Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 32
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.
It is interesting creating content out of nothing... I mean, I always knew where I was going, but about 95% of this chapter never existed before. :) Also, I can let you know that after this there will be two more chapters and then an epilogue.
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): 3600 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 32
Spike felt Buffy’s eyes on him as he continued to prepare for the ritual, grateful for Adam’s matter-of-fact demeanour without which the atmosphere would have been even more strained.
Why’d she have to bring up Angel? Illyria — Illyria would have answers. Illyria was a bitch, but she was his, dammit, and he needed her.
He checked everything one final time — the symbols, the knife, the goat; they were ready, they were doing this.
If the room exploded, well, so be it.
Except it didn’t.
For a moment he thought that despite everything they must have made a mistake somewhere, as nothing at all happened, the seconds stretching as the blood poured into the circle (his stomach rumbled, which was just typical, but all that lovely fresh blood going to waste…) — and then a quick flicker in the air, like a tv screen springing to life, before an image appeared which Spike recognised as Illyria’s original form.
And then her voice rang out, a bit crackly, as if coming from an old-fashioned answering machine:
“Thank you for your sacrifice. It has not currently been possible to contact Illyria, nor can you leave a message. Blessings upon you and keep the faith.”
Then the image winked out.
Staring at the empty air Spike didn’t even notice the blood which had now reached his boots.
“What the…” he began, voice trailing off, before slowly turning to Buffy.
But she had already left.
What now?
At the back of his mind, so far back that it had taken weeks upon weeks for him to acknowledge it, he’d held Illyria in reserve. Not in the sense of being able to save her in any way, but as a higher power who could make sense of things. Someone… more. His goddess.
She’d been downgraded, but she couldn’t die.
Except.
He stopped, ignoring Adam who was now asking questions.
Maybe she had been trapped by Wolfram & Hart somehow? As stuck as Angel? Or maybe she’d just had enough of humanity and the dullness of mortal creatures and decided to stay put on a higher plane?
All of a sudden he was very tired.
The night before had been exhausting on its own — the big fight with the biker gangs, followed by a long chat with Adam which had led to the somewhat impulsive decision to attempt to summon Illyria. And now…
“Spike!”
The boy was literally waving a hand in front of his face. “What now? What was that?”
Sighing, Spike looked around, realised the floor was covered in blood and magical symbols and that Adam was still holding onto the now very dead goat.
He also realised that he’d get the bollocking from hell if he left the basement like this — and not just from Buffy.
Nina was quite proprietary when it came to the basement, and would not relish a floor covered in blood (although when was the next full moon? She might appreciate the goat…) That said, he was tempted to leave the Aurelius symbol — it was quite pretty, and had done exactly nothing, so it seemed safe. The rest however...
“What happens now kid, is that we clean up. We’re on our own.”
***
When they finally got out of the basement Buffy had gone out, but had left a note with information about a potential client.
Spike sat down at the desk to call, but…
But she had mentioned ‘the A word’ and now his thoughts, like stampeding wildebeests, ran straight to the events he had tried to block out; Willow’s spell, The First appearing, that initial blind panic followed by gut-level nausea… Because he knew.
Knew what it was like to be in The First’s power, to have endless faces from the past haunt and torment — nothing was real except the pain and the guilt and the self-loathing, and knowing that Angel was stuck, that they were utterly helpless, he (as always) heard Pavayne’s voice whispering in his ear, unbidden and unavoidable:
‘Look... hell knows you're ready, plump and ripe. Beginning to understand, aren't you? The soul that blesses you...damns you to suffer — forever.’
The Shanshu had always been a chimera, and all they got was a temporary reprieve. The memories were now like dominoes, a chain reaction he was helpless against…
The day before the big showdown with the Circle of the Black Thorn.
‘What do you think all this means for that Shanshu bugaboo?’ Spike had asked. ‘If we make it through this, does one of us get to be a real boy?’
Angel had crossed his arms.
‘Who you kidding? We’re not gonna make it through.’
At the time, Spike had replied flippantly, unable to voice any of the feelings inside:
‘Well, long as it's not you.’
And it hadn’t been. Instead Angel was trapped forever, alone, and no one would ever come for him.
Spike still hadn’t been able to adequately sort through his own emotions: the loss, the grief, the (illogical) anger at having been abandoned, the kiss and all that it might mean, the fact of living in a place where Angel was imprinted in every corner and every room, his smell still lingering so Spike kept expecting to see him when he woke.
He thought that Nina was probably struggling with the same push-pull of the scent, but was holding up admirably. He wondered if she was counting the days, the way he had after Buffy died.
***
The building was shiny and modern, and Nina wondered whether that was a good sign or not. She tried to sound out new prospective sitters ahead of the first appointment, but this one had come via her previous client, and if she didn’t like him, well, she could easily make excuses.
Walking up to the reception desk Nina found her attention caught by a statue by the stairs — good, clean lines, and the bronze almost glowed under the carefully placed lights. She took it as a good omen, and too late registered the familiar scent which was followed a second later by Harmony’s voice ringing out:
“Oh my god, Nina! It’s been forever, how are you? How’s… everyone? Still with Angel, or did you guys break up?”
Nina felt as if she’d been struck by lightning, frozen in place, yet heard her voice reply, devoid of emotion:
“Angel’s dead.”
Harmony looked sad.
“Oh. Hamilton did say that he was going to squish him like a bug or something-”
“He sacrificed himself to destroy Wolfram & Hart,” Nina cut in, and Harmony blinked.
“You know, I heard something-” but then the intercom buzzed and Nina could thankfully make her way through to the office where a tall and pointy demon was waiting for her, and she desperately tried to ignore the barrage of memories (Harmony’s cheerful greetings every month; Angel’s awkward conversations before they had gotten together; that time in his office, after hours, and both Spike and Harmony had grinned the next day…)
“Miss Ash. Welcome.”
She managed to smile and say the right things, but all the while the grief was churning through her. She needed to get so very drunk tonight.
And then Harmony talked at her again when she left. Why the hell had she fallen in love with a hero anyway?
***
Buffy returned to a dark hotel, evening twilight turning into night.
A quick errand had turned into a long afternoon as she had run into her old poetry professor; he had offered belated condolences regarding her mother’s death, and in an instant the past years fell away, Sunnydale rising around her.
Bursting into tears had been unexpected — for her as well as for him — but he had been very kind and taken her into a cafe for catching up and general TLC. Once she’d managed to make herself presentable again, they had enjoyed a good chat. He had settled in LA ‘after Sunnydale’ and listened with great interest to the stories of her ‘ex-pat years’.
And had then thrown yet another bombshell into her path.
“You say you have come back to settle down — have you considered going back to college?”
She had stared at him, eyes wide and mouth opening without a sound.
“I — I don’t know,” she finally managed. “And I… lost everything. I was the last person to leave Sunnydale and I didn’t pack…”
He waved the objection away.
“There will be electronic records somewhere, I’ll be happy to get things moving.”
Noting the still stunned look on her face, he smiled.
“You can start by auditing, to get back into the swing of it all. I know it can be daunting, but I have several ‘mature students’ and they always bring something much more… interesting to the table than your average eighteen year old. Look, here’re my details. Let me know what you decide, okay? You were a good student, and I would love to see what you could achieve.”
She had walked home bewildered. Go back to studying? She had the time, certainly. Things were… good. It was nice, just to live. To only have three fellow Slayers in the whole of the city, who — although young — were competent and capable and that she found herself working with very well. To have Spike, in every way, to get used to believing that maybe they were allowed to be happy. To not have Giles or Andrew or Willow call her at any time of night and day with emergencies, or being surrounded by countless newly called Slayers who were always shy or nervous, or being in a country where she never felt quite at home…
Yes, things were good.
But in that quiet satisfaction, older hurts had begun raising their heads. All the issues she had consistently ignored or pushed away. Sunnydale-that-was was just down the road, and it had begun to make its way into her thoughts, almost unnoticed, but quietly, persistently and by now — unavoidably.
Bursting into tears had been embarrassing, but had also shown her that she couldn’t hide from the past any longer.
But maybe now was the time?
She wandered through the whole of the Hyperion before eventually finding Spike on the roof. It seemed his go-to place, watching the world at night.
Walking up to him, she leaned against the parapet.
Had it been this morning he’d done the failed spell? Felt like so much longer.
“Hi,” he said, and she silently acknowledged him. How to broach the subject? The studying — that could wait. He’d support her, she knew. But the rest… How often had she wished he was there, over the past years? How often had she wanted to talk, to work through things, to have him as a sounding board? How often had she worried because they lost touch because of all his travels? Well, now he was here. And she had better try to talk, or all this was for nothing.
“Buffy?” he asked, sensing her internal conflict, and she took a deep breath. Share. Talk. Open up. Go on Buffy, you can do it. He knows the best and the worst of you, and he still loves you…
“I… look, I don’t know. But…”
He waited, and slowly, haltingly, she tried to put everything into words. “Everything is fine, please don’t get the wrong idea, it’s not you, but, being here, being ‘home’... I ran away, after we won against The First. Ran to Europe, but all the while my home was just… this huge crater in ground. My whole life just — obliterated. And it’s like, what does that mean? I tried to hide in Rome and just live the Dolce Vita, and then I tried to be Buffy the Super Slayer, being the big boss in London and, like, it wasn’t bad, but looking back… I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
She wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he surprised her by nodding, before studying her with those expressive eyes that always seemed to see so much more than was reasonably possible.
“Me too,” he said. “Not a clue. My whole family is dead — except for Connor, but that’s obviously different what with him bein’ human and all, so, yeah. I feel lost.” A beat, then he added: “Maybe we should go have a look?”
“Look at what?” she asked, confused.
“The crater of Sunnydale. For like, what’s it called? Closure?”
She nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder, the leather soft against her cheek and the familiar smell like a balm to her frayed mind. Her very own piece of Sunnydale, right here.
“Closure sounds good,” she nodded.
***
Harmony stepped over the threshold of the Hyperion, heart metaphorically beating and practically glowing with good intentions.
She was faced with Spike and Buffy, dressed in leather head to foot, Buffy with a motorbike helmet in her hand, and both of them looking at her with open annoyance.
“Hello Harm, what you doin’ here?” Spike asked, in a voice which implied that he would put a stop to it as soon as possible, and she folded her arms and almost pouted.
“I have come to see Nina,” she replied (quite truthfully), “the only contact details she gave were this address.”
“Why do you need Nina?” Buffy asked, surprise overlaying annoyance, and Harmony did a quick internal deliberation, but then fastened her eyes on Spike: “She is doing a portrait of my boss, but I kinda accidentally overheard something about how he wanted to avenge Wolfram & Hart and I may have mentioned that Nina used to date Angel and now he is going to kill her and I came to warn her, because I care.”
Spike looked back, with that self-same skeptical look Angel had so often shot her.
“…and?”
They were so cynical. So, they might be right to be cynical, but it was still disappointing.
“And… he might also have discovered that I used to work for Angel, so…”
“So?” Buffy this time.
“Well, I need a new job, and Nina was saying how she is getting too busy with all her painting to work for you…”
She smiled her best smile, fluttering her eyelashes a little, and saw the second Spike gave in. (Oh, she still had it!) He turned to Buffy, who was now looking incredulous.
“Are you kidding?” she asked, and he shrugged. “Hey, if she screws up you can always stake her…”
Buffy sighed, then turned back to Harmony.
“Fine. What’s this guy’s name?”
***
Sitting by the Sunnydale crater, a crescent moon above them, Buffy leaned her head against Spike’s shoulder.
He’d been completely silent since they arrived, but eventually he spoke.
“Wish I’d known it was this huge. Could’ve rubbed Angel's nose in it — he never obliterated a town!”
She snorted, chuckling despite herself. Closure the Spike way, she should have known.
***
Buffy would be lying if she claimed to like the addition of Harmony to their lives, but she couldn’t deny that it was very useful.
Harmony was a genuinely good administrator (although Nina still looked after the money side), and could also be called on as a back-up fighter, meaning that Buffy didn’t feel guilty if she had Slayer-y commitments. The downside was of course that they couldn’t trust her, but they already had that problem with Adam, and Buffy figured that since both of them had stabbed people in the back in order to work with them, they deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Although there was also Eve of course, who they didn’t see often, but always went out of her way to be unpleasant, and whose latest bugbear was the fact that Adam had developed a huge crush on Harmony, and if she found the two of them in bed…
Spike had merely shrugged and remarked that as long as it wasn’t during work hours, it wasn’t his problem.
The fact that this had happened when Faith had come to visit was of course just an additional ‘bonus’. Faith had leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she observed the dramatics, called Harmony a cradle snatcher and Eve a stuck-up bitch, and generally appreciated the show greatly; remarking to Buffy afterwards that this ‘quiet life’ of hers was not exactly what Faith had imagined.
“Jealous?” Buffy asked, and Faith had burst out laughing.
The day had ended with a sinful amount of alcohol at Lorne’s new bar, talking about anything and everything — but especially Angel — until dawn, and Buffy was beginning to appreciate ‘closure’ and facing her demons, whichever face they wore.
***
Life went on.
Buffy started auditing and began to remember why she had liked studying, once upon a time, in a different life. And Spike took her to a bar where they had an open mike night for poetry readings — the crowd seemed to be all leather-clad bikers, but friendly and supportive, and she felt like she was getting another small piece of the jigsaw.
Then Nina painted a portrait of Angel which made Buffy cry. Not bursting-into-tears, she didn’t even realise until Nina asked her if she was okay, and when she felt her cheek it was wet.
“I…” she stopped, shook her head. “I have a lot of… feelings, that I don’t think I ever dealt with properly.”
Both Nina and Spike were now watching her, silently and expectantly, before Spike finally spoke.
“Would this be about you rushing off to find a way to save him back in the summer?”
She nodded, studying the painting in order to avoid looking at either of them. Angel was looking straight out, gaze unflinching, pale but determined. But the rest was black, his black unbuttoned shirt fading into the black background, and he somehow looked both like a ghost and simultaneously so real she felt she could almost reach out and touch his familiar features. She half suspected witch-craft, but also understood why Nina was so in demand.
Still, she knew what the issue was — her consistent failure to save Angel. She had lost him his soul, and then sent him to hell, and she had never ever been able to save him… Not then, not now.
“You tried to save him?” Nina asked, eyes wide, after Buffy attempted to explain, and moments later Buffy found herself wrapped in Nina’s arms.
“It didn’t work,” Buffy said, superfluously, but Nina shook her head.
“Doesn’t matter. You tried.”
Dimly, Buffy registered Spike in the distance muttering about ‘Women’, before adding that he was going to fetch a hammer and some nails, as he wanted to hang the painting in the foyer, if that was OK?
A few weeks later Spike had a vision which through a convoluted series of events led to them meeting a guy (‘Call me David’) who could have been Andrew’s nerdier older brother, but had once known Angel & co and was thrilled to meet what he called ‘The Next Generation’. Since he was loaded (something computer related, Buffy zoned out), Harmony of course attached herself like a burr and Spike had to take Adam out for drinks and commiserations.
At least Angel Investigations was slowly, but steadily, getting cases, and Spike found it in equal measures ridiculous and annoying that he would have to do things like file tax returns.
Connor stopped by regularly and Buffy tried to drop hints about Dawn, since she had been too busy to try to set them up in the summer. Connor seemed impervious however, although he was a safe pair of hands, and Spike always cheered up when he visited.
Christmas came and went (in sunny LA, with no magic snow or British rain) and for the first time in years Buffy didn’t wish herself somewhere else. It was just Christmas, with cheesy decorations (Spike and Harmony went all out) and a mish-mash of different traditions and the excitement of opening stockings on Christmas morning, and Buffy thought she might actually be happy; which led to her becoming paranoid for several weeks, certain that the world was coming to an end.
Spike tried his best to convince her that the really very small apocalypse that they foiled shortly afterwards was completely unrelated, and told her to go sing for Lorne just to put her mind to rest. Reluctantly (but unable to refute his logic) she sang for Lorne, who just smiled, called her three different kinds of pastries, and told her to go learn to just live.
And so, bit by bit, their little world became the new normal.
One night Buffy had asked Spike to come patrol with her (it was Spring Break, and the other Slayers had gone to make sure lots of young people didn’t get murdered, which was very clearly just an excuse for them to party for a week), but apart from a few stray vamps it was a quiet night. Too quiet almost, so when Spike grasped his head, trying to bite back a scream, Buffy mostly looked forwards to what would hopefully be a good and satisfying fight.
Except Spike collapsed, fingers digging into his skull, and after a second Buffy realised something was wrong.
“Spike? Spike?”
But when she reached him he’d gone limp and unconscious, and no amount of yelling or shaking could wake him again.
Chapter 33 on LJ
Chapter 33 on DW
Can also be found on AO3.
It is interesting creating content out of nothing... I mean, I always knew where I was going, but about 95% of this chapter never existed before. :) Also, I can let you know that after this there will be two more chapters and then an epilogue.
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): 3600 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyhSpike felt Buffy’s eyes on him as he continued to prepare for the ritual, grateful for Adam’s matter-of-fact demeanour without which the atmosphere would have been even more strained.
Why’d she have to bring up Angel? Illyria — Illyria would have answers. Illyria was a bitch, but she was his, dammit, and he needed her.
He checked everything one final time — the symbols, the knife, the goat; they were ready, they were doing this.
If the room exploded, well, so be it.
Except it didn’t.
For a moment he thought that despite everything they must have made a mistake somewhere, as nothing at all happened, the seconds stretching as the blood poured into the circle (his stomach rumbled, which was just typical, but all that lovely fresh blood going to waste…) — and then a quick flicker in the air, like a tv screen springing to life, before an image appeared which Spike recognised as Illyria’s original form.
And then her voice rang out, a bit crackly, as if coming from an old-fashioned answering machine:
“Thank you for your sacrifice. It has not currently been possible to contact Illyria, nor can you leave a message. Blessings upon you and keep the faith.”
Then the image winked out.
Staring at the empty air Spike didn’t even notice the blood which had now reached his boots.
“What the…” he began, voice trailing off, before slowly turning to Buffy.
But she had already left.
What now?
At the back of his mind, so far back that it had taken weeks upon weeks for him to acknowledge it, he’d held Illyria in reserve. Not in the sense of being able to save her in any way, but as a higher power who could make sense of things. Someone… more. His goddess.
She’d been downgraded, but she couldn’t die.
Except.
He stopped, ignoring Adam who was now asking questions.
Maybe she had been trapped by Wolfram & Hart somehow? As stuck as Angel? Or maybe she’d just had enough of humanity and the dullness of mortal creatures and decided to stay put on a higher plane?
All of a sudden he was very tired.
The night before had been exhausting on its own — the big fight with the biker gangs, followed by a long chat with Adam which had led to the somewhat impulsive decision to attempt to summon Illyria. And now…
“Spike!”
The boy was literally waving a hand in front of his face. “What now? What was that?”
Sighing, Spike looked around, realised the floor was covered in blood and magical symbols and that Adam was still holding onto the now very dead goat.
He also realised that he’d get the bollocking from hell if he left the basement like this — and not just from Buffy.
Nina was quite proprietary when it came to the basement, and would not relish a floor covered in blood (although when was the next full moon? She might appreciate the goat…) That said, he was tempted to leave the Aurelius symbol — it was quite pretty, and had done exactly nothing, so it seemed safe. The rest however...
“What happens now kid, is that we clean up. We’re on our own.”
When they finally got out of the basement Buffy had gone out, but had left a note with information about a potential client.
Spike sat down at the desk to call, but…
But she had mentioned ‘the A word’ and now his thoughts, like stampeding wildebeests, ran straight to the events he had tried to block out; Willow’s spell, The First appearing, that initial blind panic followed by gut-level nausea… Because he knew.
Knew what it was like to be in The First’s power, to have endless faces from the past haunt and torment — nothing was real except the pain and the guilt and the self-loathing, and knowing that Angel was stuck, that they were utterly helpless, he (as always) heard Pavayne’s voice whispering in his ear, unbidden and unavoidable:
‘Look... hell knows you're ready, plump and ripe. Beginning to understand, aren't you? The soul that blesses you...damns you to suffer — forever.’
The Shanshu had always been a chimera, and all they got was a temporary reprieve. The memories were now like dominoes, a chain reaction he was helpless against…
The day before the big showdown with the Circle of the Black Thorn.
‘What do you think all this means for that Shanshu bugaboo?’ Spike had asked. ‘If we make it through this, does one of us get to be a real boy?’
Angel had crossed his arms.
‘Who you kidding? We’re not gonna make it through.’
At the time, Spike had replied flippantly, unable to voice any of the feelings inside:
‘Well, long as it's not you.’
And it hadn’t been. Instead Angel was trapped forever, alone, and no one would ever come for him.
Spike still hadn’t been able to adequately sort through his own emotions: the loss, the grief, the (illogical) anger at having been abandoned, the kiss and all that it might mean, the fact of living in a place where Angel was imprinted in every corner and every room, his smell still lingering so Spike kept expecting to see him when he woke.
He thought that Nina was probably struggling with the same push-pull of the scent, but was holding up admirably. He wondered if she was counting the days, the way he had after Buffy died.
The building was shiny and modern, and Nina wondered whether that was a good sign or not. She tried to sound out new prospective sitters ahead of the first appointment, but this one had come via her previous client, and if she didn’t like him, well, she could easily make excuses.
Walking up to the reception desk Nina found her attention caught by a statue by the stairs — good, clean lines, and the bronze almost glowed under the carefully placed lights. She took it as a good omen, and too late registered the familiar scent which was followed a second later by Harmony’s voice ringing out:
“Oh my god, Nina! It’s been forever, how are you? How’s… everyone? Still with Angel, or did you guys break up?”
Nina felt as if she’d been struck by lightning, frozen in place, yet heard her voice reply, devoid of emotion:
“Angel’s dead.”
Harmony looked sad.
“Oh. Hamilton did say that he was going to squish him like a bug or something-”
“He sacrificed himself to destroy Wolfram & Hart,” Nina cut in, and Harmony blinked.
“You know, I heard something-” but then the intercom buzzed and Nina could thankfully make her way through to the office where a tall and pointy demon was waiting for her, and she desperately tried to ignore the barrage of memories (Harmony’s cheerful greetings every month; Angel’s awkward conversations before they had gotten together; that time in his office, after hours, and both Spike and Harmony had grinned the next day…)
“Miss Ash. Welcome.”
She managed to smile and say the right things, but all the while the grief was churning through her. She needed to get so very drunk tonight.
And then Harmony talked at her again when she left. Why the hell had she fallen in love with a hero anyway?
Buffy returned to a dark hotel, evening twilight turning into night.
A quick errand had turned into a long afternoon as she had run into her old poetry professor; he had offered belated condolences regarding her mother’s death, and in an instant the past years fell away, Sunnydale rising around her.
Bursting into tears had been unexpected — for her as well as for him — but he had been very kind and taken her into a cafe for catching up and general TLC. Once she’d managed to make herself presentable again, they had enjoyed a good chat. He had settled in LA ‘after Sunnydale’ and listened with great interest to the stories of her ‘ex-pat years’.
And had then thrown yet another bombshell into her path.
“You say you have come back to settle down — have you considered going back to college?”
She had stared at him, eyes wide and mouth opening without a sound.
“I — I don’t know,” she finally managed. “And I… lost everything. I was the last person to leave Sunnydale and I didn’t pack…”
He waved the objection away.
“There will be electronic records somewhere, I’ll be happy to get things moving.”
Noting the still stunned look on her face, he smiled.
“You can start by auditing, to get back into the swing of it all. I know it can be daunting, but I have several ‘mature students’ and they always bring something much more… interesting to the table than your average eighteen year old. Look, here’re my details. Let me know what you decide, okay? You were a good student, and I would love to see what you could achieve.”
She had walked home bewildered. Go back to studying? She had the time, certainly. Things were… good. It was nice, just to live. To only have three fellow Slayers in the whole of the city, who — although young — were competent and capable and that she found herself working with very well. To have Spike, in every way, to get used to believing that maybe they were allowed to be happy. To not have Giles or Andrew or Willow call her at any time of night and day with emergencies, or being surrounded by countless newly called Slayers who were always shy or nervous, or being in a country where she never felt quite at home…
Yes, things were good.
But in that quiet satisfaction, older hurts had begun raising their heads. All the issues she had consistently ignored or pushed away. Sunnydale-that-was was just down the road, and it had begun to make its way into her thoughts, almost unnoticed, but quietly, persistently and by now — unavoidably.
Bursting into tears had been embarrassing, but had also shown her that she couldn’t hide from the past any longer.
But maybe now was the time?
She wandered through the whole of the Hyperion before eventually finding Spike on the roof. It seemed his go-to place, watching the world at night.
Walking up to him, she leaned against the parapet.
Had it been this morning he’d done the failed spell? Felt like so much longer.
“Hi,” he said, and she silently acknowledged him. How to broach the subject? The studying — that could wait. He’d support her, she knew. But the rest… How often had she wished he was there, over the past years? How often had she wanted to talk, to work through things, to have him as a sounding board? How often had she worried because they lost touch because of all his travels? Well, now he was here. And she had better try to talk, or all this was for nothing.
“Buffy?” he asked, sensing her internal conflict, and she took a deep breath. Share. Talk. Open up. Go on Buffy, you can do it. He knows the best and the worst of you, and he still loves you…
“I… look, I don’t know. But…”
He waited, and slowly, haltingly, she tried to put everything into words. “Everything is fine, please don’t get the wrong idea, it’s not you, but, being here, being ‘home’... I ran away, after we won against The First. Ran to Europe, but all the while my home was just… this huge crater in ground. My whole life just — obliterated. And it’s like, what does that mean? I tried to hide in Rome and just live the Dolce Vita, and then I tried to be Buffy the Super Slayer, being the big boss in London and, like, it wasn’t bad, but looking back… I don’t even know who I am anymore.”
She wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he surprised her by nodding, before studying her with those expressive eyes that always seemed to see so much more than was reasonably possible.
“Me too,” he said. “Not a clue. My whole family is dead — except for Connor, but that’s obviously different what with him bein’ human and all, so, yeah. I feel lost.” A beat, then he added: “Maybe we should go have a look?”
“Look at what?” she asked, confused.
“The crater of Sunnydale. For like, what’s it called? Closure?”
She nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder, the leather soft against her cheek and the familiar smell like a balm to her frayed mind. Her very own piece of Sunnydale, right here.
“Closure sounds good,” she nodded.
Harmony stepped over the threshold of the Hyperion, heart metaphorically beating and practically glowing with good intentions.
She was faced with Spike and Buffy, dressed in leather head to foot, Buffy with a motorbike helmet in her hand, and both of them looking at her with open annoyance.
“Hello Harm, what you doin’ here?” Spike asked, in a voice which implied that he would put a stop to it as soon as possible, and she folded her arms and almost pouted.
“I have come to see Nina,” she replied (quite truthfully), “the only contact details she gave were this address.”
“Why do you need Nina?” Buffy asked, surprise overlaying annoyance, and Harmony did a quick internal deliberation, but then fastened her eyes on Spike: “She is doing a portrait of my boss, but I kinda accidentally overheard something about how he wanted to avenge Wolfram & Hart and I may have mentioned that Nina used to date Angel and now he is going to kill her and I came to warn her, because I care.”
Spike looked back, with that self-same skeptical look Angel had so often shot her.
“…and?”
They were so cynical. So, they might be right to be cynical, but it was still disappointing.
“And… he might also have discovered that I used to work for Angel, so…”
“So?” Buffy this time.
“Well, I need a new job, and Nina was saying how she is getting too busy with all her painting to work for you…”
She smiled her best smile, fluttering her eyelashes a little, and saw the second Spike gave in. (Oh, she still had it!) He turned to Buffy, who was now looking incredulous.
“Are you kidding?” she asked, and he shrugged. “Hey, if she screws up you can always stake her…”
Buffy sighed, then turned back to Harmony.
“Fine. What’s this guy’s name?”
Sitting by the Sunnydale crater, a crescent moon above them, Buffy leaned her head against Spike’s shoulder.
He’d been completely silent since they arrived, but eventually he spoke.
“Wish I’d known it was this huge. Could’ve rubbed Angel's nose in it — he never obliterated a town!”
She snorted, chuckling despite herself. Closure the Spike way, she should have known.
Buffy would be lying if she claimed to like the addition of Harmony to their lives, but she couldn’t deny that it was very useful.
Harmony was a genuinely good administrator (although Nina still looked after the money side), and could also be called on as a back-up fighter, meaning that Buffy didn’t feel guilty if she had Slayer-y commitments. The downside was of course that they couldn’t trust her, but they already had that problem with Adam, and Buffy figured that since both of them had stabbed people in the back in order to work with them, they deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Although there was also Eve of course, who they didn’t see often, but always went out of her way to be unpleasant, and whose latest bugbear was the fact that Adam had developed a huge crush on Harmony, and if she found the two of them in bed…
Spike had merely shrugged and remarked that as long as it wasn’t during work hours, it wasn’t his problem.
The fact that this had happened when Faith had come to visit was of course just an additional ‘bonus’. Faith had leaned against the wall, arms crossed as she observed the dramatics, called Harmony a cradle snatcher and Eve a stuck-up bitch, and generally appreciated the show greatly; remarking to Buffy afterwards that this ‘quiet life’ of hers was not exactly what Faith had imagined.
“Jealous?” Buffy asked, and Faith had burst out laughing.
The day had ended with a sinful amount of alcohol at Lorne’s new bar, talking about anything and everything — but especially Angel — until dawn, and Buffy was beginning to appreciate ‘closure’ and facing her demons, whichever face they wore.
Life went on.
Buffy started auditing and began to remember why she had liked studying, once upon a time, in a different life. And Spike took her to a bar where they had an open mike night for poetry readings — the crowd seemed to be all leather-clad bikers, but friendly and supportive, and she felt like she was getting another small piece of the jigsaw.
Then Nina painted a portrait of Angel which made Buffy cry. Not bursting-into-tears, she didn’t even realise until Nina asked her if she was okay, and when she felt her cheek it was wet.
“I…” she stopped, shook her head. “I have a lot of… feelings, that I don’t think I ever dealt with properly.”
Both Nina and Spike were now watching her, silently and expectantly, before Spike finally spoke.
“Would this be about you rushing off to find a way to save him back in the summer?”
She nodded, studying the painting in order to avoid looking at either of them. Angel was looking straight out, gaze unflinching, pale but determined. But the rest was black, his black unbuttoned shirt fading into the black background, and he somehow looked both like a ghost and simultaneously so real she felt she could almost reach out and touch his familiar features. She half suspected witch-craft, but also understood why Nina was so in demand.
Still, she knew what the issue was — her consistent failure to save Angel. She had lost him his soul, and then sent him to hell, and she had never ever been able to save him… Not then, not now.
“You tried to save him?” Nina asked, eyes wide, after Buffy attempted to explain, and moments later Buffy found herself wrapped in Nina’s arms.
“It didn’t work,” Buffy said, superfluously, but Nina shook her head.
“Doesn’t matter. You tried.”
Dimly, Buffy registered Spike in the distance muttering about ‘Women’, before adding that he was going to fetch a hammer and some nails, as he wanted to hang the painting in the foyer, if that was OK?
A few weeks later Spike had a vision which through a convoluted series of events led to them meeting a guy (‘Call me David’) who could have been Andrew’s nerdier older brother, but had once known Angel & co and was thrilled to meet what he called ‘The Next Generation’. Since he was loaded (something computer related, Buffy zoned out), Harmony of course attached herself like a burr and Spike had to take Adam out for drinks and commiserations.
At least Angel Investigations was slowly, but steadily, getting cases, and Spike found it in equal measures ridiculous and annoying that he would have to do things like file tax returns.
Connor stopped by regularly and Buffy tried to drop hints about Dawn, since she had been too busy to try to set them up in the summer. Connor seemed impervious however, although he was a safe pair of hands, and Spike always cheered up when he visited.
Christmas came and went (in sunny LA, with no magic snow or British rain) and for the first time in years Buffy didn’t wish herself somewhere else. It was just Christmas, with cheesy decorations (Spike and Harmony went all out) and a mish-mash of different traditions and the excitement of opening stockings on Christmas morning, and Buffy thought she might actually be happy; which led to her becoming paranoid for several weeks, certain that the world was coming to an end.
Spike tried his best to convince her that the really very small apocalypse that they foiled shortly afterwards was completely unrelated, and told her to go sing for Lorne just to put her mind to rest. Reluctantly (but unable to refute his logic) she sang for Lorne, who just smiled, called her three different kinds of pastries, and told her to go learn to just live.
And so, bit by bit, their little world became the new normal.
One night Buffy had asked Spike to come patrol with her (it was Spring Break, and the other Slayers had gone to make sure lots of young people didn’t get murdered, which was very clearly just an excuse for them to party for a week), but apart from a few stray vamps it was a quiet night. Too quiet almost, so when Spike grasped his head, trying to bite back a scream, Buffy mostly looked forwards to what would hopefully be a good and satisfying fight.
Except Spike collapsed, fingers digging into his skull, and after a second Buffy realised something was wrong.
“Spike? Spike?”
But when she reached him he’d gone limp and unconscious, and no amount of yelling or shaking could wake him again.
Chapter 33 on LJ
Chapter 33 on DW
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I am good at cliffhanging! :D