[Reviews - 18]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 1954 times

- Text Size +




From each slayer, Spike got something new.

From each slayer he killed, he got himself a gift—first was the slayer from the Boxer Rebellion. From her, he got a scar, which he still wore proudly almost a hundred years later.

From the second one, the strong, spirited, New York slayer, he got a coat. He loved that duster, he knew Buffy did too, though Dru had never been to fond of him wearing something from a different bird. It had bullet holes and knife slashes, and was now in tatters from that explosion, but hanging in his closet in his apartment. A keepsake.

And he had gotten a third slayer killed, on a warm spring night, not by killing, but by failing to kill. Course, he’d gotten her back, but he still had gotten himself his gift. HE got dreams. All kinds of dreams, which was a bit of odd, because he knew some vampires never dreamed at all—Angelus had slept like, well, the dead. Terrible, aching nightmares or bright, vivid fantasies. Shreds of a memory or a scene painted down to the last detail. Sometimes he dreamed in black and white, sometimes in red, sometimes without sound. All kinds of dreams. But the worst were the happiest, the most vivid, because they always ended with him waking up alone. Well, except for once, the night before he died. Again.

He had had the most glorious dreams, an ecstasy of pain.

But never pain like this.

“AAAAAAAH!” Spike finally shot up from where he had been writhing on the floor, narrowly missing hitting Buffy on the jaw. “What…where…” He turned to Buffy, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Where did I go?”

Buffy shook her head, gaping.

Suddenly, the man’s eyes widened and he shot up from where he sat, scrambling down out the door and down the hall. “Willow! Angel!” He stopped at Room 214 and pounded on the door. “Willow! Angel!”

“Spike, what’s going on?” The redhead finally stuck her head out the door from where she’d been sitting, trying to find a way to measure Gunn’s heartbeat.

“I have to... I mean, we…there’s gonna be…Oh bloody hell, just grab something sharp and shiny and follow me!” He ran down the stairs and into the lobby where Angel had just emerged form downstairs. “C’mon then peaches.”

“What’s going on?”

“We got ourselves a date.”

“What?”

Spike stopped briefly to turn to him exasperated. “I’ll say this in a way you can understand. You plus weapon, follow Spike,” He made a walking motion with his fingers, “go alley, rescue pretty cavegirl. Capisce?”

“Ooh! I know that, it’s Italian for--” The rest of the company turned to Willow. “Shutting up now.”



Beth was terrified.

This isn’t real, cuz monsters don’t exist. At least not vampires, vampires definitely don’t exist. Not the kind with fangs and lumpy faces and why did the kind of lisp while they talked?, well, threatened, and I don’t want to die in an alley, it’s my birthday Tuesday and I want to know what it’s like to be 16 although it probably—

Oh God.

I’m gonna die.

Isn’t this the part where my life flashes before my eyes?

Suddenly, a figure, panting, covered in blood, appeared at the end of the alley.

“Don’t think you wanna unwrap the gift yet, mate.” He squinted and his eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight. “I doubt she’s quite ripe.” And then they fought.

Spike’s head was still spinning, but he figured a bit of violence was a perfect remedy. He shoved the first vamp to the ground, then ducked and spun as the second foolishly tried to punch him in the head. He dropped to the ground and shot out with his right foot, sending the vamp tumbling, and immediately rolled past and under the kick of the first vampire and snatched a shard of a wooden box up. He turned and plunged the makeshift stake in the first vamp’s back, then sidestepped the charge of the second one and flung it behind him without having to look, grinning a little at the sound of dust whooshing. He looked at the other end of the alley where Angel was standing, immediately joined by Buffy, a panting Willow and a calmly walking Illyria.

“Wankers. Give a bad name, not picking a fair fight and all.”

Beth’s eyes widened. “Those were- were va—”

“Very bad men, muggers, who escaped, yeah. Bad, bad, men. Gotta clean up this city.” Angel nodded furiously as Spike limped to the rest of the group.

“Bloody hell. I think me leg opened again, the whole running gig likely less than good for it.” He clenched his teeth then noticed Buffy peering suspiciously at Illyria, who had assumed the form of Fred. “Ooh, um…Illyria?” No way in hell was he calling her Fred. He could just pretend she was from Indonesia or something. “Why don’t you and Buffy escort our poor trembling friend home? She may or may not be delusional.”

Willow nodded emphatically. “Ignore any ramblings.” Buffy glanced back at the mysterious trio before taking the girl by the shoulder. The other girl—Illyria? Angel had hurriedly said something about an exchange student from the Phillipines—walked on the other side, but farther away and more reserved.

“Ok, what in the name of the Snoopy Dance was that?” Willow hissed once Buffy was out of earshot. Spike seemed pale, even for a vampire in the bluish light of the moon.

“Angel…how’d you say you knew about that Circle of the Black Thorn wash?”

“Uh…vision?”

“Were the symptoms skull-splitting pain and hallucinations of a load of unfortunate ponces, etc etc.?” Angel stopped abruptly.

“Oh, God.”

“Not really.” Spike grinned wryly. “More like, ‘Oh, Bugger’”

“Wait…vision? Spike has Vision? Can we cure it?” Willow asked, bewildered. “You don’t mean, like, visions-vision, do you? Cuz that’s usually paired with pain and an early death and can only be bestowed upon a champion and--” She stared at the too tired faces looking back at her. “Damn.”

“I see that ‘Damn’ and raise it a ‘Fuck’.” Spike sighed, then frowned. “Balls. Been a year now and I still sometimes speak in Scooby.”



Spike, Willow, and Angel sat around a table in Gunn’s room so Willow could keep an eye on him. Buffy was asleep and Illyria was doing whatever it was Illyria did down in the basement. Willow had done a healing spell on Spike’s leg to start it healing, but with all the work on Gunn, she had been feeling pretty tapped and hadn’t done much. She sat drumming her fingers on the table, a book on the history of visions open in front of her.

“Well, it doesn’t say a lot about the history of visions’ pains. Just death and mayhem, chaos when they were ignored…Ooh, there are pictures…Um.” Willow closed the book. “Yikes.”

“I mean, it just doesn’t make sense.” Angel continued. “Doyle was part-demon, but he was still in pain most of the time. And Cordelia was human and seemed to have pain like you said yours was like, but when she became part demon, her visions where virtually painless.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “And you’re part demon, so it shouldn’t be so painful.”

Spike shrugged exhaustedly. He hadn’t slept well in days. “Don’t know what to say. You know I’m not one for bragging for Band-aids, but this…” He shook his head. “It was bad.”

“This is all bad!” Angel finally snapped, slamming his hands down on the table, which received a fervent shush from Willow for the sleeping Gunn. “You’re getting visions, Buffy’s got amnesia, Gunn’s blind, and I still have to slay that dragon.”

“Well, I got good news and bad news.” Willow finally spoke. “Spike must be getting visions as the other effect of the messed up spell—Buffy’s blind to the past, Spike’s eyes are open to the future. And I think I know how to fix it. And who were gonna have to bring in.” She stared refelectively at the tabletop as Spike and Angel waited patiently.

“And?!” Spike said sharply. Well ok, not so patient.

“Oh! Um…Things are gonna get messy. Like, real messy. And also,” Willow turned sadly to the bed where Gunn lay, breathing shallowly. “I’ve done everything I can, but Gunn- he’s dying.”



A/N: Gah! Here’s my story:

**********************
Cecily: It shall be a good and satisfying chapter, and we shall call this chapter…”This chapter”

Garage of Doom: I think we should call it “Your Grave”!

Cecily: Gah! Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal! Return my laptop!

G.O.D.: Bwahaha! Mine is an evil laugh! The computer is forever in my clutches! Now you die!

*Swordfight*

********************
….Oooor something. Much love to all the Firefly fans who know i just totally violated copyright laws. Well, still haven’t found that laptop, so slow going till i do. Feedback is real encouraging to the through the boxes and do that writing thing (still using a friend’s comp), even hate mail, just so i know that there’s someone reading who i can piss off out of spite.
Multi grazie, as Andrew would say.

Oh, i forgot—i’m in need of a beta, never had one, but just figured what the hell. If you are one, or you know where i can catch one, leave me a message.





You must login (register) to review.