((Thank you all soo much for the wonderful reviews : - ) They made my
weekend. Here's hoping you continue to enjoy as we come down to the final
few. ))
Chapter 19: What With Time
Time's a funny thing. Moving too fast when you need slow, crawling by at a snails pace when all you want is for the day to end and just get on with it all. And sometimes, sometimes it pauses. Momentarily lapses into a state of absolute. . .nothingness. Holding you in a freeze-frame.
This is where Buffy the Vampire Slayer currently existed. She was dully aware of the rising and setting sun. The warmth of its golden rays as it splayed across her sheets (Dawn had floated in like a ghost, pulling the shades open as morning had come, leaving a glass of water by the bedside as she left) was the only warmth she felt.
She wasn't catatonic like just after Glory *Bitch* had snagged Dawn. As it had turned out, she was actually injured physically during the fight worse that she had thought. After the adrenaline and shock had worn off she had felt the warm stickiness of blood seep through her shirt *Lucky Shot*, and had collapsed. So her family (what was left) had taken her home, set her up in her bed and were taking turns checking up on her, bringing her food and water. Not that she ate, or drank, or did much of anything.
Her healing progress was slow. She had no more will left. She felt strangely like she did after she'd been returned from the dead, only now she made no pretenses. She didn't pretend as if she was happy to be alive. She didn't try to make herself feel anything. Because that only led to more pain, and that was something she couldn't handle yet. Despite what she wanted, she knew she had to keep on, get better, live. She just had no intentions on doing it any time soon. For once the world could wait.
---------------
In the depths of her dreams she felt safe, peaceful, and warm. The nightmares of the weeks before had left her, and now she was alone with herself once more.
There was nothing surrounding her, simple white on white. No walls, no ground, yet she felt supported as she walked towards the only other thing in the room, herself.
"Hello," her voice was soft, like that of a lost child, as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, holding onto herself as if it was all she had left, which wasn't far from the truth.
"Hello again. I was wondering when you'd pay me another visit." The Inner Buffy smiled back warmly at the Dreaming Buffy.
"Yeah, well, been busy. What with the opening of the hellmouth and the closing of the hellmouth and. . ."Her voice choked as she slumped down, settling herself on the ground that wasn't there. She buried her head in her hands, "Oh, god, Spike. . ." As she began to sob warm arms enveloped her a familiar voice soothing her, letting her known that she really wasn't alone. That she would never be alone.
-----------------
Buffy moved through the world, a ghost in a dream. It had been nearly a week since the portal had been closed. Nearly a week since the First Evil had been banished back to whatever hell it called home. Nearly a week since Spike had thrown himself on the pyre, closing the wounds of the earth. Nearly a week, but it felt like an eternity.
After the realization had settled in as to what he had done. What he had actually done. *How could he do that?* Her heart was full of pain she hadn't thought she could feel. She snickered to herself at the thought of it, *Bastard always had a way of making me feel things I shouldn't.* She didn't know how long she had been caught in that frozen moment. Reliving the events of all to many painful things. She was only vaguely aware of Willow's arms, as they had enveloped her into an all too understanding embrace the morning of her dream, waking her from her thoughts and showing her proof positive of what was here, waiting for her in the real world.
The smell of the redheads shampoo wafting through Buffy's senses, snapping her out of her reverie and she cried on her best friends shoulder. Soft murmurs of encouragement coming from the Wicca as she slowly stroked the Slayer's hair, doing her best to soothe her friends inner demons. Knowing it would probably never be enough. If her own experience with losing a loved one had taught her anything, it was that the pain never really lessens, it just learns to be silent for longer and longer periods of time.
---------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------
"He doesn't belong here. . ."
"Well, where does he belong then?"
"In the light."
"Perhaps. He once preferred the dark, though. The world is bathed in gray around him now. So much so that it's hard to tell for certain if he even belongs anywhere anymore."
"Still, it is what he deserves, don't you think?"
The being raised an eyebrow at that (metaphorically speaking that is, since the beings in question were no more tangible than a mirrors reflection and held no more form then a willow-wisp.)
"What he deserves? Since when have we concerned ourselves with what something deserves? It is our job to merely set things in motion and allow fate to play out the hand it is dealt. Nothing more."
"True." The other being's essence nodded in response, "But on occasion there have been interventions. Causes for reversals. Surely we could. . ."
"Do what? Make his sacrifice meaningless? Rewind time so that this go around they all end up dead? And by all, you do realize that I refer to the entire dimension, don't you? What good would that do him? Allow him a few precious moments in which to understand that no matter what, nothing he does matters? At least this way he died with a feeling of redemption in his heart."
There was emptiness for a few lengthy moments following, before the silence was broken once more.
"The prophecy. . ."
An incorporeal hand waved the thought away, "Come now, we both know that prophecy's are merely ways for the fates to tell their little soldiers what they want from them, we are by no means bound to make sure that their so- called-rewards are delivered in the end. It is not our place to intervene when they have failed."
"Ah, but they haven't failed yet. This vampire was not the one for whom their prophecy was written. He has not been working towards redemption for the hope of a reward in the end. He sacrificed himself knowing full well that there would be nothing for him on the other side. What being is more deserving of a reward than one who expects none?"
The other being was unable to argue with this point, instead it *sat* contemplatively, observing the prone body (essence would be a more accurate term at that point, since the *body* in question had been torn asunder by naked energy). The being flittered itself over the creature's essence, learning its curves, peaks, and valleys: those strange nuances that make someone whole and unique.
As it did a *smile* spread across its features, a decision having been made, "It would be fitting, wouldn't it? To reward him what the fates had intended for someone else? It would remind them that nothing is rote in rock and (the smile widened further) that perhaps they should meddle less. Allow things to just be, they might be surprised with the results."
The other being warmed at this thought, a sweet lull in the conversation as they both came to the same conclusion. Time standing still for them then. The world about them beginning to fade and pulsate all at once. They took no heed of the blinding white of the energy that filled them, their decision made.
"In the light then?"
"Yes, most definitely, in the light."
Chapter 19: What With Time
Time's a funny thing. Moving too fast when you need slow, crawling by at a snails pace when all you want is for the day to end and just get on with it all. And sometimes, sometimes it pauses. Momentarily lapses into a state of absolute. . .nothingness. Holding you in a freeze-frame.
This is where Buffy the Vampire Slayer currently existed. She was dully aware of the rising and setting sun. The warmth of its golden rays as it splayed across her sheets (Dawn had floated in like a ghost, pulling the shades open as morning had come, leaving a glass of water by the bedside as she left) was the only warmth she felt.
She wasn't catatonic like just after Glory *Bitch* had snagged Dawn. As it had turned out, she was actually injured physically during the fight worse that she had thought. After the adrenaline and shock had worn off she had felt the warm stickiness of blood seep through her shirt *Lucky Shot*, and had collapsed. So her family (what was left) had taken her home, set her up in her bed and were taking turns checking up on her, bringing her food and water. Not that she ate, or drank, or did much of anything.
Her healing progress was slow. She had no more will left. She felt strangely like she did after she'd been returned from the dead, only now she made no pretenses. She didn't pretend as if she was happy to be alive. She didn't try to make herself feel anything. Because that only led to more pain, and that was something she couldn't handle yet. Despite what she wanted, she knew she had to keep on, get better, live. She just had no intentions on doing it any time soon. For once the world could wait.
---------------
In the depths of her dreams she felt safe, peaceful, and warm. The nightmares of the weeks before had left her, and now she was alone with herself once more.
There was nothing surrounding her, simple white on white. No walls, no ground, yet she felt supported as she walked towards the only other thing in the room, herself.
"Hello," her voice was soft, like that of a lost child, as she crossed her arms in front of her chest, holding onto herself as if it was all she had left, which wasn't far from the truth.
"Hello again. I was wondering when you'd pay me another visit." The Inner Buffy smiled back warmly at the Dreaming Buffy.
"Yeah, well, been busy. What with the opening of the hellmouth and the closing of the hellmouth and. . ."Her voice choked as she slumped down, settling herself on the ground that wasn't there. She buried her head in her hands, "Oh, god, Spike. . ." As she began to sob warm arms enveloped her a familiar voice soothing her, letting her known that she really wasn't alone. That she would never be alone.
-----------------
Buffy moved through the world, a ghost in a dream. It had been nearly a week since the portal had been closed. Nearly a week since the First Evil had been banished back to whatever hell it called home. Nearly a week since Spike had thrown himself on the pyre, closing the wounds of the earth. Nearly a week, but it felt like an eternity.
After the realization had settled in as to what he had done. What he had actually done. *How could he do that?* Her heart was full of pain she hadn't thought she could feel. She snickered to herself at the thought of it, *Bastard always had a way of making me feel things I shouldn't.* She didn't know how long she had been caught in that frozen moment. Reliving the events of all to many painful things. She was only vaguely aware of Willow's arms, as they had enveloped her into an all too understanding embrace the morning of her dream, waking her from her thoughts and showing her proof positive of what was here, waiting for her in the real world.
The smell of the redheads shampoo wafting through Buffy's senses, snapping her out of her reverie and she cried on her best friends shoulder. Soft murmurs of encouragement coming from the Wicca as she slowly stroked the Slayer's hair, doing her best to soothe her friends inner demons. Knowing it would probably never be enough. If her own experience with losing a loved one had taught her anything, it was that the pain never really lessens, it just learns to be silent for longer and longer periods of time.
---------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------
"He doesn't belong here. . ."
"Well, where does he belong then?"
"In the light."
"Perhaps. He once preferred the dark, though. The world is bathed in gray around him now. So much so that it's hard to tell for certain if he even belongs anywhere anymore."
"Still, it is what he deserves, don't you think?"
The being raised an eyebrow at that (metaphorically speaking that is, since the beings in question were no more tangible than a mirrors reflection and held no more form then a willow-wisp.)
"What he deserves? Since when have we concerned ourselves with what something deserves? It is our job to merely set things in motion and allow fate to play out the hand it is dealt. Nothing more."
"True." The other being's essence nodded in response, "But on occasion there have been interventions. Causes for reversals. Surely we could. . ."
"Do what? Make his sacrifice meaningless? Rewind time so that this go around they all end up dead? And by all, you do realize that I refer to the entire dimension, don't you? What good would that do him? Allow him a few precious moments in which to understand that no matter what, nothing he does matters? At least this way he died with a feeling of redemption in his heart."
There was emptiness for a few lengthy moments following, before the silence was broken once more.
"The prophecy. . ."
An incorporeal hand waved the thought away, "Come now, we both know that prophecy's are merely ways for the fates to tell their little soldiers what they want from them, we are by no means bound to make sure that their so- called-rewards are delivered in the end. It is not our place to intervene when they have failed."
"Ah, but they haven't failed yet. This vampire was not the one for whom their prophecy was written. He has not been working towards redemption for the hope of a reward in the end. He sacrificed himself knowing full well that there would be nothing for him on the other side. What being is more deserving of a reward than one who expects none?"
The other being was unable to argue with this point, instead it *sat* contemplatively, observing the prone body (essence would be a more accurate term at that point, since the *body* in question had been torn asunder by naked energy). The being flittered itself over the creature's essence, learning its curves, peaks, and valleys: those strange nuances that make someone whole and unique.
As it did a *smile* spread across its features, a decision having been made, "It would be fitting, wouldn't it? To reward him what the fates had intended for someone else? It would remind them that nothing is rote in rock and (the smile widened further) that perhaps they should meddle less. Allow things to just be, they might be surprised with the results."
The other being warmed at this thought, a sweet lull in the conversation as they both came to the same conclusion. Time standing still for them then. The world about them beginning to fade and pulsate all at once. They took no heed of the blinding white of the energy that filled them, their decision made.
"In the light then?"
"Yes, most definitely, in the light."