A/N: Figured I'd update before people forget this story even exists.
Tried to make it an HTML doc so I could have italics, but oh joy, it
didn't work. Finally figured out that I could add italics with the
QuickEdit (duh).
After all the wonderful ideas sent to me I'm changing this horribly short chapter and adding more to it! (For those who didn't read the original, yes, this chapter used to be shorter. Pathetic, no?)
White avenger, thanks for the ideas on how to bring characters back and speculation on what the Immortal is.
c-wolf: Thanks for reminding me that there are other people in Fray. I was concentrating to much on Mel and her grief over Loo's death.
Kismet: hmmm.... Interesting. I always was kind of miffed how there was absolutely no closure to the friendship between Dawn and Spike ...
And, to my readers out there: Yeah, I am going to bring some characters back, but don't get upset if I don't bring back your favorite. If I brought them all back, not only would that not be very realistic, but it would also be WAY to much for me to write in one fanfic ... Gunther, Erin, Harth, the Immortal and, in addition, Buffy, Xander, Willow, Giles, Angel .... No. I'm sorry, but I am human. I can't give each one a good amount of time in my story, so I can't justify it.
Harth Fray looked at the demon before him, contemplating. He was tall, and muscular, with a tan that, in this day and age, someone could only get by going to a salon. He had clothes that designated him as being from the uppers, sparkling white teeth, and the most annoying personality that Harth had ever come across.
"So, you call yourself 'the Immortal'?"
"So, you call yourself 'the one who will lead'?" he mocked. He laughed. "My dear boy, I've seen vampires far wiser and more experienced than yourself who met cruel deaths on the sharp end of a slayer's stake. I've seen numerous would-be apocalypses. I've seen great demons rise and fall. I can call myself whatever I please, and I do not have to take orders from a fledgling."
Harth narrowed his eyes. "Icarus was far older than you, and he had no problems with it."
"My dear boy, Icarus is dead," the Immortal said, as if talking to a child.
"Am I?"
Icarus immerged from the shadows. His face still bore the ancient tattoos from times long forgotten, but now had gruesome scars marring it. His arms, well muscled as always, looked as if they'd endured multiple fractures along with scars like the ones on his head and face. His clothes covered the rest of his body, but he walked with a limp in his left leg.
The Immortal looked a little intimidated. Harth grinned too himself. That'll teach him, he thought, trying to undermine MY authority. Ha! As if he could ...
"So, cut to the chase, Immortal," Icarus said, spitting out the name mockingly. "You say that you know inside information about the Slayer's new Watcher?"
"Oh, yes. He's a very formidable opponent. See, like me –" the Immortal shot them a grin so maddeningly superior that it took ever fiber of control Harth had not to strangle him – "he's killed Slayers."
"'Every Slayer has a death wish'?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yep." I thought about that for a sec, then shrugged. Must be one of the slayer features that Harth got ... The stuff about the weapon was my big concern. I only had one. Getting a wooden stake was almost laughable. So what the hell would I do if I lost the scythe? Or more importantly, who would die next?
Talk of death and mayhem had lost its appeal for Spike several years ago. Therefore, after telling Mel about how Slayers fell – like he had to Buffy over two hundred years before – he felt almost sick with the thought of Nikki Wood's neck snapping and the memory of the Chinese Slayer's blood brought bile to his throat.
He hadn't told Mel that the way he knew how Slayers die was because he'd killed a few himself. It was hard enough getting her to trust him as it was, but throw that on top ...
He wanted to go visit Dawn's grave. He used to feel better after going there. Sure, when he went, he'd hope against hope that somehow, Dawn would, in death, give him the forgiveness that she withheld while she was alive. However, visiting her grave was now impossible – the increase in population had caused graveyards to be ripped to shreds.
With Buffy, there'd been no funeral. No body. Gone forever, so thoroughly that Spike sometimes wondered if she'd been a figment of his imagination.
When Fred died, there'd been no talk of burying her body. After all, it was still walking around, wasn't it? Was till this very day. Wasn't Fred, but still.
Angel's death, at least, had been quick: stake through the heart, dying in battle, a hero. Exactly the way he would've wanted to go out. Spike hated just leaving his remains there, but you couldn't exactly give a funeral for a pile of dust, so instead, every year, on the day that Angel died, Spike went to the nearest church and lit a candle. He wasn't quite sure if he as mourning Angel's death or bidding the bastard good riddance, but what else was new? The day things regarding Angel weren't complicated was the day that someone would throw a snowball in hell.
He'd seen them all die. Every single one – except Illyria. And who knew about Dru. But the fact that he was the only one left – well, him and an ex-demon monarch – made him feel incredibly old. The only time he'd ever felt like this before was before that final battle back in Sunny-D.
He'd died, then. Idly, he wondered if he would now.
At least then he'd see them again.
Hanging his jacket up carefully, making sure it didn't wrinkle, the Immortal pondered his new alliance. The boy was no trouble at all – just a stubborn little brat who was used to getting what he wanted. Icarus was the only real threat ...
Sighing as he straightened his hair in the mirror, the Immortal considered Icarus. Icarus was almost as old as he was, and had a reputation for not only destruction, but being cunning an resourceful. In a time when vampires roamed the streets like an out of control fungus, Icarus had rounded up a gang which followed his every whim. His only weakness, it seemed, was the boy. But what type of weakness was this Harth Fray? Did Icarus simply worship him, or was Fray more like a son?
"It doesn't matter," he assured himself. Soon, he'd have enough energy to control his secret weapon. He smirked. That should be fun ...
He walked over to the glass coffin where his weapon slept. Silently, he appraised her. Not one day had been gained by her since he first put her under his spell; she was still the same young woman, beautiful and, surprisingly, deadly.
"Soon, love, you'll finally be allowed to wake up," the Immortal told her. She couldn't hear him, of course, but it felt good to stand above her body, telling her what her fate was. The fate he was in control of. "Soon ..."
A/N: Three guesses who the girl is, and the first two don't count.
After all the wonderful ideas sent to me I'm changing this horribly short chapter and adding more to it! (For those who didn't read the original, yes, this chapter used to be shorter. Pathetic, no?)
White avenger, thanks for the ideas on how to bring characters back and speculation on what the Immortal is.
c-wolf: Thanks for reminding me that there are other people in Fray. I was concentrating to much on Mel and her grief over Loo's death.
Kismet: hmmm.... Interesting. I always was kind of miffed how there was absolutely no closure to the friendship between Dawn and Spike ...
And, to my readers out there: Yeah, I am going to bring some characters back, but don't get upset if I don't bring back your favorite. If I brought them all back, not only would that not be very realistic, but it would also be WAY to much for me to write in one fanfic ... Gunther, Erin, Harth, the Immortal and, in addition, Buffy, Xander, Willow, Giles, Angel .... No. I'm sorry, but I am human. I can't give each one a good amount of time in my story, so I can't justify it.
Harth Fray looked at the demon before him, contemplating. He was tall, and muscular, with a tan that, in this day and age, someone could only get by going to a salon. He had clothes that designated him as being from the uppers, sparkling white teeth, and the most annoying personality that Harth had ever come across.
"So, you call yourself 'the Immortal'?"
"So, you call yourself 'the one who will lead'?" he mocked. He laughed. "My dear boy, I've seen vampires far wiser and more experienced than yourself who met cruel deaths on the sharp end of a slayer's stake. I've seen numerous would-be apocalypses. I've seen great demons rise and fall. I can call myself whatever I please, and I do not have to take orders from a fledgling."
Harth narrowed his eyes. "Icarus was far older than you, and he had no problems with it."
"My dear boy, Icarus is dead," the Immortal said, as if talking to a child.
"Am I?"
Icarus immerged from the shadows. His face still bore the ancient tattoos from times long forgotten, but now had gruesome scars marring it. His arms, well muscled as always, looked as if they'd endured multiple fractures along with scars like the ones on his head and face. His clothes covered the rest of his body, but he walked with a limp in his left leg.
The Immortal looked a little intimidated. Harth grinned too himself. That'll teach him, he thought, trying to undermine MY authority. Ha! As if he could ...
"So, cut to the chase, Immortal," Icarus said, spitting out the name mockingly. "You say that you know inside information about the Slayer's new Watcher?"
"Oh, yes. He's a very formidable opponent. See, like me –" the Immortal shot them a grin so maddeningly superior that it took ever fiber of control Harth had not to strangle him – "he's killed Slayers."
"'Every Slayer has a death wish'?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Yep." I thought about that for a sec, then shrugged. Must be one of the slayer features that Harth got ... The stuff about the weapon was my big concern. I only had one. Getting a wooden stake was almost laughable. So what the hell would I do if I lost the scythe? Or more importantly, who would die next?
Talk of death and mayhem had lost its appeal for Spike several years ago. Therefore, after telling Mel about how Slayers fell – like he had to Buffy over two hundred years before – he felt almost sick with the thought of Nikki Wood's neck snapping and the memory of the Chinese Slayer's blood brought bile to his throat.
He hadn't told Mel that the way he knew how Slayers die was because he'd killed a few himself. It was hard enough getting her to trust him as it was, but throw that on top ...
He wanted to go visit Dawn's grave. He used to feel better after going there. Sure, when he went, he'd hope against hope that somehow, Dawn would, in death, give him the forgiveness that she withheld while she was alive. However, visiting her grave was now impossible – the increase in population had caused graveyards to be ripped to shreds.
With Buffy, there'd been no funeral. No body. Gone forever, so thoroughly that Spike sometimes wondered if she'd been a figment of his imagination.
When Fred died, there'd been no talk of burying her body. After all, it was still walking around, wasn't it? Was till this very day. Wasn't Fred, but still.
Angel's death, at least, had been quick: stake through the heart, dying in battle, a hero. Exactly the way he would've wanted to go out. Spike hated just leaving his remains there, but you couldn't exactly give a funeral for a pile of dust, so instead, every year, on the day that Angel died, Spike went to the nearest church and lit a candle. He wasn't quite sure if he as mourning Angel's death or bidding the bastard good riddance, but what else was new? The day things regarding Angel weren't complicated was the day that someone would throw a snowball in hell.
He'd seen them all die. Every single one – except Illyria. And who knew about Dru. But the fact that he was the only one left – well, him and an ex-demon monarch – made him feel incredibly old. The only time he'd ever felt like this before was before that final battle back in Sunny-D.
He'd died, then. Idly, he wondered if he would now.
At least then he'd see them again.
Hanging his jacket up carefully, making sure it didn't wrinkle, the Immortal pondered his new alliance. The boy was no trouble at all – just a stubborn little brat who was used to getting what he wanted. Icarus was the only real threat ...
Sighing as he straightened his hair in the mirror, the Immortal considered Icarus. Icarus was almost as old as he was, and had a reputation for not only destruction, but being cunning an resourceful. In a time when vampires roamed the streets like an out of control fungus, Icarus had rounded up a gang which followed his every whim. His only weakness, it seemed, was the boy. But what type of weakness was this Harth Fray? Did Icarus simply worship him, or was Fray more like a son?
"It doesn't matter," he assured himself. Soon, he'd have enough energy to control his secret weapon. He smirked. That should be fun ...
He walked over to the glass coffin where his weapon slept. Silently, he appraised her. Not one day had been gained by her since he first put her under his spell; she was still the same young woman, beautiful and, surprisingly, deadly.
"Soon, love, you'll finally be allowed to wake up," the Immortal told her. She couldn't hear him, of course, but it felt good to stand above her body, telling her what her fate was. The fate he was in control of. "Soon ..."
A/N: Three guesses who the girl is, and the first two don't count.