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Entry tags:
New Chapters
Title: New Chapters
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rbfvid, who requested a post-Chosen drabble/ficlet about Spike and Anya (Anything goes - from grief to ghost story to fix it AU fluff.)
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Buffy, Anya/Xander
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nekid_spike Challenge a Harlot!
Warning(s): Character Deaths
Word Count: 1,241
Date Written: 11 March, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
He feels her when she leaves him, and although he sent her from him, her acceptance to leave him hurts even more than the flesh that's melting off of his bones. He wonders if she would leave Angel as easily, but then he reminds himself that she not only left his sire. She sent him to Hell. The memory almost lifts his lips into a smirk, but then he feels himself exploding and screams.
Skin is torn from bones. Bones are crushed, crumpled in the heat. His body is destroyed, and yet, somehow, . . . Somehow, he's still there. His consciousness is still there, still floating in the last few minutes of Sunnydale's existence.
He knows they're safe. Buffy will live to fight another day. Nibblet will be protected. He saved them. He hasn't done much right in his long life, but he's done this much right. And yet, she never loved him. He'd cry, but he no longer has eyes from which for the tears to fall.
A sob echoes in the quiet hollow of the fire that will burn on for days. They've slipped from the normal plane. Mankind can not see him now. She can not see him now, even if she was to come back for him, but she won't, and for that, he should be glad. She's safe; she'll keep the others safe.
But he wasn't the only one to fall tonight. He doesn't know where the thought comes from, but it chases through his mind as he hears another sob. And yet, he can not even hear it for he has no ears with which to hear.
He knows that voice, rather he's hearing it, sensing it, or something else. However the sob is coming to him, he knows to whom it belongs. "Anya?" He hears himself calling her name, but yet, how can he call when he has no throat, no lips with which to call?
And yet, he is, and she's answering him. "Sp-Spike?" He can feel her sorrow radiating with his. "I -- I thought I was alone."
"No, bit. I'm here. Wherever the Hell here is."
"It's not Hell," she says.
"It's bloody well not Heaven."
"No. It's . . . It's the in between."
"Purgatory?"
"Some have called it that, but in Purgatory, we have a more . . . a more solid existence."
"Where are we, Anya?"
"In between. In between life and death, Heaven and Hell. They're not done with us yet."
He doesn't need to ask who "They" are. He already knows. He always has, although he hasn't always had a name for them. They are the ones who decide their fates. They are the ones who write their stories. They are the ones who toy with them as though their puppets, take pleasure from their misery, and dangle things like Angel's shanshu in front of him. They are the ones who dictate what is to be and not to be. Oh, sure, every one has some power over their own destinies, but it's always limited. They are the ones who always make the final decisions for every one, himself, evidently, included.
"What do you think they want?"
"I don't know." He hears, or senses, another sob. "What more can I give?"
Her misery seems to echo inside of him for he knows too well what she means. He has given his freedom, given his love, sacrificed everything to earn his soul, and now given that, as well, and yet, still, something keeps him lingering on.
Whispers race around them. Anyanka listens. He tries to, as well, but he does not understand the tongue in which these voices speak. "Anya? What's going on?"
"Sh. It's going to be okay." But then to the voices, she asks, her own voice trembling, "Are . . . Are you sure there's no one better -- I mean, more fit for this position? I was a Demon! I'm not -- " She stops, listening again. "Yes. Yes, I understand."
He can not see her, but he can tell her head is bowed. She is bowed in respect and bowed to their will. She's got thousands of years as a Vengeance Demon underneath her belt. She was once a creature far more powerful than he, a meager Vampire, but she's not hesitating at all to take Their orders now.
A bright light suddenly flares. Spike winces, feeling his eyes sting yet knowing he no longer has eyes to sting. Yet, when he lowers his hand, it is an actual hand again. He blinks, uncertain, and turns his hand over. He faces his own palm, flesh seemingly in tact despite having been melted off minutes before.
Was it only minutes? he wonders. He knows time has no meaning in a place like this. Very little has any actual meaning here. He flexes his fingers, but his hand still seems real.
"I don't believe it!" He looks up, and his jaw drops open. "I don't believe it!" Anya repeats again, near hysterics. "They -- They made me -- "
"An Angel," he breathes.
"Yeah!" She beams at him, and now he can see her. She looks as she did when she was a mortal before, but now she's glowing. She's a thousand times more beautiful than any mortal, and he knows it's his love that's making her that way.
"Hmph. Guess there is a bonus to being love's bitch, after all."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, come on. We both know it. We're love's bitches, always have been, always will be. You even gave up being a Vengeance Demon for Harris."
"I did," she admits, "and I still loved him, even after -- even after -- " She tries to repeat her thought but can not. Tears well in her eyes. She gave everything she possessed for him, and yet, he left her at the altar. Something roars, and Spike's not altogether certain it's not Anyanka roaring, even though the Angel before him is only crying.
"You deserve this, Anya."
"What?"
"Out of all the people I've ever known, you definitely come the closest to being an actual Angel. You sacrificed everything for that boy, even gave your life not once, but twice."
"And what of you?" she returns. "You gave your life, too."
He nods. "And I'd do it again, too. No regrets. I kept her safe, kept the Nibblet safe, too."
"Well, maybe not safe for the Slayer, but definitely alive. But you're not done."
"What?" he queries.
"You're not done. Your mission's not over. Your life will return." She smiles at him and kisses his cheek. "Good bye, Spike. I'll be watching."
Then, she's gone. Only, she doesn't leave. He does. He slips into another realm again. He's still not in Heaven or Hell, or even Purgatory this time. He's in a pocket between dimensions, and everything is dark. Everything is peaceful. He remembers Buffy, remembers how she tried to say she loved him, remembers that glowing smile she gave him. He remembers Buffy, and he holds to her memory as he waits to be called again.
Anya smiles over him. They both thought their journeys were over, but they were both wrong. They're both just opening new chapters in their lives. Spike's will continue in L.A. with his sire. He will be pivotal to saving the world again while she has perhaps a simpler mission but one that's every bit as important to her. She smiles and flies to find her Zeppo again.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Dedicated To:
rbfvid, who requested a post-Chosen drabble/ficlet about Spike and Anya (Anything goes - from grief to ghost story to fix it AU fluff.)Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Character/Pairing: Spike/Buffy, Anya/Xander
Rating: R/M
Challenge/Prompt:
nekid_spike Challenge a Harlot!Warning(s): Character Deaths
Word Count: 1,241
Date Written: 11 March, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Whedon, not the author, and are used without permission.
He feels her when she leaves him, and although he sent her from him, her acceptance to leave him hurts even more than the flesh that's melting off of his bones. He wonders if she would leave Angel as easily, but then he reminds himself that she not only left his sire. She sent him to Hell. The memory almost lifts his lips into a smirk, but then he feels himself exploding and screams.
Skin is torn from bones. Bones are crushed, crumpled in the heat. His body is destroyed, and yet, somehow, . . . Somehow, he's still there. His consciousness is still there, still floating in the last few minutes of Sunnydale's existence.
He knows they're safe. Buffy will live to fight another day. Nibblet will be protected. He saved them. He hasn't done much right in his long life, but he's done this much right. And yet, she never loved him. He'd cry, but he no longer has eyes from which for the tears to fall.
A sob echoes in the quiet hollow of the fire that will burn on for days. They've slipped from the normal plane. Mankind can not see him now. She can not see him now, even if she was to come back for him, but she won't, and for that, he should be glad. She's safe; she'll keep the others safe.
But he wasn't the only one to fall tonight. He doesn't know where the thought comes from, but it chases through his mind as he hears another sob. And yet, he can not even hear it for he has no ears with which to hear.
He knows that voice, rather he's hearing it, sensing it, or something else. However the sob is coming to him, he knows to whom it belongs. "Anya?" He hears himself calling her name, but yet, how can he call when he has no throat, no lips with which to call?
And yet, he is, and she's answering him. "Sp-Spike?" He can feel her sorrow radiating with his. "I -- I thought I was alone."
"No, bit. I'm here. Wherever the Hell here is."
"It's not Hell," she says.
"It's bloody well not Heaven."
"No. It's . . . It's the in between."
"Purgatory?"
"Some have called it that, but in Purgatory, we have a more . . . a more solid existence."
"Where are we, Anya?"
"In between. In between life and death, Heaven and Hell. They're not done with us yet."
He doesn't need to ask who "They" are. He already knows. He always has, although he hasn't always had a name for them. They are the ones who decide their fates. They are the ones who write their stories. They are the ones who toy with them as though their puppets, take pleasure from their misery, and dangle things like Angel's shanshu in front of him. They are the ones who dictate what is to be and not to be. Oh, sure, every one has some power over their own destinies, but it's always limited. They are the ones who always make the final decisions for every one, himself, evidently, included.
"What do you think they want?"
"I don't know." He hears, or senses, another sob. "What more can I give?"
Her misery seems to echo inside of him for he knows too well what she means. He has given his freedom, given his love, sacrificed everything to earn his soul, and now given that, as well, and yet, still, something keeps him lingering on.
Whispers race around them. Anyanka listens. He tries to, as well, but he does not understand the tongue in which these voices speak. "Anya? What's going on?"
"Sh. It's going to be okay." But then to the voices, she asks, her own voice trembling, "Are . . . Are you sure there's no one better -- I mean, more fit for this position? I was a Demon! I'm not -- " She stops, listening again. "Yes. Yes, I understand."
He can not see her, but he can tell her head is bowed. She is bowed in respect and bowed to their will. She's got thousands of years as a Vengeance Demon underneath her belt. She was once a creature far more powerful than he, a meager Vampire, but she's not hesitating at all to take Their orders now.
A bright light suddenly flares. Spike winces, feeling his eyes sting yet knowing he no longer has eyes to sting. Yet, when he lowers his hand, it is an actual hand again. He blinks, uncertain, and turns his hand over. He faces his own palm, flesh seemingly in tact despite having been melted off minutes before.
Was it only minutes? he wonders. He knows time has no meaning in a place like this. Very little has any actual meaning here. He flexes his fingers, but his hand still seems real.
"I don't believe it!" He looks up, and his jaw drops open. "I don't believe it!" Anya repeats again, near hysterics. "They -- They made me -- "
"An Angel," he breathes.
"Yeah!" She beams at him, and now he can see her. She looks as she did when she was a mortal before, but now she's glowing. She's a thousand times more beautiful than any mortal, and he knows it's his love that's making her that way.
"Hmph. Guess there is a bonus to being love's bitch, after all."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, come on. We both know it. We're love's bitches, always have been, always will be. You even gave up being a Vengeance Demon for Harris."
"I did," she admits, "and I still loved him, even after -- even after -- " She tries to repeat her thought but can not. Tears well in her eyes. She gave everything she possessed for him, and yet, he left her at the altar. Something roars, and Spike's not altogether certain it's not Anyanka roaring, even though the Angel before him is only crying.
"You deserve this, Anya."
"What?"
"Out of all the people I've ever known, you definitely come the closest to being an actual Angel. You sacrificed everything for that boy, even gave your life not once, but twice."
"And what of you?" she returns. "You gave your life, too."
He nods. "And I'd do it again, too. No regrets. I kept her safe, kept the Nibblet safe, too."
"Well, maybe not safe for the Slayer, but definitely alive. But you're not done."
"What?" he queries.
"You're not done. Your mission's not over. Your life will return." She smiles at him and kisses his cheek. "Good bye, Spike. I'll be watching."
Then, she's gone. Only, she doesn't leave. He does. He slips into another realm again. He's still not in Heaven or Hell, or even Purgatory this time. He's in a pocket between dimensions, and everything is dark. Everything is peaceful. He remembers Buffy, remembers how she tried to say she loved him, remembers that glowing smile she gave him. He remembers Buffy, and he holds to her memory as he waits to be called again.
Anya smiles over him. They both thought their journeys were over, but they were both wrong. They're both just opening new chapters in their lives. Spike's will continue in L.A. with his sire. He will be pivotal to saving the world again while she has perhaps a simpler mission but one that's every bit as important to her. She smiles and flies to find her Zeppo again.
The End