Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 25
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.
Now this chapter was... Well. Originally it was a one-off future fic from Maybe Someday (bit like the Christmas stories). There are literally three paragraphs that have survived, EVERYTHING has changed. Although for the better I think. The original was just unadulterated schmoop.
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): 5020 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 25
Buffy marvelled at the beautiful vista on the other side of the portal Illyria had created: green grass bathed in sunshine with trees in full bloom swaying in a gentle breeze, a picturesque river in the distance. She wondered where in the world it might be… Somewhere in the southern hemisphere, surely. Did Australia look like that? Maybe South America? It didn’t strike her as Africa. She couldn’t see any landmarks to either confirm or deny her swift theories. Wait — New Zealand?
And then in the blink of an eye Spike jumped through, straight into the bright sunlight.
If it was possible to suffer a triple heart attack at her age, she would have had one on the there and then. As it was, Buffy was frozen to the spot, staring at him. He was very solid still, grinning and holding out his hand. “Come on luv, it’s nice and warm here!”
Slowly, her brain in free fall, she walked the few steps across the floor and then through the portal. Seconds later Illyria was beside her, studying the surroundings intently.
“The shell has... memories of this place. Most of them are lost to me, but...” A look came over her face, worryingly similar to the one on Dawn’s face when she spoke of ice cream. “I will enjoy this retribution.”
Spike held up a hand. “Now don’t come back with a load of villagers brandishing pitchforks, OK?”
She let her eyes travel over them with disdain.
“As you wish.”
Then she turned on her heel and set off alone across the meadow they were standing in, as Spike scratched his head.
“Never know if she quotes stuff deliberately…”
“Spike! Where is this? What are we doing here?”
He looked at her, then shrugged.
“To be honest, I don’t know. Well, the place is called Pylea, it’s the hell dimension Angel found Fred in. Knew it had a sun of the non-flammable variety and such, so seemed a nice idea. That’s all.”
Slowly she shook her head.
“That’s all? I… don’t understand. Why did we come here?”
He fell silent, then gestured at the landscape.
“Look, this has been my life for… years. Stepping from world to world, never knowing where I am. I tried to explain it once, but thought I might show you. Also I thought we could… try to have a break, away from everything? Like, if this is the end, then at least it can be somewhere pretty? Not in London in January.”
‘If this is the end…’
She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Too much had happened in the past few hours- She almost staggered. How had it only been a few hours? She was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, too many to count. (She had tried, to no avail.) And there was very little she could do about any of them…
Except one.
With practiced ease her fist flew forwards and connected with his face — not hard enough to break anything or make his nose bleed (she had this down to a fine art), just enough to stun him so he wouldn’t see the next part coming.
As he cried out in surprise she made her move, cramming every square inch of power her body possessed into the heel of her foot, a single, deadly movement aimed squarely at his groin.
The kick made him fold in half very satisfyingly, then collapse on the ground with a soundless scream.
She waited until the initial impact had ebbed out enough for him to open his eyes and look up at her, the pain making his eyes water, and she tilted her head, studying him.
“That’s for Dru,” she observed coolly, and something like a smile appeared on his face.
“Thanks,” he croaked out. “S ’appreciated.”
Then he groaned loudly, curling up, and she nodded.
“You’re welcome.”
Taking a few steps back, she seated herself on a fallen tree and just watched him.
It was stupid, but she felt better. They should probably have done it properly, talked through all the issues, but there wasn’t time, and this was exceedingly satisfying, if she was honest.
Damn Drusilla — except she was happily dead and gone, and whatever pleasure she had brought Spike, Buffy had hopefully at least equalled in pain. Although if she was completely honest with herself a good deal of it had been for his sudden Angel support — she wasn’t even sure what to call it, but his behaviour in the meeting had felt like a knife in the back. Bloody vampires.
A kick to the balls seemed quite a nice retaliation.
Watching him, she pondered how strange it was seeing him in sunlight… There had been that time when he’d had some ring back when he was evil — she couldn’t really remember it, she’d been too busy fighting him.
Why was he so infuriating? Why did he make her hurt so much?
After a few moments he slowly got to his feet, and with utmost care took the few steps over to the log she was sitting on, before lowering himself down next to her, closing his eyes against the pain.
“I’m presuming you weren’t planning on any kind of naked shenanigans, you’ve knocked me out of action for a week, minimum.”
“No, no plans of that sort,” she replied lightly.
He nodded, and for a long time they just sat there, the warm breeze playing with her hair and the sun caressing her skin. London — Europe — had been so cold and grey she had almost forgotten how wonderful the sun could be, as she closed her eyes and just soaked up the warmth.
When she eventually opened them again she glanced to her left, studying the way the sun played across his platinum hair, worn leather and his pale, pale skin.
Reaching out and taking his hand, she suddenly swallowed.
“I missed you,” she whispered, before leaning against him, feeling the solid reality against her cheek, her side, grasped in her hand… This was where he belonged, here, by her side. Always by her side.
In the dark, in the light — it didn’t matter she realised. Just the fact that he was there.
She felt him plant the lightest of kisses on the top of her head, and fought back tears:
“Don’t go.”
“Alright then,” he replied obligingly. “Shall we get ourselves a little shack by the river? Plant a garden, catch some fish? In the evening we can sit by the fireplace and you can darn my socks and I’ll whittle some spoons.”
She smiled despite herself, the image so outlandish and charming it felt more unreal than the sunshine they were bathed in.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Let’s do that.”
How long they might have stayed there, silently side-by-side, was anyone’s guess.
As it happened, a demon interrupted their reverie.
It came out of the trees about thirty feet away, carrying an armful of firewood, and it was not the green skin nor the red eyes and horns that made Buffy think that maybe she had fallen asleep and was now dreaming; no, it was the fact that the demon was wearing a stylish purple suit and a blue silk shirt (a bit tattered it had to be said), and shoes that Buffy could have sworn she had seen in last year’s collections.
The demon stared at them, clearly as stunned as they were, and for many long seconds an incredulous silence stretched.
Then: “Lorne?” Spike asked, and Buffy turned, her surprise increasing as she saw a wide smile slowly spreading across his face, and the demon dropped the firewood he had been carrying and ran towards them.
“Spike?” he exclaimed. “By my mother’s beard, how are you here my wonderfully impossible peroxide prince?”
Buffy blinked, as Spike jumped to his feet and the demon scooped Spike up into a hug, the two of them laughing in delight, before Spike replied.
“We’re here for… a short break? Um, this is Buffy by the way… Lorne - Buffy, Buffy - Lorne. He used to work for Angel back in LA. Empath demon, can tell people’s future when they sing — so be careful about humming to yourself, got caught out quite a few times...”
“Oh the Buffy, say no more,” Lorne said, ignoring Spike’s little spiel and taking her hand as she got to her feet, still stunned. “Well this is a day of surprises. Very welcome ones, don’t get me wrong, I think I am happier right now than a struggling starlet being given a multi-picture deal…”
He stopped, looked from one to the other, sudden urgency on his face.
“You do have a way to get back, right?”
“Yeah, Illyria’ll be back in a bit,” Spike replied, tilting his head. “But how come you are here, mate? Like, I remember this being your home dimension, but as far as I heard you ran away the first chance you got?”
Lorne sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Well that’s a long story — okay, I say that, it’s a rather tragic story about our very favourite hero, the noble Groosalugg, who was asked to come back here by certain factions — because of course they all fell out after they kicked him out — and he asked me to come along. Considering I was beginning to wonder whether I should just pickle myself in cocktails after… Angel’s big battle, I thought I might do some good. Well, that was a mistake. I… won’t go into details. Let’s just say that my PR skills do not extend to running an election campaign in a hell dimension. And thus, here I am, living in a tiny shack in the woods like a latter-day Laura Ingalls trying to avoid my family — and anyone else for that matter — and praying for a day like today.”
Buffy hadn’t understood more than half of what he’d been saying (if she was being generous), but at least he seemed happy.
“Well, here we are!” Spike said, spreading his hands. Then paused, unsure, glancing at Buffy.
“Was I interrupting something my little love poppets?” Lorne asked, with more tact than Buffy would have expected. “Sorry, I just couldn’t believe my peepers for a moment there. Was worried you’d turn out to be a mirage…”
“Just a little daydream, I think,” Spike offered, and Buffy tried to smile.
“Yeah, something like that.”
Then she made an effort to pull herself together. If nothing else, they were helping this guy. Somehow that made things better — they might be royally screwed, personally, but something good would have come out of it.
And so they ended up back in Lorne’s little hut by the river, where he packed up his few belongings whilst entertaining them with outrageous stories from when he’d run a demon bar in LA, even singing them a few songs along the way.
At one point Spike joined in with one of the tunes, which caused Lorne to spin around in shock, staring at Spike in mute horror.
They all stood there, frozen, as Spike’s expression turned completely blank and Buffy wrapped her arms around herself.
Even the sunshine they were bathed in seemed to have gone cold.
Lorne glanced from one to the other, then swallowed and shook his head.
“Jiminy jeepers Blondiebear, what’s — what’s happening? What are you doing? You can’t-”
Spike, eyes dark and filled with that combination of silent horror and obstinate determination, cut him off.
“Save it. Don’t want to know. Or rather, I know it already. I’m still going.”
“You don’t understand. Spike listen to me-”
Spike didn’t answer, merely clenched his jaw, and Buffy realised she’d forgotten how dangerous he could look. There was a fury burning in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long time. A silent warning that whoever crossed him next would get their head ripped off.
She smiled tightly.
“He’s very stubborn. I said I’d help, or try to subvert it or… anything, but oh no, he’s hellbent on heroic self-sacrifice.”
“Because I have seen what they do!” Spike shot back, with sudden ferocity. “What they’re doing back home is bad enough, but the things we’ve witnessed − dimension after dimension; hundreds, thousands of them, sucked dry, used up and left to rot, it’s…” He shook his head, the anger on his face almost making her recoil. “They need to be stopped. And I can do that. I don’t fancy eternal damnation, but if that’s the price to pay for getting rid of them, I’d happily pay it twice over.”
The sudden vehemence gave her pause.
“You never really… mentioned this before,” she said cautiously. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, but it almost came out of the left field. It was what she’d been worrying about for months — the fact that they didn’t talk to each other. She had railed against their ‘personal vendettas’ but this was… somehow deeper.
“Dunno that I really… thought about it before,” he replied, obviously trying to clamp down on the sudden eruption. “It’s not like, a heroic thing, despite what it sounds like — for starters I’m still fucking terrified. But I can stop them; I might be the only one in the whole world who can. And I will, so help me god, consequences be damned.”
Looking up, he caught her eyes, before quietly adding:
“Sorry love.”
“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” she replied, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice, and he paused, tilting his head in that way which always cut her to the quick. Then he abruptly took hold of the leather strap around his neck and − half unwinding − pulled the whole thing over this head and held it out to her, the pendant twirling and twinkling in the sun.
“Here, have this. If I- If I don’t make it back, remember me as the guy who tried to do the right thing, even if he cocked it up a lot of the time. And it’s got a nice protection spell on it − seems to have worked for me pretty well, I’ve escaped major injury for best part of ten years.”
She took it automatically, eyes suddenly blurring.
“I’m not ready for you not to be there,” she whispered, feeling a chasm well up; the simple gesture somehow making the finality of the situation sink in properly.
Reaching out, he stroked her cheek.
“Likewise.”
Deep breath. She felt she had asked this question a thousand times already, without ever getting an answer:
“So why − why won’t you let me try to find a way out?”
In an instant the anger was back — he tried to reign it in, she could tell, but he had obviously reached some kind of breaking point as he spoke, holding up fingers as he spoke:
“Because there isn’t one! One - the prophecy works as it should, hello humanity! Two - eternal hell for yours truly. Three - what? What exactly are you proposing Buffy? What could you possibly do? Willow magically teleports me out of Wolfram & Hart central before I go to hell? And we just… carry on like we are now? Is that what you want? This?”
He didn’t get further as she punched him again — not with any finesse or plan, her instantaneous fury forcing her hand, sending him crashing to the ground. And this time he was bleeding, hand held to his nose, staring up at her as she screamed at him:
“How dare you? How dare you suggest that what we have now isn’t enough? I love you. Exactly as you are, you stupid, annoying, screwed-up vampire. What the hell do you think this has been? That I was just waiting around for you to become ‘a real boy’? You absolute bastard! I went through all this crap once already with Angel and could never get past it — after everything we have been to each other, this is your reply?”
His eyes widened, and he swallowed, so shell-shocked it took him a few goes before he managed to speak.
“Christ Buffy, what the hell am I supposed to say to that?”
She shook her head, fighting the sobs that threatened to overpower her.
“Well, anything beats what you said last time.”
She knew she wouldn’t have to explain what she meant, the understanding in his eyes clear as the sunshine they were both bathed in. (Like last time. She should have known — he’d burn again.)
Faltering he got to his feet, a fuchsia handkerchief appearing out of nowhere and he took it without comment from the green hand they were both ignoring, and carefully wiped the blood off his face.
But all she could see was the light in his eyes, a breathless sort of joy that she didn’t quite know what to do with.
Eventually he spoke, words slow and precise, a strange sort of solemnity falling over the moment, the whole world falling away.
“I love you too, Buffy.”
A gentle breeze caught an escaped platinum curl, and she remembered the time she had found him in the school basement, hair a mess of brown curls and mind shot to pieces thanks to the soul; the soul he had gotten for her.
He’d tried to cut out his heart…
And she had taken the man he had become, handed him a magical bauble and asked him to save the world.
Was it any wonder that this was who he now was?
“Better,” she replied, forcing down the tears as she finally accepted the reality in front of her. Then slowly she took the pendant, still clasped in her left hand, and wrapped the leather strap around her neck.
“And thank you for this. I’ll try to stay safe, even if you can’t.”
He smiled then, sunshine and wonder and gratitude in his eyes, then leaned forward and kissed her, so gently it was almost more like a caress.
“Always knew falling in love with the sun would be the end of me…”
They were brought back into the moment by Lorne, who was openly weeping.
“Oh kids, you’ll be the end of me too. If I still had my old contacts I could get the film rights to your story sold like that!”
Later, as the sun set and Illyria still hadn’t returned, Lorne roasted some fish on the small hearth which they chased down with what might be the worst beer Buffy had ever tasted.
“So far, so according to plan,” she remarked, leaning into Spike’s embrace, and felt him chuckle.
“Some fairy tale pet. Gonna start darning my socks soon?”
“Shut up,” she replied, the fire light dancing over the rough walls. She could pretend to be happy, just a for a tiny bit longer.
***
“Are you sure this isn’t a fairy tale?” Nina asked, looking out of the window.
Angel came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle.
“Positive. But we can pretend if you like?”
She smiled, leaning into him (so tall, so strong, so ridiculously handsome), studying the spectacular sunset that painted the landscape hues of pink-gold that she knew she’d never be able to capture, no matter how carefully she mixed her paint.
The whole day had been impossible that way… Angel turning up on her doorstep out of nowhere, eyes as sad and apologetic as a puppy’s, before whisking her away to what she still suspected might be Disney’s home world, courtesy of Illyria. First there had been a picnic in a sun-dappled meadow, and seeing Angel in the sunshine had been something she’d treasure forever. And not just because he’d made sure to get her to bring a camera.
After that they’d relocated to an actual castle, with a drawbridge and flags waving from turrets and a bustling market surrounding it, full of cheerful farmers selling produce and looking like so many extras from Technicolor movies, the fact that they were demons aside.
Better than all of it was Angel’s smile - she rarely saw him genuinely happy, but he practically beamed as he walked around, and when she asked him he could only shake his head in amazement:
“It worked. It actually worked. They did it, they healed their world.”
Of course she then had to meet the sisters Angel and Spike had talked of back in October, the women who had impressed ‘the boys’ so very considerably. They now lived in the castle, although all chores were carefully distributed and Nina wondered if this was what communism was supposed to have been, even the ‘leaders’ (although Venka and Raavi disliked those titles) helping with the washing and the potato peeling.
It seemed a truly wondrous place; the castle itself full of artwork, musical instruments and tapestries, and Nina could have stayed a month, easily. Apparently the people had decided to keep it intact, so it could be a showcase for beauty to take away the sting of the pain their evil overlord had brought.
Even more than the surroundings, Venka and Raavi proved fascinating people in their own right, and they spent hours talking, the sisters curious about the world of humans, and Nina equally curious about this world which seemed utterly fantastical to her.
Eventually there had been a dinner in the banqueting hall, after which they’d retired to their current bedroom. There was a large wooden chest, a four poster bed, and yet more beautiful tapestries…
Except now they were bathed in the glow of the setting sun, even as candles flickered around the room, half-shadows warring with the golden radiance. Nothing could be this perfect, it was unreal.
“Angel-” she said, abruptly turning and studying his face (such a strong face, so classically striking, and yet his eyes were more gentle than she had ever known), and he didn’t say a word, just pulled her closer, softly kissing her until she forgot about the sunset, forgot about the castle and the magic and everything else she had seen, and all that mattered was the man she loved and whose arms she never wanted to leave.
Later, spent and happy, a soft glow from the fireplace the only light in the room, she finally asked:
“So what happened? Don’t get me wrong, this has been the most amazing day of my life, but I’m not stupid.”
It took a while before he answered.
“It’s the end of the road. The Key is complete. I don’t know what happens next, but we’re unlikely to make it out alive.”
She had expected it, having seen him in this situation before — that determination, the single-minded focus. And yet, there was something else. Turning to him and raising herself on her elbow, she studied him.
“That doesn’t answer my question. Something happened, I can tell.”
There was a long, long pause as he didn’t answer and she waited. Patience was a virtue that paid off — or at least it was when it came to Angel.
“Dru died.”
Just two words, but she heard the strain in his voice; remembered Spike’s sudden silence, the question that had hit too close to home.
“Tell me about her,” she said softly.
If she was going to lose him, she wanted to know who he really was. And Dru was the key to that, she was certain of it.
“Are you sure?” the wonder in his voice caught something in her heart.
“Yes.”
And so she spent the last night with her beloved listening to the story of a monster, as silvery moonlight slowly moved across the room.
***
Connor looked up at the three-quarters moon, wondering whether to call his father.
The human one.
The human one who hadn’t died.
Had there been a moon in Quor’Toth? He couldn’t remember one.
He wondered what his father would say if he ever told the truth. If he called him right now and explained that earlier that day his ‘real’ father (a vampire) had stopped by to say goodbye because he was off on some suicidally dangerous mission to save the world. Again.
There was laughter coming from elsewhere in the dorms, the normal ruckus of university students. So unaware, so innocent, so oblivious to the dangerous reality all around them.
Safety was a lie, a thin veil that could be pulled back at any moment. Remembered the moment as if it were yesterday when he’d understood the truth of what he was and the world he inhabited. Felt the abhorrence that still lay deep in his bones, the endless, searingly painful scars from a childhood that had made him ‘the Destroyer’; destroying him too in the process.
(‘This whole fighting thing, I'm not... I'm not really sure it's for me.’)
He hoped he wouldn’t have to step back through into the darkness, but if that day came…
Getting up he drew the curtains, hiding the moon from sight.
If that day came, he’d do what he had to. Just like his father. He could only hope it would never be necessary.
***
The great hall of the Watcher’s Council felt cold and stuffy after the sunshine they had indulged in. It had been late evening when they’d left Pylea, but Buffy got an impression of early morning — confirmed when one of the cleaning staff walked past with a bucket, giving them a perfunctory nod; most of them were related to Slayers or Watchers, or half-demons happy to get work where they wouldn’t have to hide who they were.
Lorne looked around, eyes scanning their surroundings.
“Where’s Angel?”
Illyria (who had registered neither surprise nor pleasure at seeing the green demon) gave a glare which somehow looked like an eye-roll.
“I will go fetch him now. Since I will have to convey his girlfriend to her abode also, I may be a little while.”
As she vanished, Lorne turned to Spike.
“Listen Flash, about what I saw-”
“I know what you’re going to say mate, I’m still going.”
Lorne shook his head.
“If you’d seen it Chicken Licken, you wouldn’t dare move. Any of you.”
At that moment Giles stepped through the large front doors, pausing at the sight that greeted him.
Spike — grateful for the interruption — made the introductions, and Lorne apologised profusely for his dishevelled looks as Giles got that look in his eyes that meant he was busy calculating how to best utilise Lorne’s somewhat unique skill set.
As Giles started quizzing Lorne in depth (but not before Lorne had made Spike solemnly promise not to leave before listening to whatever vision he’d had), Buffy moved some distance away with Spike, wondering how to say their final goodbye.
Except then a portal opened immediately next to them, making them jump in surprise. Angel stepped up to the edge of the portal, saw Spike, and motioned for him to join them.
“Spike? Come through — Illyria has found an auspicious place for entering the Home Office.”
Now? Now? She wasn’t ready, would never-
And then he was kissing her, his touch scalding, his mouth like a lifeline; (don’t go don’t go, don’t make me lose you again-)
Then he abruptly pulled away and turned to step through the portal.
(Maybe it was for the best, she wanted to scream and hold onto him forever. Last time there had been flaming hands…)
Except then Lorne’s voice rang out.
“Wait! Angel! I need to talk to you!”
Buffy witnessed the transformation as Angel’s eyes snapped up and met Lorne’s (through the open portal and across the hall), the surprise overlaid with… something else (guilt? shame?), before his whole face somehow slammed shut.
“Spike! Now!” he snapped, as Spike also looked from one to the other, then made his choice and jumped through.
A second later the portal winked out of existence as Lorne’s feet screeched on the floor, trying to reach it.
He turned, despair on his face, and Buffy frowned; despite everything glad to have something to focus on. Parts of her felt like they couldn’t breathe.
“What was that?” she asked. “The look on Angel’s face…”
“He — he probably thought I wanted to talk about what he had me do,” Lorne said, shaking his head, “But…”
He held out his hands, resigned, and Buffy glanced at Giles who was looking very confused as he walked up to them, figuring she should probably explain.
“Like we said — Lorne is an empath demon, he can read people when they sing, and yesterday Spike…”
Giles inclined his head.
“Ah yes. The endless screaming. That makes three.”
“Screaming?” Lorne repeated, confused. “There was no screaming.”
As if in slow motion they both turned to him.
“What… did you see?” Buffy eventually asked, and Lorne hesitated.
“Well munchkins, these things aren’t straightforward, but… there was a bright light, and- you know that tone you get on a phone when there’s an error? Not the beeping sound, just a long single note? That’s the nearest I can get. Like an error message, or a sort of cosmic whiteout? The future just… stops.”
“Which future?” Giles asked, and Lorne shot him a dark look.
“The world’s future. Have seen that before, funnily enough, but that time Angel saved the day. This time… I don’t know. But those three are involved.”
Giles sighed deeply, and studied Lorne.
“I think this gets my award for worst news before I have reached my desk. Let me get a cup of coffee and we will talk. Buffy-”
He hesitated, then continued, voice gentler.
“I guess you need a moment. Join us when you feel ready.”
She nodded in gratitude, and left them to it.
***
As days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, with no word or sign from the vampire champions, Buffy did her best to focus on her mission — she trained her Slayers around the world, created contingency plans on top of contingency plans, making sure that they would be ready if the call ever came.
And if she sometimes grasped the pendant around her neck so tightly her knuckles turned white, then her friends knew better than to ask questions.
Chapter 26 on LJ
Chapter 26 on DW
Can also be found on AO3.
Now this chapter was... Well. Originally it was a one-off future fic from Maybe Someday (bit like the Christmas stories). There are literally three paragraphs that have survived, EVERYTHING has changed. Although for the better I think. The original was just unadulterated schmoop.
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): 5020 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyhBuffy marvelled at the beautiful vista on the other side of the portal Illyria had created: green grass bathed in sunshine with trees in full bloom swaying in a gentle breeze, a picturesque river in the distance. She wondered where in the world it might be… Somewhere in the southern hemisphere, surely. Did Australia look like that? Maybe South America? It didn’t strike her as Africa. She couldn’t see any landmarks to either confirm or deny her swift theories. Wait — New Zealand?
And then in the blink of an eye Spike jumped through, straight into the bright sunlight.
If it was possible to suffer a triple heart attack at her age, she would have had one on the there and then. As it was, Buffy was frozen to the spot, staring at him. He was very solid still, grinning and holding out his hand. “Come on luv, it’s nice and warm here!”
Slowly, her brain in free fall, she walked the few steps across the floor and then through the portal. Seconds later Illyria was beside her, studying the surroundings intently.
“The shell has... memories of this place. Most of them are lost to me, but...” A look came over her face, worryingly similar to the one on Dawn’s face when she spoke of ice cream. “I will enjoy this retribution.”
Spike held up a hand. “Now don’t come back with a load of villagers brandishing pitchforks, OK?”
She let her eyes travel over them with disdain.
“As you wish.”
Then she turned on her heel and set off alone across the meadow they were standing in, as Spike scratched his head.
“Never know if she quotes stuff deliberately…”
“Spike! Where is this? What are we doing here?”
He looked at her, then shrugged.
“To be honest, I don’t know. Well, the place is called Pylea, it’s the hell dimension Angel found Fred in. Knew it had a sun of the non-flammable variety and such, so seemed a nice idea. That’s all.”
Slowly she shook her head.
“That’s all? I… don’t understand. Why did we come here?”
He fell silent, then gestured at the landscape.
“Look, this has been my life for… years. Stepping from world to world, never knowing where I am. I tried to explain it once, but thought I might show you. Also I thought we could… try to have a break, away from everything? Like, if this is the end, then at least it can be somewhere pretty? Not in London in January.”
‘If this is the end…’
She felt like she couldn’t breathe. Too much had happened in the past few hours- She almost staggered. How had it only been a few hours? She was a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, too many to count. (She had tried, to no avail.) And there was very little she could do about any of them…
Except one.
With practiced ease her fist flew forwards and connected with his face — not hard enough to break anything or make his nose bleed (she had this down to a fine art), just enough to stun him so he wouldn’t see the next part coming.
As he cried out in surprise she made her move, cramming every square inch of power her body possessed into the heel of her foot, a single, deadly movement aimed squarely at his groin.
The kick made him fold in half very satisfyingly, then collapse on the ground with a soundless scream.
She waited until the initial impact had ebbed out enough for him to open his eyes and look up at her, the pain making his eyes water, and she tilted her head, studying him.
“That’s for Dru,” she observed coolly, and something like a smile appeared on his face.
“Thanks,” he croaked out. “S ’appreciated.”
Then he groaned loudly, curling up, and she nodded.
“You’re welcome.”
Taking a few steps back, she seated herself on a fallen tree and just watched him.
It was stupid, but she felt better. They should probably have done it properly, talked through all the issues, but there wasn’t time, and this was exceedingly satisfying, if she was honest.
Damn Drusilla — except she was happily dead and gone, and whatever pleasure she had brought Spike, Buffy had hopefully at least equalled in pain. Although if she was completely honest with herself a good deal of it had been for his sudden Angel support — she wasn’t even sure what to call it, but his behaviour in the meeting had felt like a knife in the back. Bloody vampires.
A kick to the balls seemed quite a nice retaliation.
Watching him, she pondered how strange it was seeing him in sunlight… There had been that time when he’d had some ring back when he was evil — she couldn’t really remember it, she’d been too busy fighting him.
Why was he so infuriating? Why did he make her hurt so much?
After a few moments he slowly got to his feet, and with utmost care took the few steps over to the log she was sitting on, before lowering himself down next to her, closing his eyes against the pain.
“I’m presuming you weren’t planning on any kind of naked shenanigans, you’ve knocked me out of action for a week, minimum.”
“No, no plans of that sort,” she replied lightly.
He nodded, and for a long time they just sat there, the warm breeze playing with her hair and the sun caressing her skin. London — Europe — had been so cold and grey she had almost forgotten how wonderful the sun could be, as she closed her eyes and just soaked up the warmth.
When she eventually opened them again she glanced to her left, studying the way the sun played across his platinum hair, worn leather and his pale, pale skin.
Reaching out and taking his hand, she suddenly swallowed.
“I missed you,” she whispered, before leaning against him, feeling the solid reality against her cheek, her side, grasped in her hand… This was where he belonged, here, by her side. Always by her side.
In the dark, in the light — it didn’t matter she realised. Just the fact that he was there.
She felt him plant the lightest of kisses on the top of her head, and fought back tears:
“Don’t go.”
“Alright then,” he replied obligingly. “Shall we get ourselves a little shack by the river? Plant a garden, catch some fish? In the evening we can sit by the fireplace and you can darn my socks and I’ll whittle some spoons.”
She smiled despite herself, the image so outlandish and charming it felt more unreal than the sunshine they were bathed in.
“Yeah,” she said softly. “Let’s do that.”
How long they might have stayed there, silently side-by-side, was anyone’s guess.
As it happened, a demon interrupted their reverie.
It came out of the trees about thirty feet away, carrying an armful of firewood, and it was not the green skin nor the red eyes and horns that made Buffy think that maybe she had fallen asleep and was now dreaming; no, it was the fact that the demon was wearing a stylish purple suit and a blue silk shirt (a bit tattered it had to be said), and shoes that Buffy could have sworn she had seen in last year’s collections.
The demon stared at them, clearly as stunned as they were, and for many long seconds an incredulous silence stretched.
Then: “Lorne?” Spike asked, and Buffy turned, her surprise increasing as she saw a wide smile slowly spreading across his face, and the demon dropped the firewood he had been carrying and ran towards them.
“Spike?” he exclaimed. “By my mother’s beard, how are you here my wonderfully impossible peroxide prince?”
Buffy blinked, as Spike jumped to his feet and the demon scooped Spike up into a hug, the two of them laughing in delight, before Spike replied.
“We’re here for… a short break? Um, this is Buffy by the way… Lorne - Buffy, Buffy - Lorne. He used to work for Angel back in LA. Empath demon, can tell people’s future when they sing — so be careful about humming to yourself, got caught out quite a few times...”
“Oh the Buffy, say no more,” Lorne said, ignoring Spike’s little spiel and taking her hand as she got to her feet, still stunned. “Well this is a day of surprises. Very welcome ones, don’t get me wrong, I think I am happier right now than a struggling starlet being given a multi-picture deal…”
He stopped, looked from one to the other, sudden urgency on his face.
“You do have a way to get back, right?”
“Yeah, Illyria’ll be back in a bit,” Spike replied, tilting his head. “But how come you are here, mate? Like, I remember this being your home dimension, but as far as I heard you ran away the first chance you got?”
Lorne sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Well that’s a long story — okay, I say that, it’s a rather tragic story about our very favourite hero, the noble Groosalugg, who was asked to come back here by certain factions — because of course they all fell out after they kicked him out — and he asked me to come along. Considering I was beginning to wonder whether I should just pickle myself in cocktails after… Angel’s big battle, I thought I might do some good. Well, that was a mistake. I… won’t go into details. Let’s just say that my PR skills do not extend to running an election campaign in a hell dimension. And thus, here I am, living in a tiny shack in the woods like a latter-day Laura Ingalls trying to avoid my family — and anyone else for that matter — and praying for a day like today.”
Buffy hadn’t understood more than half of what he’d been saying (if she was being generous), but at least he seemed happy.
“Well, here we are!” Spike said, spreading his hands. Then paused, unsure, glancing at Buffy.
“Was I interrupting something my little love poppets?” Lorne asked, with more tact than Buffy would have expected. “Sorry, I just couldn’t believe my peepers for a moment there. Was worried you’d turn out to be a mirage…”
“Just a little daydream, I think,” Spike offered, and Buffy tried to smile.
“Yeah, something like that.”
Then she made an effort to pull herself together. If nothing else, they were helping this guy. Somehow that made things better — they might be royally screwed, personally, but something good would have come out of it.
And so they ended up back in Lorne’s little hut by the river, where he packed up his few belongings whilst entertaining them with outrageous stories from when he’d run a demon bar in LA, even singing them a few songs along the way.
At one point Spike joined in with one of the tunes, which caused Lorne to spin around in shock, staring at Spike in mute horror.
They all stood there, frozen, as Spike’s expression turned completely blank and Buffy wrapped her arms around herself.
Even the sunshine they were bathed in seemed to have gone cold.
Lorne glanced from one to the other, then swallowed and shook his head.
“Jiminy jeepers Blondiebear, what’s — what’s happening? What are you doing? You can’t-”
Spike, eyes dark and filled with that combination of silent horror and obstinate determination, cut him off.
“Save it. Don’t want to know. Or rather, I know it already. I’m still going.”
“You don’t understand. Spike listen to me-”
Spike didn’t answer, merely clenched his jaw, and Buffy realised she’d forgotten how dangerous he could look. There was a fury burning in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long time. A silent warning that whoever crossed him next would get their head ripped off.
She smiled tightly.
“He’s very stubborn. I said I’d help, or try to subvert it or… anything, but oh no, he’s hellbent on heroic self-sacrifice.”
“Because I have seen what they do!” Spike shot back, with sudden ferocity. “What they’re doing back home is bad enough, but the things we’ve witnessed − dimension after dimension; hundreds, thousands of them, sucked dry, used up and left to rot, it’s…” He shook his head, the anger on his face almost making her recoil. “They need to be stopped. And I can do that. I don’t fancy eternal damnation, but if that’s the price to pay for getting rid of them, I’d happily pay it twice over.”
The sudden vehemence gave her pause.
“You never really… mentioned this before,” she said cautiously. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him, but it almost came out of the left field. It was what she’d been worrying about for months — the fact that they didn’t talk to each other. She had railed against their ‘personal vendettas’ but this was… somehow deeper.
“Dunno that I really… thought about it before,” he replied, obviously trying to clamp down on the sudden eruption. “It’s not like, a heroic thing, despite what it sounds like — for starters I’m still fucking terrified. But I can stop them; I might be the only one in the whole world who can. And I will, so help me god, consequences be damned.”
Looking up, he caught her eyes, before quietly adding:
“Sorry love.”
“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” she replied, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice, and he paused, tilting his head in that way which always cut her to the quick. Then he abruptly took hold of the leather strap around his neck and − half unwinding − pulled the whole thing over this head and held it out to her, the pendant twirling and twinkling in the sun.
“Here, have this. If I- If I don’t make it back, remember me as the guy who tried to do the right thing, even if he cocked it up a lot of the time. And it’s got a nice protection spell on it − seems to have worked for me pretty well, I’ve escaped major injury for best part of ten years.”
She took it automatically, eyes suddenly blurring.
“I’m not ready for you not to be there,” she whispered, feeling a chasm well up; the simple gesture somehow making the finality of the situation sink in properly.
Reaching out, he stroked her cheek.
“Likewise.”
Deep breath. She felt she had asked this question a thousand times already, without ever getting an answer:
“So why − why won’t you let me try to find a way out?”
In an instant the anger was back — he tried to reign it in, she could tell, but he had obviously reached some kind of breaking point as he spoke, holding up fingers as he spoke:
“Because there isn’t one! One - the prophecy works as it should, hello humanity! Two - eternal hell for yours truly. Three - what? What exactly are you proposing Buffy? What could you possibly do? Willow magically teleports me out of Wolfram & Hart central before I go to hell? And we just… carry on like we are now? Is that what you want? This?”
He didn’t get further as she punched him again — not with any finesse or plan, her instantaneous fury forcing her hand, sending him crashing to the ground. And this time he was bleeding, hand held to his nose, staring up at her as she screamed at him:
“How dare you? How dare you suggest that what we have now isn’t enough? I love you. Exactly as you are, you stupid, annoying, screwed-up vampire. What the hell do you think this has been? That I was just waiting around for you to become ‘a real boy’? You absolute bastard! I went through all this crap once already with Angel and could never get past it — after everything we have been to each other, this is your reply?”
His eyes widened, and he swallowed, so shell-shocked it took him a few goes before he managed to speak.
“Christ Buffy, what the hell am I supposed to say to that?”
She shook her head, fighting the sobs that threatened to overpower her.
“Well, anything beats what you said last time.”
She knew she wouldn’t have to explain what she meant, the understanding in his eyes clear as the sunshine they were both bathed in. (Like last time. She should have known — he’d burn again.)
Faltering he got to his feet, a fuchsia handkerchief appearing out of nowhere and he took it without comment from the green hand they were both ignoring, and carefully wiped the blood off his face.
But all she could see was the light in his eyes, a breathless sort of joy that she didn’t quite know what to do with.
Eventually he spoke, words slow and precise, a strange sort of solemnity falling over the moment, the whole world falling away.
“I love you too, Buffy.”
A gentle breeze caught an escaped platinum curl, and she remembered the time she had found him in the school basement, hair a mess of brown curls and mind shot to pieces thanks to the soul; the soul he had gotten for her.
He’d tried to cut out his heart…
And she had taken the man he had become, handed him a magical bauble and asked him to save the world.
Was it any wonder that this was who he now was?
“Better,” she replied, forcing down the tears as she finally accepted the reality in front of her. Then slowly she took the pendant, still clasped in her left hand, and wrapped the leather strap around her neck.
“And thank you for this. I’ll try to stay safe, even if you can’t.”
He smiled then, sunshine and wonder and gratitude in his eyes, then leaned forward and kissed her, so gently it was almost more like a caress.
“Always knew falling in love with the sun would be the end of me…”
They were brought back into the moment by Lorne, who was openly weeping.
“Oh kids, you’ll be the end of me too. If I still had my old contacts I could get the film rights to your story sold like that!”
Later, as the sun set and Illyria still hadn’t returned, Lorne roasted some fish on the small hearth which they chased down with what might be the worst beer Buffy had ever tasted.
“So far, so according to plan,” she remarked, leaning into Spike’s embrace, and felt him chuckle.
“Some fairy tale pet. Gonna start darning my socks soon?”
“Shut up,” she replied, the fire light dancing over the rough walls. She could pretend to be happy, just a for a tiny bit longer.
“Are you sure this isn’t a fairy tale?” Nina asked, looking out of the window.
Angel came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle.
“Positive. But we can pretend if you like?”
She smiled, leaning into him (so tall, so strong, so ridiculously handsome), studying the spectacular sunset that painted the landscape hues of pink-gold that she knew she’d never be able to capture, no matter how carefully she mixed her paint.
The whole day had been impossible that way… Angel turning up on her doorstep out of nowhere, eyes as sad and apologetic as a puppy’s, before whisking her away to what she still suspected might be Disney’s home world, courtesy of Illyria. First there had been a picnic in a sun-dappled meadow, and seeing Angel in the sunshine had been something she’d treasure forever. And not just because he’d made sure to get her to bring a camera.
After that they’d relocated to an actual castle, with a drawbridge and flags waving from turrets and a bustling market surrounding it, full of cheerful farmers selling produce and looking like so many extras from Technicolor movies, the fact that they were demons aside.
Better than all of it was Angel’s smile - she rarely saw him genuinely happy, but he practically beamed as he walked around, and when she asked him he could only shake his head in amazement:
“It worked. It actually worked. They did it, they healed their world.”
Of course she then had to meet the sisters Angel and Spike had talked of back in October, the women who had impressed ‘the boys’ so very considerably. They now lived in the castle, although all chores were carefully distributed and Nina wondered if this was what communism was supposed to have been, even the ‘leaders’ (although Venka and Raavi disliked those titles) helping with the washing and the potato peeling.
It seemed a truly wondrous place; the castle itself full of artwork, musical instruments and tapestries, and Nina could have stayed a month, easily. Apparently the people had decided to keep it intact, so it could be a showcase for beauty to take away the sting of the pain their evil overlord had brought.
Even more than the surroundings, Venka and Raavi proved fascinating people in their own right, and they spent hours talking, the sisters curious about the world of humans, and Nina equally curious about this world which seemed utterly fantastical to her.
Eventually there had been a dinner in the banqueting hall, after which they’d retired to their current bedroom. There was a large wooden chest, a four poster bed, and yet more beautiful tapestries…
Except now they were bathed in the glow of the setting sun, even as candles flickered around the room, half-shadows warring with the golden radiance. Nothing could be this perfect, it was unreal.
“Angel-” she said, abruptly turning and studying his face (such a strong face, so classically striking, and yet his eyes were more gentle than she had ever known), and he didn’t say a word, just pulled her closer, softly kissing her until she forgot about the sunset, forgot about the castle and the magic and everything else she had seen, and all that mattered was the man she loved and whose arms she never wanted to leave.
Later, spent and happy, a soft glow from the fireplace the only light in the room, she finally asked:
“So what happened? Don’t get me wrong, this has been the most amazing day of my life, but I’m not stupid.”
It took a while before he answered.
“It’s the end of the road. The Key is complete. I don’t know what happens next, but we’re unlikely to make it out alive.”
She had expected it, having seen him in this situation before — that determination, the single-minded focus. And yet, there was something else. Turning to him and raising herself on her elbow, she studied him.
“That doesn’t answer my question. Something happened, I can tell.”
There was a long, long pause as he didn’t answer and she waited. Patience was a virtue that paid off — or at least it was when it came to Angel.
“Dru died.”
Just two words, but she heard the strain in his voice; remembered Spike’s sudden silence, the question that had hit too close to home.
“Tell me about her,” she said softly.
If she was going to lose him, she wanted to know who he really was. And Dru was the key to that, she was certain of it.
“Are you sure?” the wonder in his voice caught something in her heart.
“Yes.”
And so she spent the last night with her beloved listening to the story of a monster, as silvery moonlight slowly moved across the room.
Connor looked up at the three-quarters moon, wondering whether to call his father.
The human one.
The human one who hadn’t died.
Had there been a moon in Quor’Toth? He couldn’t remember one.
He wondered what his father would say if he ever told the truth. If he called him right now and explained that earlier that day his ‘real’ father (a vampire) had stopped by to say goodbye because he was off on some suicidally dangerous mission to save the world. Again.
There was laughter coming from elsewhere in the dorms, the normal ruckus of university students. So unaware, so innocent, so oblivious to the dangerous reality all around them.
Safety was a lie, a thin veil that could be pulled back at any moment. Remembered the moment as if it were yesterday when he’d understood the truth of what he was and the world he inhabited. Felt the abhorrence that still lay deep in his bones, the endless, searingly painful scars from a childhood that had made him ‘the Destroyer’; destroying him too in the process.
(‘This whole fighting thing, I'm not... I'm not really sure it's for me.’)
He hoped he wouldn’t have to step back through into the darkness, but if that day came…
Getting up he drew the curtains, hiding the moon from sight.
If that day came, he’d do what he had to. Just like his father. He could only hope it would never be necessary.
The great hall of the Watcher’s Council felt cold and stuffy after the sunshine they had indulged in. It had been late evening when they’d left Pylea, but Buffy got an impression of early morning — confirmed when one of the cleaning staff walked past with a bucket, giving them a perfunctory nod; most of them were related to Slayers or Watchers, or half-demons happy to get work where they wouldn’t have to hide who they were.
Lorne looked around, eyes scanning their surroundings.
“Where’s Angel?”
Illyria (who had registered neither surprise nor pleasure at seeing the green demon) gave a glare which somehow looked like an eye-roll.
“I will go fetch him now. Since I will have to convey his girlfriend to her abode also, I may be a little while.”
As she vanished, Lorne turned to Spike.
“Listen Flash, about what I saw-”
“I know what you’re going to say mate, I’m still going.”
Lorne shook his head.
“If you’d seen it Chicken Licken, you wouldn’t dare move. Any of you.”
At that moment Giles stepped through the large front doors, pausing at the sight that greeted him.
Spike — grateful for the interruption — made the introductions, and Lorne apologised profusely for his dishevelled looks as Giles got that look in his eyes that meant he was busy calculating how to best utilise Lorne’s somewhat unique skill set.
As Giles started quizzing Lorne in depth (but not before Lorne had made Spike solemnly promise not to leave before listening to whatever vision he’d had), Buffy moved some distance away with Spike, wondering how to say their final goodbye.
Except then a portal opened immediately next to them, making them jump in surprise. Angel stepped up to the edge of the portal, saw Spike, and motioned for him to join them.
“Spike? Come through — Illyria has found an auspicious place for entering the Home Office.”
Now? Now? She wasn’t ready, would never-
And then he was kissing her, his touch scalding, his mouth like a lifeline; (don’t go don’t go, don’t make me lose you again-)
Then he abruptly pulled away and turned to step through the portal.
(Maybe it was for the best, she wanted to scream and hold onto him forever. Last time there had been flaming hands…)
Except then Lorne’s voice rang out.
“Wait! Angel! I need to talk to you!”
Buffy witnessed the transformation as Angel’s eyes snapped up and met Lorne’s (through the open portal and across the hall), the surprise overlaid with… something else (guilt? shame?), before his whole face somehow slammed shut.
“Spike! Now!” he snapped, as Spike also looked from one to the other, then made his choice and jumped through.
A second later the portal winked out of existence as Lorne’s feet screeched on the floor, trying to reach it.
He turned, despair on his face, and Buffy frowned; despite everything glad to have something to focus on. Parts of her felt like they couldn’t breathe.
“What was that?” she asked. “The look on Angel’s face…”
“He — he probably thought I wanted to talk about what he had me do,” Lorne said, shaking his head, “But…”
He held out his hands, resigned, and Buffy glanced at Giles who was looking very confused as he walked up to them, figuring she should probably explain.
“Like we said — Lorne is an empath demon, he can read people when they sing, and yesterday Spike…”
Giles inclined his head.
“Ah yes. The endless screaming. That makes three.”
“Screaming?” Lorne repeated, confused. “There was no screaming.”
As if in slow motion they both turned to him.
“What… did you see?” Buffy eventually asked, and Lorne hesitated.
“Well munchkins, these things aren’t straightforward, but… there was a bright light, and- you know that tone you get on a phone when there’s an error? Not the beeping sound, just a long single note? That’s the nearest I can get. Like an error message, or a sort of cosmic whiteout? The future just… stops.”
“Which future?” Giles asked, and Lorne shot him a dark look.
“The world’s future. Have seen that before, funnily enough, but that time Angel saved the day. This time… I don’t know. But those three are involved.”
Giles sighed deeply, and studied Lorne.
“I think this gets my award for worst news before I have reached my desk. Let me get a cup of coffee and we will talk. Buffy-”
He hesitated, then continued, voice gentler.
“I guess you need a moment. Join us when you feel ready.”
She nodded in gratitude, and left them to it.
As days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, with no word or sign from the vampire champions, Buffy did her best to focus on her mission — she trained her Slayers around the world, created contingency plans on top of contingency plans, making sure that they would be ready if the call ever came.
And if she sometimes grasped the pendant around her neck so tightly her knuckles turned white, then her friends knew better than to ask questions.
Chapter 26 on LJ
Chapter 26 on DW
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I don't like that the so-called champions are not taking in every bit of info they can get. Sorta idiotic, if you ask me.
I'm holding out hope that Buffy and Willow/Hell Beast will find a way. I'm not sure I have confidence in the boys to do this correctly. They seem to have tunnel vision her at the (almost) end.
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Well, Angel presumes a grudge which is why he runs away... And to be fair, Lorne might very well hold a grudge, but other events are sort of more important. *pets Lorne* He is adorable and I was so happy to drag him into the story.
I don't like that the so-called champions are not taking in every bit of info they can get. Sorta idiotic, if you ask me.
Your point being?
Cordelia: "Hey, Gunn graduated with a major in dumb planning from Angel University. He sat at the feet of the master and learned well how to plan dumbly."
;)
To be fair to them, they all presume that they know what Lorne saw, so it's more a failure of jumping to conclusions (wrongly...) OR MAYBE IT'S JUST A RED HERRING WHO KNOWS?
I'm holding out hope that Buffy and Willow/Hell Beast will find a way. I'm not sure I have confidence in the boys to do this correctly. They seem to have tunnel vision her at the (almost) end.
Also a risk when attending Angel University.