Title: To All Good Things.... (1/22: Elegy)
Author: Angelus
E-mail: angelus1317@hotmail.com (Please put "To All Good Things" on the subject line.)
Subject: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Category: G, A, R, Darkfic
Pairings: Buffy/Spike, Xander/Willow, Wesley/Fred, Angel/Gwen, Xander/Fred, Wesley/Willow, Willow/Gwen, Angel/Willow, Cait/Angel, Angel/Spike
Rating: R (eventually)
Summary: A future filled with life and lust and loss and laughter and loneliness and love.
Spoilers: Chosen
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.
Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Angel, Gwen, Spike, Fred, Wesley, Xander, Spike, Cordy, Faith, Gunn, Lorne, Wood, Anya, Giles, Andrew, Dawn, Kennedy, Rona, Amanda, Vi, the other Potentials, and any other characters mentioned here are the property of Joss Whedon, UPN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's notes: Allright, so there are some continuity errors in the timeline of this story that I had to allow in order for it to work out the way I wanted it to. The Angel Investigations team, including Gwen, came to Sunnydale with Angel to stop the First. Spike is alive, because Buffy never gave the amulet to him - she used it herself. And no one knew about Wesley and Lilah or about Fred, Gunn, and Professor Sidel. But if you ignore canon as I do, I hope you will find this glimpse of the future as original as I intended it to be.
Dedication: To Nikki and Elizabeth, for about the millionth time, because here we are, six years later, seniors at last, and after everything, you are the ones that have been real and true and trustworthy time and time again, going far beyond the call of duty. I didn't let you see it, but I was drowning last year. You were, and always be, my life preservers. I love you so very very much, and there are just not words to say how grateful I am that you are so patient, so understanding. I am just blessed. Everyone should be lucky enough to have friends like you, but I'm glad I'm the one who does.
~*~
"The battle's done,
And we kinda won,
So we sound a victory cheer.
But where do we go
From here?"
-Where Do We Go From Here?, Once More With Feeling soundtrack.
~*~
The battlefield was silent for the first time in nearly four hours of solid fighting. No more screams of pain and triumphs, no more clang of metal swords, no more 'phwoosh' sounds of vampires exploding into clouds of dust. Dead, broken bodies lay scattered liberally across a crimson-stained ground, weapons clutched in cold, motionless hands or thrown to the side, to dirty to shine in the late afternoon sun that shone down upon them from the hole that had been blasted in the earth from the power of the amulet. The scene resembled, in Xander's eyes, the pictures of battlefields in the history textbooks he'd been shown annually since grade school, save for the fact that many of the mangled bodies were demon in origin. Never had he imagined he would be in the middle of such a scene. He now mentally kicked himself for all the times he had looked at those pictured and thought "Cool!". For these weren't nameless faceless victims; theses were his friends and family that lay there, never to rise again. The remaining few, bruised and broken themselves, filthy and blood-spattered and eternally exhausted, but somehow, miraculously alive, stood in silence, a mixture of horror and awe crossing their faces. Then, slowly, they began to move towards one another, staying in the shadows.
There were only six of them. That was the thought that kept running through Wesley's head. Only six people had survived this massacre. Besides himself and Xander, there stood Angel, Gwen, Spike, and Fred. The measly group came to a halt as they formed a small circle. As if on cue, they all dropped their weapons and came together in a slightly less cheesy form of a group hug. They leaned on one another, so that no one was actually supporting his or her own weight. They couldn't - they were too tired, too shell-shocked, too wracked with grief. They leaned and leaned until finally, they all collapsed into a heap on the ground. In any other situation it would have been uncomfortable. Gwen, for one, had Fred's elbow digging into her side and Spike's heavy form nearly crushing her ribcage. But, like the others, she ignored it, concentrating instead on being alive, being loved. As one, they slept.
~*~
One week later
~*~
Angel collapsed onto his bed at the Hyperion. His bones ached, as if only now feeling the strain of being alive for a hundred fifty-plus years. He wasn't going to sleep; he had had far too much sleep in the past week. Right now he just needed a little solace. For in a few hours, it all would start: real life, moving on.
They had woken up hours, maybe days after falling asleep in the first place. They had done a quick sweep of the school, just as a precaution, but had been overjoyed to find Willow passed out in a classroom. And so the ranks had expanded to seven.
Then had come the hard part.
Barely able to hold themselves in check, they had picked their friends' mangled bodies from the wreckage. Cordy, Faith, Gunn, Lorne, Wood, Anya, Giles, Andrew, Dawn, Kennedy, Rona, Amanda, Vi, and at least ten other Potentials that they could find. The others, they assumed, had fled, for they were nowhere to be found. A single grave had been dug, for they had neither the physical nor emotional strength to dig separate ones. There would be not the time for the proper funeral, not to mention the funeral parlor had been sort of demolished, along with the rest of the town. It was not the proper burial for these amazing men and women - champions to the very end, just like those that survived them. But it was fitting, in a way. Even in death, they stuck together.
As soon as the last shovelfull of dirt was dumped on top of the mass grave, they had all hurriedly packed bags and driven back to the hotel, Angel and Spike stowed safely in the trunk to escape any stray rays of sunlight, folded around one another like long-lost lovers, which the others pretended wasn't nearly as obvious as it was.
Back here, they had proceeded to hole themselves up in separate rooms and do nothing but eat and sleep.
And cry.
Angel very well remembered the last time he cried. It was the night Willow told him Buffy had died. Before that, he had had very few incidences, but all of them had something to do with Buffy.
As did this time. He shed a tear, of course, for Faith. For Gunn, for Giles, for Dawn, for Lorne. For Wood and Anya and Andrew and the Potentials out of respect. And for Cordy, gallons' worth, at the very least. Because he had, in fact, truly loved her.
But for Buffy, he cried a river. Maybe two. Perhaps an ocean as well. And this time, he cried even harder. It was the finality - knowing that this time, she wasn't coming back. Whatever he had had with Cordy, whatever he had felt for her, he could never deny that only Buffy had the power to make him hurt this deeply. He wasn't even sure if the pain would ever go away. It was festering within him, slowly eating away at him, but he honestly just didn't know how to let it out.
They heard reports of the aftermath on TV. The police hadn't even bothered with excuses; they had filled the whole damn cavity with cement and were already well on their way to making a new and improved Sunnydale, California. One that would never again be plagued with demon or vampire. A normal town. A nice place to live. The fleeting thought chased through Angel's mind that he wished Buffy had moved to that type of Sunnydale. Then he chided himself. If it wasn't for that, he never would have met her. And even if he had, he might not have been so drawn to her. Because that was what he had loved about her - that she *wasn't* normal. She was extraordinary.
Angel closed his eyes, feeling another onslaught of tears coming.
~*~
Downstairs, Willow, Gwen, Xander, Wesley, & Fred bustled about. The necessity of their actions was actually rather nice; it provided them with a purpose. It took their minds off of the pain and the rotting corpses back in Sunnydale. Willow was separating the economy-sized load of laundry she and Fred had washed earlier that morning for all of them. Beside her, Xander neatly folded each item and placed it in one of the six suitcases they had lined up. Wesley was distributing weapons from their huge combined arsenal, as well as making an inventory of each piece. Fred was in the kitchen, making food and placing it into neatly-labelled brown paper bags, keeping in mind vampires and vegetarians alike, as well as those that were just plain picky. Gwen was out in the garage - she had already gassed up all 4 cars, and was now giving them each a routine check-up. The group worked silently but, most importantly, together.
All, that is, except for Spike, who was huddled in a ball in a far corner of the room. He owned very little clothing besides what he wore now, and he hadn't bothered to bring it from Sunnydale like the others had. He couldn't eat. And he sure as hell wasn't taking one of Angel's cars and setting off on a cross-country mission to find Slayers. He didn't want to be here at all. In fact, he didn't even remember how he had gotten here - Angel had probably shoved him in the car without him even knowing. Hell, he could have set off a bomb under his feet and he wouldn't have noticed.
With his white head bent, hands folded in front of him, skin and hair the color of ivory, Spike resembled nothing short of an angel statue that one might find in a cemetery. Especially since he didn't move a muscle. He just sat there, in the same stunned silence that had overtaken him when he saw his Slayer, his Buffy, his love, disintegrate into nothingness right before his very eyes. When Dru had left him, he had barely pulled himself together. That had been lifetimes ago. This time, he didn't know if he ever would.
~*~
The plan had been for them to set out in groups of two, with one person solo, and take different regions of the US. They would patrol, find the Slayers. All of them. When they were all located, they would all meet up again, and...well, the plan didn't really extend past that. Not that the plan was going to go accordingly, though, because Spike was nowhere to be found. The lunches were packed, the suitcases were loaded, and the cars were running. Well, three of the cars were running. The other was missing. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.
Spike had run.
It wasn't like they hadn't noticed his behavior before now; they had just decided to leave him be. People dealt with grief in all sorts of ways. And while the others had been just as affected, none of them had as deep a capacity to emote as Spike. He took things harder, let them take him down even when he had the strength to overcome them - he just didn't have the inclination. Nobody had thought his pain ran as deep as it did, though - and perhaps that was because none of them had ever given him enough of a chance. None of them had gotten to know him for the man behind the monster. So, in a way, it was their fault. Angel in particular blamed himself for not seeing the self-destructiveness that he knew came so easily to his childe. But either way, Spike was gone; they had lost what could have been a crucial part of their team.
But if there was one thing these six had learned in the past few days, it was to cut their losses and move on; be as strong as they could be. So that was what they set out to do. Six instead of seven, but a formidable six they were.
No goodbyes were said. They had had far too many of those lately. They simply hopped into their respective cars and set off for their respective destinations, loaded with their respective suitcases and lunchbags. They would see one another again, soon enough.
Author: Angelus
E-mail: angelus1317@hotmail.com (Please put "To All Good Things" on the subject line.)
Subject: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Category: G, A, R, Darkfic
Pairings: Buffy/Spike, Xander/Willow, Wesley/Fred, Angel/Gwen, Xander/Fred, Wesley/Willow, Willow/Gwen, Angel/Willow, Cait/Angel, Angel/Spike
Rating: R (eventually)
Summary: A future filled with life and lust and loss and laughter and loneliness and love.
Spoilers: Chosen
Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.
Disclaimer: Yeah, right, sure I own 'em. In my dreams. Angel, Gwen, Spike, Fred, Wesley, Xander, Spike, Cordy, Faith, Gunn, Lorne, Wood, Anya, Giles, Andrew, Dawn, Kennedy, Rona, Amanda, Vi, the other Potentials, and any other characters mentioned here are the property of Joss Whedon, UPN, and Mutant Enemy Inc. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's notes: Allright, so there are some continuity errors in the timeline of this story that I had to allow in order for it to work out the way I wanted it to. The Angel Investigations team, including Gwen, came to Sunnydale with Angel to stop the First. Spike is alive, because Buffy never gave the amulet to him - she used it herself. And no one knew about Wesley and Lilah or about Fred, Gunn, and Professor Sidel. But if you ignore canon as I do, I hope you will find this glimpse of the future as original as I intended it to be.
Dedication: To Nikki and Elizabeth, for about the millionth time, because here we are, six years later, seniors at last, and after everything, you are the ones that have been real and true and trustworthy time and time again, going far beyond the call of duty. I didn't let you see it, but I was drowning last year. You were, and always be, my life preservers. I love you so very very much, and there are just not words to say how grateful I am that you are so patient, so understanding. I am just blessed. Everyone should be lucky enough to have friends like you, but I'm glad I'm the one who does.
~*~
"The battle's done,
And we kinda won,
So we sound a victory cheer.
But where do we go
From here?"
-Where Do We Go From Here?, Once More With Feeling soundtrack.
~*~
The battlefield was silent for the first time in nearly four hours of solid fighting. No more screams of pain and triumphs, no more clang of metal swords, no more 'phwoosh' sounds of vampires exploding into clouds of dust. Dead, broken bodies lay scattered liberally across a crimson-stained ground, weapons clutched in cold, motionless hands or thrown to the side, to dirty to shine in the late afternoon sun that shone down upon them from the hole that had been blasted in the earth from the power of the amulet. The scene resembled, in Xander's eyes, the pictures of battlefields in the history textbooks he'd been shown annually since grade school, save for the fact that many of the mangled bodies were demon in origin. Never had he imagined he would be in the middle of such a scene. He now mentally kicked himself for all the times he had looked at those pictured and thought "Cool!". For these weren't nameless faceless victims; theses were his friends and family that lay there, never to rise again. The remaining few, bruised and broken themselves, filthy and blood-spattered and eternally exhausted, but somehow, miraculously alive, stood in silence, a mixture of horror and awe crossing their faces. Then, slowly, they began to move towards one another, staying in the shadows.
There were only six of them. That was the thought that kept running through Wesley's head. Only six people had survived this massacre. Besides himself and Xander, there stood Angel, Gwen, Spike, and Fred. The measly group came to a halt as they formed a small circle. As if on cue, they all dropped their weapons and came together in a slightly less cheesy form of a group hug. They leaned on one another, so that no one was actually supporting his or her own weight. They couldn't - they were too tired, too shell-shocked, too wracked with grief. They leaned and leaned until finally, they all collapsed into a heap on the ground. In any other situation it would have been uncomfortable. Gwen, for one, had Fred's elbow digging into her side and Spike's heavy form nearly crushing her ribcage. But, like the others, she ignored it, concentrating instead on being alive, being loved. As one, they slept.
~*~
One week later
~*~
Angel collapsed onto his bed at the Hyperion. His bones ached, as if only now feeling the strain of being alive for a hundred fifty-plus years. He wasn't going to sleep; he had had far too much sleep in the past week. Right now he just needed a little solace. For in a few hours, it all would start: real life, moving on.
They had woken up hours, maybe days after falling asleep in the first place. They had done a quick sweep of the school, just as a precaution, but had been overjoyed to find Willow passed out in a classroom. And so the ranks had expanded to seven.
Then had come the hard part.
Barely able to hold themselves in check, they had picked their friends' mangled bodies from the wreckage. Cordy, Faith, Gunn, Lorne, Wood, Anya, Giles, Andrew, Dawn, Kennedy, Rona, Amanda, Vi, and at least ten other Potentials that they could find. The others, they assumed, had fled, for they were nowhere to be found. A single grave had been dug, for they had neither the physical nor emotional strength to dig separate ones. There would be not the time for the proper funeral, not to mention the funeral parlor had been sort of demolished, along with the rest of the town. It was not the proper burial for these amazing men and women - champions to the very end, just like those that survived them. But it was fitting, in a way. Even in death, they stuck together.
As soon as the last shovelfull of dirt was dumped on top of the mass grave, they had all hurriedly packed bags and driven back to the hotel, Angel and Spike stowed safely in the trunk to escape any stray rays of sunlight, folded around one another like long-lost lovers, which the others pretended wasn't nearly as obvious as it was.
Back here, they had proceeded to hole themselves up in separate rooms and do nothing but eat and sleep.
And cry.
Angel very well remembered the last time he cried. It was the night Willow told him Buffy had died. Before that, he had had very few incidences, but all of them had something to do with Buffy.
As did this time. He shed a tear, of course, for Faith. For Gunn, for Giles, for Dawn, for Lorne. For Wood and Anya and Andrew and the Potentials out of respect. And for Cordy, gallons' worth, at the very least. Because he had, in fact, truly loved her.
But for Buffy, he cried a river. Maybe two. Perhaps an ocean as well. And this time, he cried even harder. It was the finality - knowing that this time, she wasn't coming back. Whatever he had had with Cordy, whatever he had felt for her, he could never deny that only Buffy had the power to make him hurt this deeply. He wasn't even sure if the pain would ever go away. It was festering within him, slowly eating away at him, but he honestly just didn't know how to let it out.
They heard reports of the aftermath on TV. The police hadn't even bothered with excuses; they had filled the whole damn cavity with cement and were already well on their way to making a new and improved Sunnydale, California. One that would never again be plagued with demon or vampire. A normal town. A nice place to live. The fleeting thought chased through Angel's mind that he wished Buffy had moved to that type of Sunnydale. Then he chided himself. If it wasn't for that, he never would have met her. And even if he had, he might not have been so drawn to her. Because that was what he had loved about her - that she *wasn't* normal. She was extraordinary.
Angel closed his eyes, feeling another onslaught of tears coming.
~*~
Downstairs, Willow, Gwen, Xander, Wesley, & Fred bustled about. The necessity of their actions was actually rather nice; it provided them with a purpose. It took their minds off of the pain and the rotting corpses back in Sunnydale. Willow was separating the economy-sized load of laundry she and Fred had washed earlier that morning for all of them. Beside her, Xander neatly folded each item and placed it in one of the six suitcases they had lined up. Wesley was distributing weapons from their huge combined arsenal, as well as making an inventory of each piece. Fred was in the kitchen, making food and placing it into neatly-labelled brown paper bags, keeping in mind vampires and vegetarians alike, as well as those that were just plain picky. Gwen was out in the garage - she had already gassed up all 4 cars, and was now giving them each a routine check-up. The group worked silently but, most importantly, together.
All, that is, except for Spike, who was huddled in a ball in a far corner of the room. He owned very little clothing besides what he wore now, and he hadn't bothered to bring it from Sunnydale like the others had. He couldn't eat. And he sure as hell wasn't taking one of Angel's cars and setting off on a cross-country mission to find Slayers. He didn't want to be here at all. In fact, he didn't even remember how he had gotten here - Angel had probably shoved him in the car without him even knowing. Hell, he could have set off a bomb under his feet and he wouldn't have noticed.
With his white head bent, hands folded in front of him, skin and hair the color of ivory, Spike resembled nothing short of an angel statue that one might find in a cemetery. Especially since he didn't move a muscle. He just sat there, in the same stunned silence that had overtaken him when he saw his Slayer, his Buffy, his love, disintegrate into nothingness right before his very eyes. When Dru had left him, he had barely pulled himself together. That had been lifetimes ago. This time, he didn't know if he ever would.
~*~
The plan had been for them to set out in groups of two, with one person solo, and take different regions of the US. They would patrol, find the Slayers. All of them. When they were all located, they would all meet up again, and...well, the plan didn't really extend past that. Not that the plan was going to go accordingly, though, because Spike was nowhere to be found. The lunches were packed, the suitcases were loaded, and the cars were running. Well, three of the cars were running. The other was missing. It didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.
Spike had run.
It wasn't like they hadn't noticed his behavior before now; they had just decided to leave him be. People dealt with grief in all sorts of ways. And while the others had been just as affected, none of them had as deep a capacity to emote as Spike. He took things harder, let them take him down even when he had the strength to overcome them - he just didn't have the inclination. Nobody had thought his pain ran as deep as it did, though - and perhaps that was because none of them had ever given him enough of a chance. None of them had gotten to know him for the man behind the monster. So, in a way, it was their fault. Angel in particular blamed himself for not seeing the self-destructiveness that he knew came so easily to his childe. But either way, Spike was gone; they had lost what could have been a crucial part of their team.
But if there was one thing these six had learned in the past few days, it was to cut their losses and move on; be as strong as they could be. So that was what they set out to do. Six instead of seven, but a formidable six they were.
No goodbyes were said. They had had far too many of those lately. They simply hopped into their respective cars and set off for their respective destinations, loaded with their respective suitcases and lunchbags. They would see one another again, soon enough.