Death of TV Shows
Part 1: Rude Awakenings
A Forever Knight/ Buffy/ X-Files Crossover
Disclaimer: Any and all Forever Knight, Buffy the Vampire Slayer or X-files characters etc. are their own. The locations used here are real, so they don't really belong to anyone except their respective governments. The rest of the characters (well, character, mostly) are mine, so please don't use them without permission. I hope you all enjoy!
__________________________________________
Death sat on the edge of a very large bowl-shaped hole, feet dangling over the edge, two bony thumbs twiddling. Why was it always the waiting? Surely there had been a time when . . . no! Must not go into a flashback! Looking up, Death noticed that the producers finally had the sense to end the show (though not, it's true, without some rather pointless dramatic flair.)
Buffy (formerly THE vampire slayer) jumped, suddenly realizing she was alone. Where was Willow? And Xander? And . . . that crowd? They were all gone! In fact, the only person there besides her was . . . a rather not-movie-star-pretty, short girl (who was somehow managing to look tall and deadly) with black hair and robes to match?
"Ah, so you've noticed me," Death said dryly. Actually, everything she ever said was dry. That's one of the reasons people though she was crazy (besides the fact that no sane author would EVER make Death female.) "It's taken you long enough – how long was this show? Seven seasons? Eight?"
For a girl who had just faced the end of the world, seen the vampire who was the "boyfriend in her heart" about to die, suddenly been deserted by her friends, standing next to a huge hole in the ground and facing Death, Buffy's reaction wasn't that bad: "Huh?"
Rolling her eyes, Death pulled out a small (black) notepad, and wrote something, muttering to herself: "Rather small vocabulary."
"What?" Buffy asked startled. "What do you mean? Hey, if you're a demon, I have to fight you!"
"Doesn't catch on very quickly . . ." Death continued writing, and then looked up. "No, I'm just taking notes. Dying tends to knock people out of character. If I remember the series correctly, you'd probably be pulling out a sharp, pointy stick about now. Was your hair always that shade of blond?"
Touching her hair a little self-consciously, Buffy pulled her hand away and straightened, back (in part) to her normal, slightly vain, self, "No, why?" Almost instinctively, she reached for a stake.
"Still hasn't caught on . . . changed hair color . . ." Buffy, now almost positive the end of the world (almost) hadn't ended at least *this* demon, threw the stake at Death . . . and watched as it went right through her. "Good aim at least . . ." Death muttered, as she continued to write.
"Stop writing things about me!" Buffy exclaimed. "What have you done with my friends? Who are you?"
"Demanding . . . hmm? Oh, I haven't done anything with your friends. They've faded away into non-existence and fan fictions by now. I wish them luck . . . with some of the awful writers out there, they'll need it." Death considered this for a moment, and after one more note on her pad, slipped it into an invisible (and possibly fictional) pocket. "I'm Death, nice to meet you." She courteously extended one hand. Buffy gripped it in return before pulling the smaller girl over her shoulder then kicking her as she straightened. It was like kicking a brick wall. Only brick walls usually crumbled in their own cliché way under the slayer's foot, and this one . . .
"Ow!!" Buffy yelled, holding her foot.
Death pulled out her pad again. "REALLY slow learner." She looked up at Buffy, her expression as blank as always. "Of course, you *are* reverted back 1/3rd of the series – everyone is, in the 'verses so far. So you are younger by a couple years. It makes you people easier to work with, what with you repeating the whole series once anyway. Dang reruns."
"Hey, I like reruns, they –" Buffy stopped abruptly. "What do you mean, reruns?"
"Slow, but not permanently stupid," Death pulled out her notepad again. "I mean, you're on a TV show – people created you, actors mimicked you, and viewers brought you to life. Lemon drop?"
Buffy stared down at the candy then shook her head. This was *not* the right time fore lemon drops. "You're crazy."
"Probably," Death sighed and put the lemon drop away. "Too little sugar – I'm back on carrots again."
But Buffy didn't really notice the answer; she continued talking, almost to herself. Looking rather amused, Death took notes. "You're crazy, I mean, who has a name like 'Death'? And a TV show? Now *that* is just weird. But I do feel different – like I was a couple years younger. Huh. But no." She looked up, having reached a conclusion. "You're crazy."
"We already covered that. Are you done ranting?"
"Nearly. I mean, yes. What?"
"Well," Death answered, smiling, "You're a little out-of-character still, what with the ranting and slow learning. Plus, I'm bored. So you get one chance. No," she added, as Buffy opened her mouth to speak (again.) "This is my game; I make the rules. In any case, it's traditional."
"What's my chance?" Buffy asked. Why not?
"I'm going to transport you to the 'Forever Knight' universe. That's another TV show – like your world."
"TV show?"
"Yes, we just went over this. There is a TV show in the Real World called 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer.' It stars you and your friends. You see, all of your life and reality is neither of those things at all. Every TV show is, in fact, a universe. This is the 'Buffy' universe. Remember? Now, I'm going to transfer you to another one of the movie 'verses."
"Hold it," said Buffy suddenly. "What did you say your name was?"
"Mmm, bad memory . . . it's 'Death'."
"So I'm dead? And you want to move me to a different universe?"
"Not exactly. See, to be dead, you have to be alive . . . and you were never exactly alive." She sighed in a dry, death-like manner. "I don't know why they gave me the name 'Death', but it's better than 'Person-who- comes-after-TV-shows-and-cleans-up-the-mess.' That'd make an awful acronym. My point was: you are going to another universe where the series has ended. You will live there. You will not tell anyone who you are or where you are from. You will not tell them you are dead. You will not kill anyone. You will forget I just used a very redundant sentence style."
"Oh," Buffy answered shortly. The next moment, she was on the streets of Toronto. And she was freezing.
___________________________________________________
Nicolas de Brabant (also known as Detective Nick Knight) was not dead thanks to the fact that the Forever Knight TV show had ended before he had a chance to. True, he was still very *undead,* but had been so for about 768 years, and, aside from all the angst, had learned to cope with it. Speaking of angst, now that Natalie was gone and dead Nick felt like he just wanted to die. Where was LaCroix?
Nicolas stood up, feeling a bit foggy. What was going on? Slowly, he turned back to where Nat lay. She was gone. "Nat?" Nick exclaimed in surprised. "Nat? Nat?!" The vampire ran out into the streets searching for his friend. "Nat!" he cried, seeing a young woman (who looked very cold indeed) on the street. But it was not Natalie Lambert. Only slowly did it occur to Nick . . . LaCroix must have taken her. LaCroix had taken Nat away.
*Flashback:*
Alyssa was being carried away by LaCroix. She was dead.
*End really short Flashback.*
"'Scuse me," a Californian-accented voice asked from beside Nick. "Are you okay? You just kind of zoned out . . ."
Nick turned sharply to see the girl. She looked about nineteen or twenty, and was certainly not dressed for the weather. "I'm Buffy," she said holding out her hand.
"Nick Knight, Metro homicide," Nicolas answered automatically, shaking it. "May I help you?" He froze after asking the question. What was he doing? This was not the time! Shouldn't he be running? He had just killed Natalie, and LaCroix had almost certainly taken her out of town! But it was too late now; it was his duty as an officer to help those in need.
"Yes, actually . . ."
_______________________________________________________
It was season three, and Mulder *still* had a mound of paperwork on his desk. Some things never change. He was staring at it morosely when the distinct scraping sound of a folder being pushed under the door gave him an excuse to jump up. Picking up the file, Mulder opened the door, as was his tradition.
"Took you long enough," the short, black-garbed girl at the door said. "I know the usual informant doesn't hang around, but I'm not usual. And no, that was not a scripted line. Geez, you people have no sense of humour."
"I didn't say anything . . ." Mulder pointed out, as Scully ran in, waving a criminal profile. The girl – whom you've no doubt guessed by now was none other than Death – stepped quickly to the side, to avoid being run over (or through, depending on whether or not she was currently solid.)
"I found it! It was in the . . . oh. You have a visitor." Scully paused, no doubt waiting to be introduced.
"Excellent observation," Death noted. "Well, since you're both here, I can begin. Agent Mulder, if you would please show your partner that which I have so pointlessly shoved under your door?"
Glancing at each other in a "She is really weird, cover my back just in case" sort of way, Mulder studied the two pictures then handed them to Scully.
"What do you want with these?"
"What do I want? Nothing," Death replied. "I like people solve puzzles. I control the rules; this is my game. But perhaps you would like to play? The two pictures you see before you – they are taken 40 years apart. If you will notice this figure," she pointed to Nick, "he is in both pictures . . . and has not aged a day."
"Are you saying he's immortal?" Mulder asked in fascination, taking the pictures back from his partner.
"No, you are. I said he hadn't aged. My point is: this man – he currently goes by 'Nick Knight' – is working as a homicide detective in Toronto, Canada." I want you to investigate him.
Scully rolled her eyes. Figures. "We don't have jurisdiction in Canada," she said. "This is the FBI."
"Right, I know that," Death replied, suddenly grinning brightly in a dark sort of way. "But he used to work in the USA, and was surrounded by several mysterious murders. Anyway, I have these papers –" she produced them from a fictional pocket – "giving permission from the Canadian government. He used to work in the United States, so it *is* connected. I have tickets for you – here. Your flight is later than usual – you won't have to wake up before four AM. Don't you hate those late flights?"
The two FBI agents just stared at her. Death got out her notebook again and wrote, muttering: "No sense for dry humor . . . misses irony . . ."
"What are you writing?" Mulder asked curiously, trying to get a look at her black notepad.
"Curious and questioning . . . typical FBI . . . don't tell them you're Death . . ." Death muttered, still writing.
"Death?" Scully asked in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Still muttering to herself, Death looked up, then waved the agent away with her hand. "Never mind." She walked out into the hall and was gone without another word. The agents followed her, but the hallway was just as empty as usual.
"That was . . . strange," Scully said, looking after Death. She turned to Mulder, who was still staring at the pictures. "Mulder?"
He glanced up at her, waving two tickets. "I've always wanted to visit Toronto. See you tomorrow, Scully." He grinned devilishly, and left just as quickly as Death had. Scully was left alone, holding her profile and looking like she would have preferred for the last few minutes to have been repeated . . . in slow motion. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Comments, criticism, complements and complaints are all happily accepted. You can contact me at nienna_telrunya@hotmail.com Or visit my website at Thank you!
Disclaimer: Any and all Forever Knight, Buffy the Vampire Slayer or X-files characters etc. are their own. The locations used here are real, so they don't really belong to anyone except their respective governments. The rest of the characters (well, character, mostly) are mine, so please don't use them without permission. I hope you all enjoy!
__________________________________________
Death sat on the edge of a very large bowl-shaped hole, feet dangling over the edge, two bony thumbs twiddling. Why was it always the waiting? Surely there had been a time when . . . no! Must not go into a flashback! Looking up, Death noticed that the producers finally had the sense to end the show (though not, it's true, without some rather pointless dramatic flair.)
Buffy (formerly THE vampire slayer) jumped, suddenly realizing she was alone. Where was Willow? And Xander? And . . . that crowd? They were all gone! In fact, the only person there besides her was . . . a rather not-movie-star-pretty, short girl (who was somehow managing to look tall and deadly) with black hair and robes to match?
"Ah, so you've noticed me," Death said dryly. Actually, everything she ever said was dry. That's one of the reasons people though she was crazy (besides the fact that no sane author would EVER make Death female.) "It's taken you long enough – how long was this show? Seven seasons? Eight?"
For a girl who had just faced the end of the world, seen the vampire who was the "boyfriend in her heart" about to die, suddenly been deserted by her friends, standing next to a huge hole in the ground and facing Death, Buffy's reaction wasn't that bad: "Huh?"
Rolling her eyes, Death pulled out a small (black) notepad, and wrote something, muttering to herself: "Rather small vocabulary."
"What?" Buffy asked startled. "What do you mean? Hey, if you're a demon, I have to fight you!"
"Doesn't catch on very quickly . . ." Death continued writing, and then looked up. "No, I'm just taking notes. Dying tends to knock people out of character. If I remember the series correctly, you'd probably be pulling out a sharp, pointy stick about now. Was your hair always that shade of blond?"
Touching her hair a little self-consciously, Buffy pulled her hand away and straightened, back (in part) to her normal, slightly vain, self, "No, why?" Almost instinctively, she reached for a stake.
"Still hasn't caught on . . . changed hair color . . ." Buffy, now almost positive the end of the world (almost) hadn't ended at least *this* demon, threw the stake at Death . . . and watched as it went right through her. "Good aim at least . . ." Death muttered, as she continued to write.
"Stop writing things about me!" Buffy exclaimed. "What have you done with my friends? Who are you?"
"Demanding . . . hmm? Oh, I haven't done anything with your friends. They've faded away into non-existence and fan fictions by now. I wish them luck . . . with some of the awful writers out there, they'll need it." Death considered this for a moment, and after one more note on her pad, slipped it into an invisible (and possibly fictional) pocket. "I'm Death, nice to meet you." She courteously extended one hand. Buffy gripped it in return before pulling the smaller girl over her shoulder then kicking her as she straightened. It was like kicking a brick wall. Only brick walls usually crumbled in their own cliché way under the slayer's foot, and this one . . .
"Ow!!" Buffy yelled, holding her foot.
Death pulled out her pad again. "REALLY slow learner." She looked up at Buffy, her expression as blank as always. "Of course, you *are* reverted back 1/3rd of the series – everyone is, in the 'verses so far. So you are younger by a couple years. It makes you people easier to work with, what with you repeating the whole series once anyway. Dang reruns."
"Hey, I like reruns, they –" Buffy stopped abruptly. "What do you mean, reruns?"
"Slow, but not permanently stupid," Death pulled out her notepad again. "I mean, you're on a TV show – people created you, actors mimicked you, and viewers brought you to life. Lemon drop?"
Buffy stared down at the candy then shook her head. This was *not* the right time fore lemon drops. "You're crazy."
"Probably," Death sighed and put the lemon drop away. "Too little sugar – I'm back on carrots again."
But Buffy didn't really notice the answer; she continued talking, almost to herself. Looking rather amused, Death took notes. "You're crazy, I mean, who has a name like 'Death'? And a TV show? Now *that* is just weird. But I do feel different – like I was a couple years younger. Huh. But no." She looked up, having reached a conclusion. "You're crazy."
"We already covered that. Are you done ranting?"
"Nearly. I mean, yes. What?"
"Well," Death answered, smiling, "You're a little out-of-character still, what with the ranting and slow learning. Plus, I'm bored. So you get one chance. No," she added, as Buffy opened her mouth to speak (again.) "This is my game; I make the rules. In any case, it's traditional."
"What's my chance?" Buffy asked. Why not?
"I'm going to transport you to the 'Forever Knight' universe. That's another TV show – like your world."
"TV show?"
"Yes, we just went over this. There is a TV show in the Real World called 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer.' It stars you and your friends. You see, all of your life and reality is neither of those things at all. Every TV show is, in fact, a universe. This is the 'Buffy' universe. Remember? Now, I'm going to transfer you to another one of the movie 'verses."
"Hold it," said Buffy suddenly. "What did you say your name was?"
"Mmm, bad memory . . . it's 'Death'."
"So I'm dead? And you want to move me to a different universe?"
"Not exactly. See, to be dead, you have to be alive . . . and you were never exactly alive." She sighed in a dry, death-like manner. "I don't know why they gave me the name 'Death', but it's better than 'Person-who- comes-after-TV-shows-and-cleans-up-the-mess.' That'd make an awful acronym. My point was: you are going to another universe where the series has ended. You will live there. You will not tell anyone who you are or where you are from. You will not tell them you are dead. You will not kill anyone. You will forget I just used a very redundant sentence style."
"Oh," Buffy answered shortly. The next moment, she was on the streets of Toronto. And she was freezing.
___________________________________________________
Nicolas de Brabant (also known as Detective Nick Knight) was not dead thanks to the fact that the Forever Knight TV show had ended before he had a chance to. True, he was still very *undead,* but had been so for about 768 years, and, aside from all the angst, had learned to cope with it. Speaking of angst, now that Natalie was gone and dead Nick felt like he just wanted to die. Where was LaCroix?
Nicolas stood up, feeling a bit foggy. What was going on? Slowly, he turned back to where Nat lay. She was gone. "Nat?" Nick exclaimed in surprised. "Nat? Nat?!" The vampire ran out into the streets searching for his friend. "Nat!" he cried, seeing a young woman (who looked very cold indeed) on the street. But it was not Natalie Lambert. Only slowly did it occur to Nick . . . LaCroix must have taken her. LaCroix had taken Nat away.
*Flashback:*
Alyssa was being carried away by LaCroix. She was dead.
*End really short Flashback.*
"'Scuse me," a Californian-accented voice asked from beside Nick. "Are you okay? You just kind of zoned out . . ."
Nick turned sharply to see the girl. She looked about nineteen or twenty, and was certainly not dressed for the weather. "I'm Buffy," she said holding out her hand.
"Nick Knight, Metro homicide," Nicolas answered automatically, shaking it. "May I help you?" He froze after asking the question. What was he doing? This was not the time! Shouldn't he be running? He had just killed Natalie, and LaCroix had almost certainly taken her out of town! But it was too late now; it was his duty as an officer to help those in need.
"Yes, actually . . ."
_______________________________________________________
It was season three, and Mulder *still* had a mound of paperwork on his desk. Some things never change. He was staring at it morosely when the distinct scraping sound of a folder being pushed under the door gave him an excuse to jump up. Picking up the file, Mulder opened the door, as was his tradition.
"Took you long enough," the short, black-garbed girl at the door said. "I know the usual informant doesn't hang around, but I'm not usual. And no, that was not a scripted line. Geez, you people have no sense of humour."
"I didn't say anything . . ." Mulder pointed out, as Scully ran in, waving a criminal profile. The girl – whom you've no doubt guessed by now was none other than Death – stepped quickly to the side, to avoid being run over (or through, depending on whether or not she was currently solid.)
"I found it! It was in the . . . oh. You have a visitor." Scully paused, no doubt waiting to be introduced.
"Excellent observation," Death noted. "Well, since you're both here, I can begin. Agent Mulder, if you would please show your partner that which I have so pointlessly shoved under your door?"
Glancing at each other in a "She is really weird, cover my back just in case" sort of way, Mulder studied the two pictures then handed them to Scully.
"What do you want with these?"
"What do I want? Nothing," Death replied. "I like people solve puzzles. I control the rules; this is my game. But perhaps you would like to play? The two pictures you see before you – they are taken 40 years apart. If you will notice this figure," she pointed to Nick, "he is in both pictures . . . and has not aged a day."
"Are you saying he's immortal?" Mulder asked in fascination, taking the pictures back from his partner.
"No, you are. I said he hadn't aged. My point is: this man – he currently goes by 'Nick Knight' – is working as a homicide detective in Toronto, Canada." I want you to investigate him.
Scully rolled her eyes. Figures. "We don't have jurisdiction in Canada," she said. "This is the FBI."
"Right, I know that," Death replied, suddenly grinning brightly in a dark sort of way. "But he used to work in the USA, and was surrounded by several mysterious murders. Anyway, I have these papers –" she produced them from a fictional pocket – "giving permission from the Canadian government. He used to work in the United States, so it *is* connected. I have tickets for you – here. Your flight is later than usual – you won't have to wake up before four AM. Don't you hate those late flights?"
The two FBI agents just stared at her. Death got out her notebook again and wrote, muttering: "No sense for dry humor . . . misses irony . . ."
"What are you writing?" Mulder asked curiously, trying to get a look at her black notepad.
"Curious and questioning . . . typical FBI . . . don't tell them you're Death . . ." Death muttered, still writing.
"Death?" Scully asked in surprise. "What do you mean?"
Still muttering to herself, Death looked up, then waved the agent away with her hand. "Never mind." She walked out into the hall and was gone without another word. The agents followed her, but the hallway was just as empty as usual.
"That was . . . strange," Scully said, looking after Death. She turned to Mulder, who was still staring at the pictures. "Mulder?"
He glanced up at her, waving two tickets. "I've always wanted to visit Toronto. See you tomorrow, Scully." He grinned devilishly, and left just as quickly as Death had. Scully was left alone, holding her profile and looking like she would have preferred for the last few minutes to have been repeated . . . in slow motion. _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Comments, criticism, complements and complaints are all happily accepted. You can contact me at nienna_telrunya@hotmail.com Or visit my website at Thank you!