
Dru — Sire, Mistress, Beloved — those ties could be explained to and almost understood by a human. But the layers and intricacies of vampire family dynamics, the bonds of blood… No; no words, no human equivalent existed. What they’d had, the four of them — depraved, evil, destructive, yes, but family. And theirs.
Curling up, allowing the reality of the loss to sink into him, the tears that he had kept back finally broke through…
‘And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?’
“You did Love”, he whispered. His dark Princess. How had they ended up like this…
***
Angel answered his cell, heart sinking. He’d expected it to be Spike, but Buffy… What had happened?
Much to his relief, she didn’t yell about Dru, or Spike letting Dru bite him or any of the myriad issues immediately crowding his head. Instead, she was all business.
“Angel. We need to talk. I realise last time I was kinda wrapped up in my own apocalypse, but since it’s done — and you’re back — I want to help you.”
Her words surprised him to such an extent that momentarily he could barely articulate a response.
“Buffy, look-”
“No buts. I’m getting Giles and the others together, you will come here and we will talk. Understood?”
Tiredly Angel pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no way to avoid the issues.
“Buffy. Did you talk to Spike, did he explain about Dru?”
A pause, and when she replied her voice was tight and clipped.
“Yes he told me, but that’s not- Look, it’s her vision that’s important.”
“And the fact that she was sent by Wolfram and Hart. It’s not safe-”
Something that might be a snort of laughter, he couldn’t quite figure it out.
“Look, we have a hell beastie now to protect us, should the need arise, so can you make it over here? Maybe in an hour’s time?”
Hell beastie? Angel wondered, but then nodded.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
She hung up and Angel took a deep unneeded breath. He’d avoided her, and been quite successful in doing so, that one evening apart. And then they’d all been drunk, and no one had talked shop. But he’d known of her apocalypse, known that Spike had foolishly promised to help, and he and Illyria had carefully dragged out their travels even further than necessary, to keep Spike away. They couldn’t risk him getting himself killed.
If Buffy had worked it out, she seemed determined to ignore it.
Illyria had taken it a bit far — it was the middle of January now, they’d missed Christmas as well as the apocalypse. He should probably call Nina…
Picking up the Dead Key, which he had retrieved from the garden once the sun had disappeared behind a cloud, he turned it over, felt the dust under his fingers and didn’t quite know how to continue. His saint whom he had turned into a demon. Exquisite, deadly; his masterpiece.
“I hope you are at peace now,” he finally whispered.
Looking up, he realised he was being watched by Illyria.
“More grief. Will this never cease?”
He almost laughed at the absurdity.
“Well, we’re going to the Watcher’s Council, where I’m sure they’re all thrilled that she’s dead.”
She did her patented head tilt.
“Why the Council? The Slayers cannot aid us.”
“I know. But Buffy…” He sighed. “I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I don’t have the energy to argue with her right now. Might as well go along, maybe they have some new knowledge.”
There was a pause as Illyria studied him. Large blue eyes that didn’t blink, and yet he felt as if she was expecting something from him.
“Do you not see it?”
Now he was beyond confused.
“See what?”
Impatience. It was definitely impatience she was exhibiting.
In three steps she was standing in front of him, picking the Dead Key out of his hand, holding it up in front of his eyes.
“It is complete. Your vampire offspring must have have been in possession of the final piece and completed it for us. Possibly she stole it? However she did it, she was double crossing our enemies.”
As Angel’s jaw dropped, one of Illyria’s rare smiles appeared.
“Do not grieve. She sacrificed herself for you, she is worthy of great honour. Let us fetch Spike, and then we shall use the ring to enter the realm of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart — and defeat them.”
Chapter 24 on LJ
Chapter 24 on DW
Can also be found on AO3.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): 3680 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyhWillow looked up from the computer as she sensed Buffy and Spike approach.
Slayer, vampire. Heartbeat, no heartbeat. Prey/predator, but which was which…
She blinked, took a deep breath. It was still difficult, all these new senses. Hopefully Kennedy would come round soon… Her human side felt so overwhelmed most of the time, she could do with a kite string.
“Willow — I thought it’d be easier to show Spike, rather than try to explain?”
Willow nodded, feeling the air currents change as she did so.
“Sure. We’re- I mean, I’m- Sorry, do you want to do the talking thing?”
Instinctively she reached out, felt the reassuring touch of rough hide under her palm.
Buffy did that nervous smile they had all perfected now, and somewhere at the back of Willow’s mind was the worry that they’d never adjust to her. Them.
“Right,” Buffy began, “please let me introduce you to Talnor, the Beast Master.”
Willow saw how Spike pursed his lips, eyeing the three heads and six legs, the fantastical horns, the faces both terrible and hideous…
“It’s a bit… small?” he eventually offered, and Willow almost laughed:
“It was a lot bigger when I found it. Massive, actually. But I-”
Couldn’t resist? Was drawn to its power? Felt something I had never felt before? Became ensnared in a thrall I wouldn’t break even if I could? Finally understood what all the ancient texts had been saying?
It was all of the above, and more. Something beyond words. Something mystical, magical and ancient that was hers, all hers, and no one else’s.
She felt Talnor nudging her hand, and she scratched a tiny chin, smile deepening.
“This was in the desert,” Buffy continued, seeing as Willow wasn’t going to finish her sentence. “It’s where she disappeared to. Went into some pocket dimension as far as we have been able to work out. Didn’t return until the day of the Apocalypse…”
She hesitated, and Willow knew why.
A Slayer army assembled to save the world — they had been well-prepared, their powers and their magic focussed on Talnor whilst merely holding the beasts at bay, rightly assuming that if Talnor fell, its hordes would lose focus.
Except when the Beast and its multitude arrived as foretold, Willow was on its neck, leading the charge.
Willow had never been able to work out how long she had spent with Talnor. It felt like forever, or no time at all. She had been drawn to it, instinctively, and found so much more than expected. Wisdom, blood thirst, loyalty, an awareness of life — living, breathing, pulsing — beneath her skin, all around her, and a vision that left her staggered in its simplicity and beauty.
She had in that instant grasped the truth beyond and behind the ancient writings she had struggled to translate. How ‘Talnor, the Beast Master’ wasn’t just the creature itself. Talnor was of course Talnor, but ‘beast master’ was more complex. It wasn’t until she had arrived that the whole had been completed. Talnor was powerful, and bore within it ties to all living creatures; but it had no capacity for planning, no understanding of time, living purely by instinct. It knew it was the appointed time, knew that she was the one to unlock the events that needed to unfold and had welcomed her. If she had been forced to explain it, she would have said that Talnor was the ‘Beast’, and she the ‘Master’ — or maybe (going with that old metaphor of Xander’s) that Talnor was the power and she was the control; but the bond ran so deep that saying which part was Willow, and what was Talnor, was a moot point.
They just were.
And she had known nothing except this fact, and that they had a purpose, that they would bring about paradise.
It wasn’t until she looked up from where she was leading the charge and saw the Slayer army — heard Buffy screaming her name, saw Kennedy’s face, shocked and fearful — that she had found Willow again; had managed to use her power to halt the battle, to stop what she realised was (from a human point of view) an apocalypse, and not a brutal but necessary return to the world that had once been. (She still dreamt of that vision, waking to sharp disappointment and wishing she could just leave — run away and never look back, be free.)
It had been wildly disorienting. She had tried to describe it as what an astronaut probably felt like, returning to Earth and once more being bound by gravity after being weightless.
She knew they didn’t really trust her, and wasn’t even sure if they should. She had managed to help the Slayers, and save Talnor from their onslaught, even if she had wanted to blast them all to hell for daring to hurt it. Changing its size had been the only thing she could think of to allow it to stay with her, to make it seem as if it was safe. She had felt like she was being torn in two — forcing Talnor to submit to her will, halting the army and sending it back had almost broken her. Thanks to the hive mind she had felt every cut, every injury, every death; and forcing them all to stop, retreat, and to go back, had drained her to such an extent that had she not been bonded to Talnor and drawing on its strength, she didn’t think she would have survived.
They had come for it — Slayers, with shiny weapons and death in their eyes. Buffy raising the Scythe to deliver the first, fatal blow and Willow with one, final exertion had simply focussed on saving Talnor — there wasn’t time for anything clever, nor had she had the strength. She had turned it small, and then curled around it protectively, listening as they debated their fate and ready to die rather than let them hurt Talnor again.
It looked like a toy from a fantasy movie now, the size of a handbag dog, and she was beginning to adjust to somehow being human and Talnor, to see everything in duplicate, to have senses that extended so very far beyond what she was used to. (She could reach out with magic of course, but this was physical, taste and touch and smell and instinct, and she sometimes wondered if this was how Oz had felt.)
Realising she had zoned out again, she tried to pay attention. She idly wondered where Spike had been all this time. She knew Buffy had been upset that he’d missed Christmas, but hadn’t quite been able to focus further than her own issues. How did you navigate everyday life when bonded to a hell beast? There was no handbook.
To her surprise, Spike reacted to the tale by reaching out and patting Talnor’s heads.
“Well, it’s a cutie, I can see why you were smitten,” he smiled, before laughing as Talnor tried to bite his fingers.
“You think it’s… cute?” Buffy asked, as he crouched down to study it at eye level and it walked to the edge of the desk, poking at him with one of its heads.
“Met a lot of hell beasties over the last few years. You quickly learn to figure out which ones might be friendly, and which ones want to eat you.”
Looking up he continued, the transition so smooth Willow almost didn’t notice the barely there change in topic, despite the quick, penetrating look he shot her.
“Speaking of friendly — how forthcoming is your new little pal?”
She hesitated, unsure where he was going with it.
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve tried to find out more information about this Dead Key of ours, and come up with sod all. And your little pocket monster here seems like the kinda creature we have been looking for. I’m guessing he’s old and full of ancient little bits of info, all hidden away in dusty corners?”
She nodded, wondering if he guessed how the ‘real’ world seemed like smoke and mirrors, insubstantial compared to the endless ages Talnor contained… She had been hesitant to explore, knowing that a girl could easily lose herself (again). But this was for a good cause, right?
“What do you need to know?” she asked, and he explained about ‘the Dead Key’ — she had vague memories about their quest, but had never been particularly interested. Now, however, her curiosity was awakened. And Spike didn’t seem fazed at all by Talnor, no hint of the unease and nervousness everyone else displayed.
“Hang on,” she said, closing her eyes and delving down; like falling, softly, softly, nothingness around her and Talnor’s mind stretching out, eon upon eon, but she had a lodestone, keywords that she repeated like a mantra.
“Wolf, Ram, Hart, Dead Key. Wolf, Ram, Hart, Dead Key. Wolf, Ram, Hart, Dead Key. Wolf, Ram, Hart, Dead- Oh.”
She allowed herself a moment to absorb the information before resurfacing, and then had to spend another few minutes trying to translate what she had seen into words.
“There is a… place. A special, magic place where they were going to use the Key. Like. Like a lock? But one that would unlock Wolfram & Hart’s power. Undo it. Unbind it. I don’t know. The magics are… old, like - like Dawn’s Keyness?”
“You didn’t happen to see where this place is?” Spike asked, and she hesitated.
“They… Wolfram & Hart, that is - they found it. And… moved it? It’s-”
She frowned, tried to capture she shape of what she had experienced.
“It’s in the Home Office?” She looked up. “I don’t know what that means.”
Spike shrugged.
“It rings a bell. Can’t place it, but Angel probably knows. Anything else?”
A sudden growl from Talnor, as it headbutted one of Spike’s fingers.
“It says- don’t go,” she translated, a sudden chill welling up inside. “There is a price to pay, a reason no one has ever-”
Abruptly she stood, the chair falling to the floor behind her, as she stumbled backwards, the imagery in her head suddenly unfolding further and further.
“Stop, stop! Talnor, I don’t want to see-”
Pain, pain, pain, an endless scream in her head that wouldn’t stop-
She gasped as Talnor somehow muted the vision, her hands clutched in her hair, and Buffy beside her, holding her up, calling her name.
“Willow — Willow are you OK? Willow! What happened?”
She felt winded, and was dimly aware of others surrounding them. Library. They were in the Library. Tables, chairs, books, computers. Talnor. Talnor, studying her calmly, as she tried to grasp what had happened.
(Talnor lived in the now, could not grasp the horror of eternity.)
Eventually she managed to speak.
“It was… a warning. Like… setting off a tripwire. You look for information and they — they embedded a taste of the punishment. I’ve never-”
“I have,” Spike said, tonelessly, then looked past her and met Buffy’s eyes.
“It’s exactly the same as Dru. Except Dru was worse, I don’t think she could turn it off.”
“Dru?” Willow asked. “You mean Drusilla?” She could feel cogs turning, trying to remember why the name had been relevant recently. Her head was so full of other… And the echo of the pain was still reverberating through her.
“No wait, didn’t she attack some Slayers a few weeks ago? Or last week… I get time muddled.”
A silence followed, then Spike stood up, voice oddly toneless when he replied.
“Dru’s dead. Thank you Willow.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She felt exhausted. Why couldn’t she just run away? Why was life so difficult? Talnor licked her hand, and she wanted green pastures and fresh water.
Spike made his way back to Buffy’s room on autopilot. Buffy caught up with him when he was nearly there, having obviously wanted to make sure Willow was OK.
She didn’t speak until the door was closed.
“Spike…”
His ears were still ringing with Willow’s scream, which was overlaying Dru’s… The terror which was already in his bones now felt like frost boring down and down and down; permafrost encasing him. No escape. No escape anywhere. Dimension after dimension after dimension of ruins and death, and it would claim him too.
“Do you understand now?” he asked — although it was almost more of an accusation — willing her to see how the despair had driven him into Dru’s arms. (Fear and guilt were a horrible combination, and if he could do nothing about the former, he wanted rid of the latter, if at all possible.)
“We can fix it,” she replied, fierce determination practically shining out of her. “There must be a way.”
He opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “Look, you already burned up once saving the world, and you’re here, good as new. So whatever this Key will do, we can fix that too!”
For a long moment he merely stared at her, then sank down onto the bed, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
“Buffy — that amulet came from Wolfram and Hart. This what they do. Controlling an’ - an’ manipulating everything from below. Pulling all the strings. We are going to destroy all that. Trust me, if we pull this off, I’m toast.”
“But there is a prophecy, you said so. You defeat them, you get to be human.”
He felt strange, it was usually the other way around — him propping up the hero, not undermining them.
“And how many prophecies have you subverted over the years? Hell, there’s Willow’s lil’ hell beastie that was supposed to run amok, and now it’s a witch’s lapdog. And before you start talking about the Powers that Screw, then the reason Angel ended up as CEO of Evil Inc was because he took down one of them. One of the Powers, yes. She wanted to get a little closer to humanity and such, it was a hell of a mess apparently. So believe me — I don’t get out of this one.”
“Well, I’ll be the judge of that.”
Her arms were folded, mouth a straight line. All Slayer, all woman, all confidence, and he could not have loved her more.
But still he shook his head, the sense of doom continually encroaching. Like the dimension of continual night, without even a single star in the sky…
“Appreciate the sentiment love, but considering I just cheated on you, you may want to think twice before tryin’ to save me. It’s my choice, don’t ruin it by trying to stop it.”
He knew her reaction; the hyper focus on what could be done, excluding all personal issues. Part coping mechanism, part survival strategy — except this time, the personal and the mission were intrinsically linked. And it wasn’t like he was an innocent…
No, he realised — he was a pawn; about to be sacrificed so a bigger game could be won.
But he had placed himself on the board, and trying to move him out of harm’s way was a fool’s errand.
He laid back on the bed, closing his eyes. He was so tired. Except all he could see was Dru, burning and laughing…
(Why had she laughed? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Why couldn’t he just rest?)
There was a pause, and he idly wondered what Buffy was thinking. Then…
“I’m calling Angel,” she said, and he half-opened his eyes, and did a little shrug.
“Fine. Knock yourself out.”
He felt like a tennis ball, lobbed back and forth between them. And oh, it wasn’t like Angel was going to help… No, he remembered that conversation much too clearly still, despite the many years separating then and now.
Angel, whispering in his ear: ‘You think any of it matters? The things we did. The lives we destroyed. That's all that's ever gonna count. So, yeah, surprise. You're going to hell. We both are.’
He’d not understood.
‘Then why even bother?’ he’d asked. ‘Try to do the right thing, make a difference…’
And in response words he’d not quite grasped at the time, but something he clung to in this moment, like a life raft.
‘What else are we gonna do?’
They had focussed on their task for years, travelling so very far, gone to so many places, for this one purpose. And yet, here he was again, back in the exact same spot:
‘So that's it, then. I really am going to burn.’
No happily ever after. Buffy deserved it, but did he?
He almost laughed at the thought. No, Buffy would get no help from Angel that was for sure…
Angel; holding him, his teeth within a heartbeat of changing to fangs, to pierce his skin where it was still raw from Dru’s onslaught…
Why hadn’t Angel done it?
He should be appalled, but he’d wanted it. Wanted to… mourn? If that was the right word.
No — he had wanted to share the pain.
And it wasn’t something he could explain to Buffy.
She’d understand the impulse, he knew that, but…
First off it would dredge up far too many painful memories of their own dysfunctional past, when her pain and his darkness had nearly dragged them both under, and second…
Second there was the actual issue of wanting to throw himself into Angel’s arms. And that was something he could not give voice to. Something he could barely admit to himself.
Dru — Sire, Mistress, Beloved — those ties could be explained to and almost understood by a human. But the layers and intricacies of vampire family dynamics, the bonds of blood… No; no words, no human equivalent existed. What they’d had, the four of them — depraved, evil, destructive, yes, but family. And theirs.
Curling up, allowing the reality of the loss to sink into him, the tears that he had kept back finally broke through…
‘And I wonder... what possible catastrophe came crashing down from heaven and brought this dashing stranger to tears?’
“You did Love”, he whispered. His dark Princess. How had they ended up like this…
Angel answered his cell, heart sinking. He’d expected it to be Spike, but Buffy… What had happened?
Much to his relief, she didn’t yell about Dru, or Spike letting Dru bite him or any of the myriad issues immediately crowding his head. Instead, she was all business.
“Angel. We need to talk. I realise last time I was kinda wrapped up in my own apocalypse, but since it’s done — and you’re back — I want to help you.”
Her words surprised him to such an extent that momentarily he could barely articulate a response.
“Buffy, look-”
“No buts. I’m getting Giles and the others together, you will come here and we will talk. Understood?”
Tiredly Angel pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no way to avoid the issues.
“Buffy. Did you talk to Spike, did he explain about Dru?”
A pause, and when she replied her voice was tight and clipped.
“Yes he told me, but that’s not- Look, it’s her vision that’s important.”
“And the fact that she was sent by Wolfram and Hart. It’s not safe-”
Something that might be a snort of laughter, he couldn’t quite figure it out.
“Look, we have a hell beastie now to protect us, should the need arise, so can you make it over here? Maybe in an hour’s time?”
Hell beastie? Angel wondered, but then nodded.
“Fine. I’ll be there.”
She hung up and Angel took a deep unneeded breath. He’d avoided her, and been quite successful in doing so, that one evening apart. And then they’d all been drunk, and no one had talked shop. But he’d known of her apocalypse, known that Spike had foolishly promised to help, and he and Illyria had carefully dragged out their travels even further than necessary, to keep Spike away. They couldn’t risk him getting himself killed.
If Buffy had worked it out, she seemed determined to ignore it.
Illyria had taken it a bit far — it was the middle of January now, they’d missed Christmas as well as the apocalypse. He should probably call Nina…
Picking up the Dead Key, which he had retrieved from the garden once the sun had disappeared behind a cloud, he turned it over, felt the dust under his fingers and didn’t quite know how to continue. His saint whom he had turned into a demon. Exquisite, deadly; his masterpiece.
“I hope you are at peace now,” he finally whispered.
Looking up, he realised he was being watched by Illyria.
“More grief. Will this never cease?”
He almost laughed at the absurdity.
“Well, we’re going to the Watcher’s Council, where I’m sure they’re all thrilled that she’s dead.”
She did her patented head tilt.
“Why the Council? The Slayers cannot aid us.”
“I know. But Buffy…” He sighed. “I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I don’t have the energy to argue with her right now. Might as well go along, maybe they have some new knowledge.”
There was a pause as Illyria studied him. Large blue eyes that didn’t blink, and yet he felt as if she was expecting something from him.
“Do you not see it?”
Now he was beyond confused.
“See what?”
Impatience. It was definitely impatience she was exhibiting.
In three steps she was standing in front of him, picking the Dead Key out of his hand, holding it up in front of his eyes.
“It is complete. Your vampire offspring must have have been in possession of the final piece and completed it for us. Possibly she stole it? However she did it, she was double crossing our enemies.”
As Angel’s jaw dropped, one of Illyria’s rare smiles appeared.
“Do not grieve. She sacrificed herself for you, she is worthy of great honour. Let us fetch Spike, and then we shall use the ring to enter the realm of the Wolf, the Ram and the Hart — and defeat them.”
Chapter 24 on LJ
Chapter 24 on DW
no subject
no subject
Thank you m'dear!