TITLE: Yesterday's Child
AUTHOR: Drusilla
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Spike/Buffy, Max/Liz
SPOILERS: Season 5 of Buffy, Season Two of Roswell
SUMMARY: When Max is haunted by odd dreams of a certain petite blonde, he brings Liz along
to Sunnydale, California to investigate, in hopes of finding more of his kind.
Meanwhile, Buffy explores her feelings for Spike and discovers that everything
has changed during her absence. Set five years in the future.
Buffy/Roswell crossover, Spike/Buffy and Max/Liz 'ships.
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine. They belong to Joss Whedon and Jason Katims.
DISRIBUTION: Sure, take it! Just let me know and credit me, please
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
YESTERDAY'S CHILD
* * *
CHAPTER 2: Hourglass
* * *
Time is black.
It is smoke that lingers at the drawn breath until its hue is hidden from the naked eye,
whirling faster and faster in a funnel-shaped movement, gentle and loving to the young,
harsh and unforgiving to the aging. It becomes a wild thing, something untameable.
Something that scares her.
She lies on her bed alone, sprawled out on top of her covers, the scent of his skin and the
chill of his touch still fresh on her tongue. She stares hollowly at the great spanse of
gray that is her ceiling, studying the rough of stucco intently, bent on finding a hidden
history that is not there. She stirs a little, thinking of death and love, of hate and
love, of pain and love.
And she wonders.
What Spike is, she cannot know. The facts are all too knotted and snarled for her; Her
newly-born brain shrieks with overload. He is a monster, the little voice repeats over and
over again, until the words mold themselves into truth.
Words spoken are oft true, someone once said.
But she lies, even to herself. She wonders how many falsehoods she is capable of telling,
how many more she will regret.
Yet she knows that no matter how many lies she whispers, it is she who is fooled in the end.
She has been doing this for too long, running from all verity until her world has become
one of anger and pain, and black with time.
Time, her only enemy, is the only truth she knows.
* * *
Tapping on her window.
She groans, twisting and covering her ears with her pillow. It does not stop. With a
sigh of resignation, she swings her legs over the side of her bed and walks groggily to the
window, turning a lamp on on the way.
"Max." She smiles. "I haven't seen you all summer." She says, opening the window for him.
As he comes in, she looks at him with a worried expression. "Max, what's wrong?" She
looks back at the bold red numbers on her alarm clock. "It's 4 a.m.!" She exclaims.
He closes his eyes in pain. "I need your help," He whispers.
She nods, smiling. "What is it this time?"
"I've been dreaming."
"So have I." She laughs, her eyes twinkling. She has developped a type of humor of late,
something to ease the pains of life and schooling. Both she and Max have graduated from
college with honors, and now going for masters degrees and the lot, while trying to
maintain their odd relationship they called love.
All them have left destiny long behind.
Isabelle was indeed studying at a graduate school in San Fransisco, and from her frequent
letters, calls, and visits on holidays, she was having the time of her life. She had
strayed far from the 'Ice queen' image, her attitude relaxed, frivolous, and.. happy.
It is a quality they had all lacked in high school days, no matter how in love they were,
no matter how they pretended to be.
"I've been seeing." He whispers. "Every night for the past week, maybe. The same images.
Slight variations, maybe, but always the same ending, the same colors, the same.. emptiness.
And then last night and tonight, I saw.. more. It was like I was somewhere else while I
slept, somewhere in the past."
She nods in understanding. Things like these are not new to her; She has known of his
nature for years, and knows that other strange things come in the package. "Tell me what
you saw."
"There is this girl." He rolls his eyes when he sees her raise her eyebrows. "Not like
that. Just listen." She smiles and he continues. "This girl. She died five years ago.
I know this because I always see her grave. She was twenty, and her-- her gravestone said
the strangest thing."
She looks at him expectantly.
"It said, 'She saved the world a lot'."
Her brow furrows in confusion.
"And then, last night, I saw flashes of her life or something. She.. she killed somebody.
I saw her run through a dark-haired man with a longsword. The thing is, he must not
have died, because I saw him at her grave, after her funeral.
"And," He went on, "I saw something happen to her eyes." He shook his head. "They began
to glow.. orange. And she spoke a weird language. It sounded ancient. And that's not the
weirdest part." He laughed unhumorously. "The weirdest part is that she.. her voice was
not one voice. It was three voices."
She sits back onto her bed and listens intently.
"There's more. After she dies, there are two men who come to her grave. They only come
at night. They both wear long black coats.. leather. One is a bleached blond, punk-rock
sort of style, the other is dark-haired, more business-like, the same man she KILLED. I
could tell they both loved her, but from their conversation, she only loved the dark-haired
one back.
"And then the dark-haired man made a comment that kind of made me wonder. I mean, it could
mean anything, but I can't help think that it could mean something important." He looks at
her for a moment before going on. "He said something like 'I left her so she could have a
normal life, so she could get away from OUR KIND.'"
She does not speak. She turns away a little. It reminds her too much of themselves.
"And at the very end, the dark-haired man refers to the blond one as his child. Which,
techinically can't be possible. They both appear to be around the mid-twenties." He musses
his hair with his hands for a second before collapsing onto a chair. "These dreams are so
real. They- they're more like visions, I guess. I mean, it has to be, right? How could I
make something up like this?" He begins to pace around the room.
"Did you catch their names?" She whispers, blinking.
"The girl's grave said Buffy Anne Summers. Had she lived, she would be 25 by now. The
blond man, he was called.. Spike." He laughs a little. "Weird names, I know, but that's
what they said." He exhales, saying, "Maybe I am going crazy."
"And the other man?"
"The one named Spike called him Angelus." He sighs.
"Do you think they're aliens?"
"It's the only.. logical.. explanation. And it's not very logical."
She nods. "So what are you going to do?"
"Find them."
* * *
TO BE CONTINUED...
Feedback please! I love reviews, constructive critism, ideas... ANYTHING!
AUTHOR: Drusilla
RATING: PG-13
PAIRING: Spike/Buffy, Max/Liz
SPOILERS: Season 5 of Buffy, Season Two of Roswell
SUMMARY: When Max is haunted by odd dreams of a certain petite blonde, he brings Liz along
to Sunnydale, California to investigate, in hopes of finding more of his kind.
Meanwhile, Buffy explores her feelings for Spike and discovers that everything
has changed during her absence. Set five years in the future.
Buffy/Roswell crossover, Spike/Buffy and Max/Liz 'ships.
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine. They belong to Joss Whedon and Jason Katims.
DISRIBUTION: Sure, take it! Just let me know and credit me, please
FEEDBACK: Yes, please!
YESTERDAY'S CHILD
* * *
CHAPTER 2: Hourglass
* * *
Time is black.
It is smoke that lingers at the drawn breath until its hue is hidden from the naked eye,
whirling faster and faster in a funnel-shaped movement, gentle and loving to the young,
harsh and unforgiving to the aging. It becomes a wild thing, something untameable.
Something that scares her.
She lies on her bed alone, sprawled out on top of her covers, the scent of his skin and the
chill of his touch still fresh on her tongue. She stares hollowly at the great spanse of
gray that is her ceiling, studying the rough of stucco intently, bent on finding a hidden
history that is not there. She stirs a little, thinking of death and love, of hate and
love, of pain and love.
And she wonders.
What Spike is, she cannot know. The facts are all too knotted and snarled for her; Her
newly-born brain shrieks with overload. He is a monster, the little voice repeats over and
over again, until the words mold themselves into truth.
Words spoken are oft true, someone once said.
But she lies, even to herself. She wonders how many falsehoods she is capable of telling,
how many more she will regret.
Yet she knows that no matter how many lies she whispers, it is she who is fooled in the end.
She has been doing this for too long, running from all verity until her world has become
one of anger and pain, and black with time.
Time, her only enemy, is the only truth she knows.
* * *
Tapping on her window.
She groans, twisting and covering her ears with her pillow. It does not stop. With a
sigh of resignation, she swings her legs over the side of her bed and walks groggily to the
window, turning a lamp on on the way.
"Max." She smiles. "I haven't seen you all summer." She says, opening the window for him.
As he comes in, she looks at him with a worried expression. "Max, what's wrong?" She
looks back at the bold red numbers on her alarm clock. "It's 4 a.m.!" She exclaims.
He closes his eyes in pain. "I need your help," He whispers.
She nods, smiling. "What is it this time?"
"I've been dreaming."
"So have I." She laughs, her eyes twinkling. She has developped a type of humor of late,
something to ease the pains of life and schooling. Both she and Max have graduated from
college with honors, and now going for masters degrees and the lot, while trying to
maintain their odd relationship they called love.
All them have left destiny long behind.
Isabelle was indeed studying at a graduate school in San Fransisco, and from her frequent
letters, calls, and visits on holidays, she was having the time of her life. She had
strayed far from the 'Ice queen' image, her attitude relaxed, frivolous, and.. happy.
It is a quality they had all lacked in high school days, no matter how in love they were,
no matter how they pretended to be.
"I've been seeing." He whispers. "Every night for the past week, maybe. The same images.
Slight variations, maybe, but always the same ending, the same colors, the same.. emptiness.
And then last night and tonight, I saw.. more. It was like I was somewhere else while I
slept, somewhere in the past."
She nods in understanding. Things like these are not new to her; She has known of his
nature for years, and knows that other strange things come in the package. "Tell me what
you saw."
"There is this girl." He rolls his eyes when he sees her raise her eyebrows. "Not like
that. Just listen." She smiles and he continues. "This girl. She died five years ago.
I know this because I always see her grave. She was twenty, and her-- her gravestone said
the strangest thing."
She looks at him expectantly.
"It said, 'She saved the world a lot'."
Her brow furrows in confusion.
"And then, last night, I saw flashes of her life or something. She.. she killed somebody.
I saw her run through a dark-haired man with a longsword. The thing is, he must not
have died, because I saw him at her grave, after her funeral.
"And," He went on, "I saw something happen to her eyes." He shook his head. "They began
to glow.. orange. And she spoke a weird language. It sounded ancient. And that's not the
weirdest part." He laughed unhumorously. "The weirdest part is that she.. her voice was
not one voice. It was three voices."
She sits back onto her bed and listens intently.
"There's more. After she dies, there are two men who come to her grave. They only come
at night. They both wear long black coats.. leather. One is a bleached blond, punk-rock
sort of style, the other is dark-haired, more business-like, the same man she KILLED. I
could tell they both loved her, but from their conversation, she only loved the dark-haired
one back.
"And then the dark-haired man made a comment that kind of made me wonder. I mean, it could
mean anything, but I can't help think that it could mean something important." He looks at
her for a moment before going on. "He said something like 'I left her so she could have a
normal life, so she could get away from OUR KIND.'"
She does not speak. She turns away a little. It reminds her too much of themselves.
"And at the very end, the dark-haired man refers to the blond one as his child. Which,
techinically can't be possible. They both appear to be around the mid-twenties." He musses
his hair with his hands for a second before collapsing onto a chair. "These dreams are so
real. They- they're more like visions, I guess. I mean, it has to be, right? How could I
make something up like this?" He begins to pace around the room.
"Did you catch their names?" She whispers, blinking.
"The girl's grave said Buffy Anne Summers. Had she lived, she would be 25 by now. The
blond man, he was called.. Spike." He laughs a little. "Weird names, I know, but that's
what they said." He exhales, saying, "Maybe I am going crazy."
"And the other man?"
"The one named Spike called him Angelus." He sighs.
"Do you think they're aliens?"
"It's the only.. logical.. explanation. And it's not very logical."
She nods. "So what are you going to do?"
"Find them."
* * *
TO BE CONTINUED...
Feedback please! I love reviews, constructive critism, ideas... ANYTHING!
