Fic: Early One Morning
Jun. 3rd, 2007 10:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indriI was looking through some old files, looking for something else, when I found some drafts of old fic. I thought this one might be worth posting. I wrote it during a particularly dull conference while Buffy Season 7 was still airing. I didn't post it at the time because it smacked of obvious wish fulfillment and then was overtaken by the events of the show.
Early One Morning
Rated PG.
Summary: One possible ending for Season Seven, based on unspoiled speculation after "Get It Done". Buffy/Spike.
Buffy wakes, and turns her head to the clock at her bedside. Three hours, she thinks, I've slept three whole hours. Her sleep's been broken over the past few days; no matter how much she tries, however many cups of chamomile tea Willow gives her, however long Xander and Giles sit with her, supportive, she just can't get a good night's sleep. Instead she sits up late, huddled under a bedsheet, sleeping only when she is utterly exhausted and then it's not so much sleep as passing out.
This morning, though, feels different. The faint light of daybreak is making the curtains glow at the edges. There is birdsong but, as yet, no real sound of traffic.
Buffy steps out of bed, her bare feet padding across carpet. She still half-expects to see sleeping bags on the floor. But no, when she steps out into the corridor, it's with the knowledge that only Dawn lies behind the first door and that Willow and Kennedy are behind the second.
She walks down the stairs, past framed pictures of doors, down into a hall made luminous with the beginnings of daylight. Everything seems strangely still and serene. Even the refrigerator is having one of its silent spells. Anya, tucked tightly under a blanket on the sofa, doesn't stir as Buffy walks past, on through the kitchen and out to the back door. She places her hand on the doorknob, twists and pulls.
She's not surprised, but she's saddened, to see him standing there on the back porch. He's looking around himself, tilting his face towards the sun and his skin and hair seem to glow under the weak light. Great, she thinks, a slayer dream. Someone wants to give me closure.
"Buffy," Spike says, with that soft, low tone he had, that now makes her blood thicken with pain. This isn't closure, she thinks, this is cruel.
She straightens her shoulders, takes in a deep breath, and says, "OK, say your thing and then go. What is it this time? Some cryptic comment about a new apocalypse? Do I have a new invented sister coming? Because your hints are usually so not helpful. Also, I don't do apocalypses anymore. I'm retired. You should tell Faith. She's the one down in the basement now. Go talk to her because I really can't take any more of this."
The apparition just stares at her, as if trying to work out what she means. "A new apocalypse?" he asks. "Why, didn't we make it?"
"You didn't," she says. "The rest of us did."
"But the Hellmouth..."
"Is closed. So yes, there shouldn't be any more apocalyses, just mopping up of evil. Which is why I don't understand why you're here. My slayer dreams are always some kind of warning."
He grunts then, nodding, and his shoulders relax as if she's answered some question. "A dream, yeah? Figures. Because–" and he gestures with both hands towards the non-immolating sun.
He looks back at her. "So, I'm dead, then?"
"Or in a hell dimension," Buffy says. "Don't you remember?"
He shakes his head. "I remember leaping, when Willow and Dawn did the spell. Nothing after that."
"I told you not to," she said. "We were going to find another way."
"But we didn't."
She hangs her head. "No. But why you?"
"I was the one without any family," he points out. "Also, already dead."
"No," she says, "not really."
"Yes, really."
"But..."
"Buffy, they built a carpark over my grave in the 1950s."
She reaches for him, letting her hands slide around and pulling his mouth to hers.
He starts a little as her hands move lower. "What, here? In broad daylight?"
"It's a dream," she says. "Who are we going to scare, dream people?"
Willow slides out of bed, taking care not to disturb her sleeping lover. She steps into her furry slippers, yawns and stretches. She pauses at the window, pulling the drapes aside just wide enough to glance out at the summer weather. She smiles in welcome at the beautiful cloudless sky.
She lets the drapes fall shut, turns towards the dresser, and then stops, freezes. Something like a grimace passes over her face. She turns back to the window and looks out once more past the drapes. Then she's bounding towards the door, not noticing that she's startled Kennedy awake, leaps down the stairs. She swivels once she reaches the bottom, turning towards the kitchen.
Which is where she finds Anya, sitting up on kitchen bench, fully dressed and entirely composed. She has a glass of juice next to her and is nibbling on the remnants of a piece of toast. She is unashamedly looking out of the kitchen window.
Willow stares at her.
"Well," says Anya, sparing Willow the briefest of glances,. "I'm going to give them ten out of ten."
Early One Morning
Rated PG.
Summary: One possible ending for Season Seven, based on unspoiled speculation after "Get It Done". Buffy/Spike.
Buffy wakes, and turns her head to the clock at her bedside. Three hours, she thinks, I've slept three whole hours. Her sleep's been broken over the past few days; no matter how much she tries, however many cups of chamomile tea Willow gives her, however long Xander and Giles sit with her, supportive, she just can't get a good night's sleep. Instead she sits up late, huddled under a bedsheet, sleeping only when she is utterly exhausted and then it's not so much sleep as passing out.
This morning, though, feels different. The faint light of daybreak is making the curtains glow at the edges. There is birdsong but, as yet, no real sound of traffic.
Buffy steps out of bed, her bare feet padding across carpet. She still half-expects to see sleeping bags on the floor. But no, when she steps out into the corridor, it's with the knowledge that only Dawn lies behind the first door and that Willow and Kennedy are behind the second.
She walks down the stairs, past framed pictures of doors, down into a hall made luminous with the beginnings of daylight. Everything seems strangely still and serene. Even the refrigerator is having one of its silent spells. Anya, tucked tightly under a blanket on the sofa, doesn't stir as Buffy walks past, on through the kitchen and out to the back door. She places her hand on the doorknob, twists and pulls.
She's not surprised, but she's saddened, to see him standing there on the back porch. He's looking around himself, tilting his face towards the sun and his skin and hair seem to glow under the weak light. Great, she thinks, a slayer dream. Someone wants to give me closure.
"Buffy," Spike says, with that soft, low tone he had, that now makes her blood thicken with pain. This isn't closure, she thinks, this is cruel.
She straightens her shoulders, takes in a deep breath, and says, "OK, say your thing and then go. What is it this time? Some cryptic comment about a new apocalypse? Do I have a new invented sister coming? Because your hints are usually so not helpful. Also, I don't do apocalypses anymore. I'm retired. You should tell Faith. She's the one down in the basement now. Go talk to her because I really can't take any more of this."
The apparition just stares at her, as if trying to work out what she means. "A new apocalypse?" he asks. "Why, didn't we make it?"
"You didn't," she says. "The rest of us did."
"But the Hellmouth..."
"Is closed. So yes, there shouldn't be any more apocalyses, just mopping up of evil. Which is why I don't understand why you're here. My slayer dreams are always some kind of warning."
He grunts then, nodding, and his shoulders relax as if she's answered some question. "A dream, yeah? Figures. Because–" and he gestures with both hands towards the non-immolating sun.
He looks back at her. "So, I'm dead, then?"
"Or in a hell dimension," Buffy says. "Don't you remember?"
He shakes his head. "I remember leaping, when Willow and Dawn did the spell. Nothing after that."
"I told you not to," she said. "We were going to find another way."
"But we didn't."
She hangs her head. "No. But why you?"
"I was the one without any family," he points out. "Also, already dead."
"No," she says, "not really."
"Yes, really."
"But..."
"Buffy, they built a carpark over my grave in the 1950s."
She reaches for him, letting her hands slide around and pulling his mouth to hers.
He starts a little as her hands move lower. "What, here? In broad daylight?"
"It's a dream," she says. "Who are we going to scare, dream people?"
Willow slides out of bed, taking care not to disturb her sleeping lover. She steps into her furry slippers, yawns and stretches. She pauses at the window, pulling the drapes aside just wide enough to glance out at the summer weather. She smiles in welcome at the beautiful cloudless sky.
She lets the drapes fall shut, turns towards the dresser, and then stops, freezes. Something like a grimace passes over her face. She turns back to the window and looks out once more past the drapes. Then she's bounding towards the door, not noticing that she's startled Kennedy awake, leaps down the stairs. She swivels once she reaches the bottom, turning towards the kitchen.
Which is where she finds Anya, sitting up on kitchen bench, fully dressed and entirely composed. She has a glass of juice next to her and is nibbling on the remnants of a piece of toast. She is unashamedly looking out of the kitchen window.
Willow stares at her.
"Well," says Anya, sparing Willow the briefest of glances,. "I'm going to give them ten out of ten."
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Date: 2007-06-03 03:27 pm (UTC)