TITLE: Where It Alteration Finds
AUTHOR: Esmerelda
E-MAIL: animus_liber@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: Buffy and Angel (and everyone else, but I don't really want them. Well, maybe Spike) belong to Joss. Just one of life's mysterious quirks. I've adapted the fateline idea from Dianna Wynne Jones' 'Deep Secret', which by the way is a fabulous book and you should all read it (think that'll stop me getting sued?)
TIMELINE: Up to 'No Place Like Home' and 'Dear Boy', but without season arc developments - no Dawn, no Glory, no headaches for Joyce, no Darla, but with the magic shop, Riley's wild insecurity etc. Buffy is living in dorms with Willow.
SPOILERS: Consider anything up to and including season 5 to be fair game.
SYNOPSIS: Buffy is having dreams about a previous Slayer which give her clues to her life as this one.
CONTENT: Angst, fluffy bits (later), B/A (can I do anything else?)... but you have to get through the B/R first. Sorry, but it must be dealt with.
DISTRIBUTION: Just ask!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was based on spoilers (which have actually been and gone) that Buffy would be having dreams about former Slayers. BTW - I'm not a DB/SMG 'shipper, but neither are those names coincidence; I'm just bad at thinking of them for myself.
FEEDBACK: The amount I write is directly proportional to the amount of feedback I get ;).
RATING: PG-15 overall.
'Love is not love which alters where it alteration finds.'
Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare
PROLOGUE
She whirled and punched hard, frustrated with her long dress. The vampire, face contorted into the grotesque features of its kind, snarled and pulled back. She stood poised, ready for attack, between the demon and the lively party going on scant yards behind her. She caught the telltale flinch in its chest a moment before it rushed her and moved fluidly aside, again cursing the limitations of her outfit. Yet more ruined party clothes to explain.
A quick rush of air she wasn't expecting, a swift shove, and she was flat on the floor. She cursed inwardly; mistakes like that were unforgivable, for a Slayer.
And very possibly fatal. She couldn't flip up, again hampered by her heavy dress. Instead, she rolled with the motion, ending on her back, knees drawn up protectively.
The vamp was on her before she could reach for the stake at her waist. She fought back fear as it leaned over her, fangs bared and glinting as it grinned with triumph. Its fetid breath washed over her face and she nearly retched, easily recognising the tang of stale blood. This vampire had fed tonight, and fed well.
The reminder of who she was, and what she fought for, caused her adrenaline to spike immediately, and she prepared for a heave to push it off so she could roll up and over it to plunge the stake into its back.
It seemed to read her mind and shifted its weight, pinning her more strongly, its grin widening with glee. She struggled desperately, uselessly, fighting down the terror that threatened to overtake her. If she died tonight, at the fangs of this vampire, she would not give it the pleasure of the sweet taste of fear in her blood.
It was hard, though, her entire body rebelling against the vampire sprawled across her. It grabbed her hair and pulled her head back roughly, exposing her throat. She grimly choked back a sob and shut her eyes, preparing for the sensation of sharp fangs viciously tearing her throat ...
... And then the weight was gone and a fine shimmer of ash fell across her face. She peered up, her mind foggy with confusion, then slowly clearing with understanding as she recognised the concerned face gazing back at her.
Her lover. Covering her back, as always.
He reached down and she allowed him to pull her up and into his warm embrace. He just barely pulled away, far enough to check her over for obvious injuries. Finding none, he tipped her face up to his, subtly checking for a concussion as he teased, "Nothing injured but your pride, then, Sarah?"
"Nothing but, David," she returned smartly, allowing him to see the clear thoughts and unclouded mind behind her hazel eyes. He smiled in answer, then leaned down, brushing his lips over hers softly, keeping the kiss light though she pressed herself into him in silent entreaty.
She withdrew to a proper distance. He gave a fleeting, slightly regretful smile, then a deep bow. He straightened and presented his arm.
"My lady," he said in a deep, soft voice.
She smiled, and reached to take his offered arm. "My lord," she replied demurely. They shared another secret smile, then re-entered the ball.
* * * * *
Buffy's eyes shot open as she came abruptly out of her dream. She rolled away from Riley, grabbing the phone up from by her bed. She was well past the area code for LA before she realised what she was doing; who she was calling. She held the phone for a moment, wondering, then deliberately replaced it into the cradle.
She lay back down slowly, almost fearfully. It took her a long time to get back to sleep.
AUTHOR: Esmerelda
E-MAIL: animus_liber@hotmail.com
DISCLAIMER: Buffy and Angel (and everyone else, but I don't really want them. Well, maybe Spike) belong to Joss. Just one of life's mysterious quirks. I've adapted the fateline idea from Dianna Wynne Jones' 'Deep Secret', which by the way is a fabulous book and you should all read it (think that'll stop me getting sued?)
TIMELINE: Up to 'No Place Like Home' and 'Dear Boy', but without season arc developments - no Dawn, no Glory, no headaches for Joyce, no Darla, but with the magic shop, Riley's wild insecurity etc. Buffy is living in dorms with Willow.
SPOILERS: Consider anything up to and including season 5 to be fair game.
SYNOPSIS: Buffy is having dreams about a previous Slayer which give her clues to her life as this one.
CONTENT: Angst, fluffy bits (later), B/A (can I do anything else?)... but you have to get through the B/R first. Sorry, but it must be dealt with.
DISTRIBUTION: Just ask!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was based on spoilers (which have actually been and gone) that Buffy would be having dreams about former Slayers. BTW - I'm not a DB/SMG 'shipper, but neither are those names coincidence; I'm just bad at thinking of them for myself.
FEEDBACK: The amount I write is directly proportional to the amount of feedback I get ;).
RATING: PG-15 overall.
'Love is not love which alters where it alteration finds.'
Sonnet 116, William Shakespeare
PROLOGUE
She whirled and punched hard, frustrated with her long dress. The vampire, face contorted into the grotesque features of its kind, snarled and pulled back. She stood poised, ready for attack, between the demon and the lively party going on scant yards behind her. She caught the telltale flinch in its chest a moment before it rushed her and moved fluidly aside, again cursing the limitations of her outfit. Yet more ruined party clothes to explain.
A quick rush of air she wasn't expecting, a swift shove, and she was flat on the floor. She cursed inwardly; mistakes like that were unforgivable, for a Slayer.
And very possibly fatal. She couldn't flip up, again hampered by her heavy dress. Instead, she rolled with the motion, ending on her back, knees drawn up protectively.
The vamp was on her before she could reach for the stake at her waist. She fought back fear as it leaned over her, fangs bared and glinting as it grinned with triumph. Its fetid breath washed over her face and she nearly retched, easily recognising the tang of stale blood. This vampire had fed tonight, and fed well.
The reminder of who she was, and what she fought for, caused her adrenaline to spike immediately, and she prepared for a heave to push it off so she could roll up and over it to plunge the stake into its back.
It seemed to read her mind and shifted its weight, pinning her more strongly, its grin widening with glee. She struggled desperately, uselessly, fighting down the terror that threatened to overtake her. If she died tonight, at the fangs of this vampire, she would not give it the pleasure of the sweet taste of fear in her blood.
It was hard, though, her entire body rebelling against the vampire sprawled across her. It grabbed her hair and pulled her head back roughly, exposing her throat. She grimly choked back a sob and shut her eyes, preparing for the sensation of sharp fangs viciously tearing her throat ...
... And then the weight was gone and a fine shimmer of ash fell across her face. She peered up, her mind foggy with confusion, then slowly clearing with understanding as she recognised the concerned face gazing back at her.
Her lover. Covering her back, as always.
He reached down and she allowed him to pull her up and into his warm embrace. He just barely pulled away, far enough to check her over for obvious injuries. Finding none, he tipped her face up to his, subtly checking for a concussion as he teased, "Nothing injured but your pride, then, Sarah?"
"Nothing but, David," she returned smartly, allowing him to see the clear thoughts and unclouded mind behind her hazel eyes. He smiled in answer, then leaned down, brushing his lips over hers softly, keeping the kiss light though she pressed herself into him in silent entreaty.
She withdrew to a proper distance. He gave a fleeting, slightly regretful smile, then a deep bow. He straightened and presented his arm.
"My lady," he said in a deep, soft voice.
She smiled, and reached to take his offered arm. "My lord," she replied demurely. They shared another secret smile, then re-entered the ball.
* * * * *
Buffy's eyes shot open as she came abruptly out of her dream. She rolled away from Riley, grabbing the phone up from by her bed. She was well past the area code for LA before she realised what she was doing; who she was calling. She held the phone for a moment, wondering, then deliberately replaced it into the cradle.
She lay back down slowly, almost fearfully. It took her a long time to get back to sleep.