Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 33
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.
So, this chapter was a bitca. I don't even know why, but there you are. Hope the result is... not disappointing.
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): 1800 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 33
“Oh. Thought that would be a vision, how odd…”
Spike’s voice trailed off as Buffy ignored what he was saying completely, instead running past him and falling to her knees beside… his body, which was lying on the ground a few feet away.
He stared open-mouthed for a moment, then cautiously walked up to her and tried to tap her shoulder, but his hand went straight through her.
Blinking in surprise at the impossible déjà vu, he shook his head:
“Oh bloody hell, not again!”
Buffy was now shaking him — or his body, rather — and yelling his name, and Spike pinched the bridge of his nose.
He wasn’t dusty, his body was right there, so why the ghostlies?
Well, he could worry about that later, for now he needed to contact Buffy.
Reality bends to desire.
He could do this.
Taking a deep, unneeded breath, he tried to gather together all his will power. Just a tap on the shoulder first…
To his immense relief she felt something, half-turning and looking around in confusion, but before he could work out where to go from here (how to convey a message? He needed something write on — or maybe he could just get back into his body?) a voice spoke his name.
Looking up he saw a pointy-faced, dark haired, vaguely familiar-looking bloke standing next to him.
“Never seen anyone able to do that before. However, it won’t help.”
Spike frowned.
“So… you can see me? What the hell is going on? And… who are you?”
“I’m Doyle. We met before, you may remember me? I was Angel’s friend once, and his link to the Powers That Be.”
Spike took a moment, searched back to… The Gem of Amarra? Ah yes, there he was. That accent was unmistakable.
“Yeah, I remember. You an’ Cordy. So what do you want with me?”
“Well, I still work for the Powers. And… I’m afraid you have to come with me. There is some unfinished business.”
Spike’s instinct was to argue, but then his brain caught up with the situation and what it might mean. The Powers That Be and… ‘unfinished business’. He pursed his lips.
“Alright then. But make it snappy, don’t want Buffy upset for much longer.”
Doyle nodded and then — the world faded away and they found themselves in an Irish pub. A proper Irish pub, not an American knock-off with shamrocks everywhere. There were other people in the pub, but they all seemed oddly out of focus. And somewhere there was someone singing ‘Danny Boy’, but looking around he couldn’t pinpoint who it was.
He was standing next to a table, however, and Doyle was already taking a seat. Wary, but not complaining since there were two pints on the table, Spike sat himself down across from Doyle.
“That was quick,” he remarked. “Where are we? Didn’t think the Powers went in for Danny Boy…”
“It’s… Well, it’s kinda like The Matrix?” Doyle replied. “A sort of virtual reality where we can talk things through in peace.”
“That don’t explain why it’s a pub,” Spike observed, and Doyle lifted his pint.
“Been forever since I’ve had a drink, hope you won’t begrudge me the opportunity for a Guinness?”
Chuckling, Spike lifted his own glass in salute. He liked this guy’s attitude.
“Fair nuff mate. Cheers.”
Doyle smiled back, took a thoughtful sip, then leaned back in his seat.
“Where to start? Well, once upon a time there was a prophecy, or, more accurately, a whole bunch of them… Except prophecies are not always straightforward.”
“Preaching to the choir, mate.”
Doyle looked mildly annoyed:
“Look, I am trying to set out the basic parameters here, okay? I have a script to follow.”
“Fine, carry on,” Spike replied, trying not to roll his eyes. He’d never had any patience for this kind of nonsense, and he didn’t like to feel helpless; but he supposed it wasn’t Doyle’s fault.
“So, vampire with a soul, our very own broody giant with the overhanging forehead, the one with the destiny and all the prophecies as you know. Except then you came along, saving the world and what-not. Remember when you were made corporeal again? And the universe went out of whack?”
Spike thought back. Big box with a flash of nothing and…
Touch and taste and feel and Harmony (he was pretty sure she was keeping their ‘Nooner’ — such as it had been — in reserve for blackmail purposes in case he felt like firing her) and…
Angel, slowly getting up from the floor in the dusty and dirty theatre where fake Watcher guy had placed the fake Cup of Torment; bloodied, in pain, but deathly serious:
‘So ask yourself: Is this really the destiny that was meant for you? Do you even really want it? Or is it that you just want to take something away from me?’
At the time, Spike had been too angry and too triumphant to even bother considering the question with any seriousness, but now…
Trying to affect nonchalance, he replied:
“When Harmony was crying blood and all that? All ‘cause there were two Champions that both fit the bill, so we had to settle it, so Angel and I had that big pointless fight over the Cup of Mountain Dew?”
“That’s the one. Now as you may remember, The Senior Partners fixed the imbalance, but it was always just a temporary thing, waiting for one of you to fulfill the Shanshu. Which would have been all well and good… except for Angel taking down the Circle of the Black Thorn.”
Spike drummed his fingers on the table, frowning. The singer had finished Danny Boy and was now starting on a song he didn’t know, but it was equally as maudlin. He could have done without the soundtrack if he was honest, and did his best to block it out.
“But didn’t Angel get a vision about that? Wasn’t it something planned by the Powers?”
Doyle nodded.
“And that’s where it gets complicated. The Powers decided to use Angel’s position as CEO to attack Wolfram & Hart, but didn’t foresee that the Circle would make him sign away the Shanshu.”
Spike grasped onto the pint again, wishing for strength.
“I know all this, can we skip to the reason I’m here?”
“Patience, young Padawan-”
“Look kid, I’m old enough to be your great-great-grandfather, just bloody talk to me!”
Doyle sighed and may or may not have muttered something about vampires, the words muffled by the glass as he lifted it for another mouthful. Setting it down on the table, he composed himself.
“Right so, The Key. As you know, the enemies of Wolfram & Hart created it to destroy their power by severing the link they had set up with The First, but the Senior Partners got wind of it. Took the Key, killed its energy, broke it and scattered it in the safest places they could think of. However, they were well aware of the Shanshu prophecy, and that at some point some tenacious hero-type was likely to do what you did, so they went one step further. They couldn’t undo the Key’s purpose, but they could add another clause — and they did: It could only be brought back to life by a member of the Black Thorn; the group of people who were singularly focussed on the upkeep of Wolfram & Hart’s apocalypse. It must have seemed like the perfect failsafe.”
Spike stared, the words unleashing a whole row of dominoes that started falling, one after another.
“That’s- That’s why-”
That’s why Angel had done it. That’s why that final desperate kiss. The urgent message. Angel hadn’t known beforehand, Spike was sure of it. Christ. What a curveball.
Doyle nodded, and then continued, unaware of the emotional upheaval which the words had caused.
“Aye. Extra insurance, since they knew someone on that level would be unlikely to destroy their own power. Except if they were a self-sacrificial hero type like Angel — which is why they made him sign away the Shanshu. And therein lies our problem.”
Figuring he knew what came next, Spike nodded.
“Right, go on.”
Doyle raised an eyebrow, and pushed his Guinness out of the way:
“The only person who could use The Key had signed away the reward. And this wasn’t just a nice cruise around the Mediterranean, it was a very big, important prophecy, hardwired into the past and the future. Angel fulfilled the prophecy — but he also signed it away. In his own blood and so forth. And so we have a delightful catch-22. And a whole universe that could go belly-up at any moment.”
“Hang on-” Spike held up a hand, remembering the army that had greeted them in ‘The Home Office’. “Wesley and Charlie-boy, saying they were there to save the world from us…”
Doyle nodded.
“Exactly. If Angel used The Key, there would be no more Senior Partners to hold things together, just a massive hole in the fabric of reality, going to swallow up… everything. A big blank nothing.”
Spike shook his head, thrown.
“But it’s still there. Well, there was some upheaval when Wolfram & Hart fell, but the Slayers sorted that, pretty much. No holes in reality, and I think we’d have noticed…”
“Ah now,” Doyle replied. “This is where things are never as straightforward as they look. What no one foresaw was that in the middle of all this was an Old One.”
“Illyria…”
“Bingo. Not quite what she was, but strong enough to hold reality together.” Doyle tilted his head. “Well, I guess they knew that, they just didn’t figure she’d care that much…”
Spike smiled, pleased. No wonder she’d been too busy to answer him.
“She’s got a vested interest now, oh yes. Might have slipped the notice of the higher ups, but then I don’t think they ever really cared about understanding the internet?”
Doyle blinked, looking a little confused.
“… No, I don’t think that ever came up. However, although The Powers are happy she stepped in, they don’t like the solution, and really don’t like loose ends, especially when it comes to prophecies. And they have now finally decided what to do — which is why you are here.”
Spike tried to appear unaffected, lifting his chin.
“About time. What’s the verdict?”
Doyle seemed to hesitate.
“You’re a Victorian, you’ll know your Bible. Remember the story of Abraham being asked to sacrifice Isaac?”
Spike took another sip of his not-real beer, and unearthed the story from whichever dusty place he’d assigned it to. Abraham had been asked to sacrifice Isaac, his only son, but at the very very last minute Old Testament God had intervened and said to sacrifice a sheep instead ‘cause he’d proven himself…
He scratched his head.
“Don’t follow you mate.”
Doyle fixed him with a serious look.
“Well, I thought it’d be quite simple: because you were ready and willing to do it, it still counts, even if you didn’t actually do the deed.”
As the significance sunk in, Doyle lifted his pint in salute:
“In short — I am here to tell you: the Shanshu is yours. Congratulations Champion, and welcome to humanity.”
Chapter 34 on LJ
Chapter 34 on DW
Can also be found on AO3.
So, this chapter was a bitca. I don't even know why, but there you are. Hope the result is... not disappointing.
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): 1800 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyh“Oh. Thought that would be a vision, how odd…”
Spike’s voice trailed off as Buffy ignored what he was saying completely, instead running past him and falling to her knees beside… his body, which was lying on the ground a few feet away.
He stared open-mouthed for a moment, then cautiously walked up to her and tried to tap her shoulder, but his hand went straight through her.
Blinking in surprise at the impossible déjà vu, he shook his head:
“Oh bloody hell, not again!”
Buffy was now shaking him — or his body, rather — and yelling his name, and Spike pinched the bridge of his nose.
He wasn’t dusty, his body was right there, so why the ghostlies?
Well, he could worry about that later, for now he needed to contact Buffy.
Reality bends to desire.
He could do this.
Taking a deep, unneeded breath, he tried to gather together all his will power. Just a tap on the shoulder first…
To his immense relief she felt something, half-turning and looking around in confusion, but before he could work out where to go from here (how to convey a message? He needed something write on — or maybe he could just get back into his body?) a voice spoke his name.
Looking up he saw a pointy-faced, dark haired, vaguely familiar-looking bloke standing next to him.
“Never seen anyone able to do that before. However, it won’t help.”
Spike frowned.
“So… you can see me? What the hell is going on? And… who are you?”
“I’m Doyle. We met before, you may remember me? I was Angel’s friend once, and his link to the Powers That Be.”
Spike took a moment, searched back to… The Gem of Amarra? Ah yes, there he was. That accent was unmistakable.
“Yeah, I remember. You an’ Cordy. So what do you want with me?”
“Well, I still work for the Powers. And… I’m afraid you have to come with me. There is some unfinished business.”
Spike’s instinct was to argue, but then his brain caught up with the situation and what it might mean. The Powers That Be and… ‘unfinished business’. He pursed his lips.
“Alright then. But make it snappy, don’t want Buffy upset for much longer.”
Doyle nodded and then — the world faded away and they found themselves in an Irish pub. A proper Irish pub, not an American knock-off with shamrocks everywhere. There were other people in the pub, but they all seemed oddly out of focus. And somewhere there was someone singing ‘Danny Boy’, but looking around he couldn’t pinpoint who it was.
He was standing next to a table, however, and Doyle was already taking a seat. Wary, but not complaining since there were two pints on the table, Spike sat himself down across from Doyle.
“That was quick,” he remarked. “Where are we? Didn’t think the Powers went in for Danny Boy…”
“It’s… Well, it’s kinda like The Matrix?” Doyle replied. “A sort of virtual reality where we can talk things through in peace.”
“That don’t explain why it’s a pub,” Spike observed, and Doyle lifted his pint.
“Been forever since I’ve had a drink, hope you won’t begrudge me the opportunity for a Guinness?”
Chuckling, Spike lifted his own glass in salute. He liked this guy’s attitude.
“Fair nuff mate. Cheers.”
Doyle smiled back, took a thoughtful sip, then leaned back in his seat.
“Where to start? Well, once upon a time there was a prophecy, or, more accurately, a whole bunch of them… Except prophecies are not always straightforward.”
“Preaching to the choir, mate.”
Doyle looked mildly annoyed:
“Look, I am trying to set out the basic parameters here, okay? I have a script to follow.”
“Fine, carry on,” Spike replied, trying not to roll his eyes. He’d never had any patience for this kind of nonsense, and he didn’t like to feel helpless; but he supposed it wasn’t Doyle’s fault.
“So, vampire with a soul, our very own broody giant with the overhanging forehead, the one with the destiny and all the prophecies as you know. Except then you came along, saving the world and what-not. Remember when you were made corporeal again? And the universe went out of whack?”
Spike thought back. Big box with a flash of nothing and…
Touch and taste and feel and Harmony (he was pretty sure she was keeping their ‘Nooner’ — such as it had been — in reserve for blackmail purposes in case he felt like firing her) and…
Angel, slowly getting up from the floor in the dusty and dirty theatre where fake Watcher guy had placed the fake Cup of Torment; bloodied, in pain, but deathly serious:
‘So ask yourself: Is this really the destiny that was meant for you? Do you even really want it? Or is it that you just want to take something away from me?’
At the time, Spike had been too angry and too triumphant to even bother considering the question with any seriousness, but now…
Trying to affect nonchalance, he replied:
“When Harmony was crying blood and all that? All ‘cause there were two Champions that both fit the bill, so we had to settle it, so Angel and I had that big pointless fight over the Cup of Mountain Dew?”
“That’s the one. Now as you may remember, The Senior Partners fixed the imbalance, but it was always just a temporary thing, waiting for one of you to fulfill the Shanshu. Which would have been all well and good… except for Angel taking down the Circle of the Black Thorn.”
Spike drummed his fingers on the table, frowning. The singer had finished Danny Boy and was now starting on a song he didn’t know, but it was equally as maudlin. He could have done without the soundtrack if he was honest, and did his best to block it out.
“But didn’t Angel get a vision about that? Wasn’t it something planned by the Powers?”
Doyle nodded.
“And that’s where it gets complicated. The Powers decided to use Angel’s position as CEO to attack Wolfram & Hart, but didn’t foresee that the Circle would make him sign away the Shanshu.”
Spike grasped onto the pint again, wishing for strength.
“I know all this, can we skip to the reason I’m here?”
“Patience, young Padawan-”
“Look kid, I’m old enough to be your great-great-grandfather, just bloody talk to me!”
Doyle sighed and may or may not have muttered something about vampires, the words muffled by the glass as he lifted it for another mouthful. Setting it down on the table, he composed himself.
“Right so, The Key. As you know, the enemies of Wolfram & Hart created it to destroy their power by severing the link they had set up with The First, but the Senior Partners got wind of it. Took the Key, killed its energy, broke it and scattered it in the safest places they could think of. However, they were well aware of the Shanshu prophecy, and that at some point some tenacious hero-type was likely to do what you did, so they went one step further. They couldn’t undo the Key’s purpose, but they could add another clause — and they did: It could only be brought back to life by a member of the Black Thorn; the group of people who were singularly focussed on the upkeep of Wolfram & Hart’s apocalypse. It must have seemed like the perfect failsafe.”
Spike stared, the words unleashing a whole row of dominoes that started falling, one after another.
“That’s- That’s why-”
That’s why Angel had done it. That’s why that final desperate kiss. The urgent message. Angel hadn’t known beforehand, Spike was sure of it. Christ. What a curveball.
Doyle nodded, and then continued, unaware of the emotional upheaval which the words had caused.
“Aye. Extra insurance, since they knew someone on that level would be unlikely to destroy their own power. Except if they were a self-sacrificial hero type like Angel — which is why they made him sign away the Shanshu. And therein lies our problem.”
Figuring he knew what came next, Spike nodded.
“Right, go on.”
Doyle raised an eyebrow, and pushed his Guinness out of the way:
“The only person who could use The Key had signed away the reward. And this wasn’t just a nice cruise around the Mediterranean, it was a very big, important prophecy, hardwired into the past and the future. Angel fulfilled the prophecy — but he also signed it away. In his own blood and so forth. And so we have a delightful catch-22. And a whole universe that could go belly-up at any moment.”
“Hang on-” Spike held up a hand, remembering the army that had greeted them in ‘The Home Office’. “Wesley and Charlie-boy, saying they were there to save the world from us…”
Doyle nodded.
“Exactly. If Angel used The Key, there would be no more Senior Partners to hold things together, just a massive hole in the fabric of reality, going to swallow up… everything. A big blank nothing.”
Spike shook his head, thrown.
“But it’s still there. Well, there was some upheaval when Wolfram & Hart fell, but the Slayers sorted that, pretty much. No holes in reality, and I think we’d have noticed…”
“Ah now,” Doyle replied. “This is where things are never as straightforward as they look. What no one foresaw was that in the middle of all this was an Old One.”
“Illyria…”
“Bingo. Not quite what she was, but strong enough to hold reality together.” Doyle tilted his head. “Well, I guess they knew that, they just didn’t figure she’d care that much…”
Spike smiled, pleased. No wonder she’d been too busy to answer him.
“She’s got a vested interest now, oh yes. Might have slipped the notice of the higher ups, but then I don’t think they ever really cared about understanding the internet?”
Doyle blinked, looking a little confused.
“… No, I don’t think that ever came up. However, although The Powers are happy she stepped in, they don’t like the solution, and really don’t like loose ends, especially when it comes to prophecies. And they have now finally decided what to do — which is why you are here.”
Spike tried to appear unaffected, lifting his chin.
“About time. What’s the verdict?”
Doyle seemed to hesitate.
“You’re a Victorian, you’ll know your Bible. Remember the story of Abraham being asked to sacrifice Isaac?”
Spike took another sip of his not-real beer, and unearthed the story from whichever dusty place he’d assigned it to. Abraham had been asked to sacrifice Isaac, his only son, but at the very very last minute Old Testament God had intervened and said to sacrifice a sheep instead ‘cause he’d proven himself…
He scratched his head.
“Don’t follow you mate.”
Doyle fixed him with a serious look.
“Well, I thought it’d be quite simple: because you were ready and willing to do it, it still counts, even if you didn’t actually do the deed.”
As the significance sunk in, Doyle lifted his pint in salute:
“In short — I am here to tell you: the Shanshu is yours. Congratulations Champion, and welcome to humanity.”
Chapter 34 on LJ
Chapter 34 on DW