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Guestbook RATING: Okay, I want you to brace yourselves: This one is not NC-17. Shocking, I know, but it is R for language and discussion of sexual situations, if not for any actual sex. I’m keeping it on the femfanfic side of the site because it has its dark, adult moments.
DISCLAIMER: No, I don’t own the copyrights. Which is why you are reading this on a fanfic page instead of watching it on commercially subsidized TV or shelling out six bucks for the novelized version. No one’s making a dime from this. Joss and everyone he works for owns these characters, not me. I just own the arrangement of words. No copyright infringement is intended.
NOTE: This is an odd fic for me. No smut, just speculation on how things are and how they might be. It's sort of cathartic, too, in that I'm not all that happy with how things went in season four over all, despite some outstanding eps. I’m pretty concerned about how damaged the characters might be by the events they've already gone through, and by what they might have to go through before all is said and done. This fic deals with several different issues I have, and just sort of demanded to be written.
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Aftermath
part1By
Margot Le Faye
The hot looking blond was having her usual--whiskey, neat--and checking out the action at the pool table. She was dressed to kill, and probably had done, earlier in the evening. The mud of a dozen cemeteries, damp from recent rains, clung to her high-heeled boots. Black leather pants were tucked into the boots, and a black camisole showed off the lush roundness of her upper body. Her blond hair was cut in a smooth, sleek style, curving just below her jaw.
The demons who made Willie’s place their regular watering hole greeted her with a sort of respectful familiarity. The Slayer had been coming here for years, starting just before she left college and began drifting away from her human friends. From her first visit she made it clear that she was there to relax, not to fight. Gradually, as she spent more time at Willie’s and less with her friends, his bar became neutral territory. Any demon not planning the imminent destruction of the world was safe at Willie’s when the Slayer was there to drink and play pool.
Willie had tried to stop her, at first, telling her a Slayer hanging around was bad for business. But she had quickly pointed out to him the advantages of owning the one place in town where demons could come and not be dusted. After she single-handedly took out the personal legions of the legendary king of demons, Asmodeus, during her senior year at college, the vampires and lessor demons had realized that ganging up on her probably wouldn’t do them much good: If she was willing to call a truce, so were they.
By unspoken consent, neutral territory extended for a few blocks around Willie’s, and anyone heading to or away from the bar was safe. Once beyond the safety zone, all bets were off. One time, the Slayer had spent a night carousing with a trio of demon brothers. They had gotten drunk together, swapping war stories, and one of them had engaged her in a wicked game of pool. The other brothers called it a night hours before the pool players were willing to do so. By dawn, the remaining demon was so plastered, she had to take him home to his crypt and tuck him. Three days later, she found him about to murder some humans, and took his head without a qualm. She then brought said head into Willie’s bar, delivering it to his brothers, so that they could observe the proper funerary rites. An impromptu wake was held at Willie’s with the Slayer buying the deceased’s family a round, and commiserating with them over their loss.
The demon walking into the bar for the first time had heard about that, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Sure the kid’d had it tough--tougher than even he had expected--but how in hell’s name could a Slayer consort with demons?
Then he remembered the first demon she had consorted with, a demon he himself had led to her, and decided that maybe it wasn’t so hard to understand, after all. She walked in darkness, so that the rest of the world could walk in light. Maybe it made sense that she would take comfort in that dark, her most familiar companion, the one that would never desert her.
He watched from the shadows as she went through her usual bottle while playing kick-ass pool. She looked good, he supposed. A bit thinner than the last time he’d seen her, but sleek and deadly, like any predator. She had always been that, but at seventeen, despite what she was going through, there had still been an air of vulnerability about her, and a certain innocence. All of that was gone now. Her eyes told the story. They were older than the eyes of any woman who was barely thirty had a right to be. Her eyes had seen too much, and knew too much: her eyes were ancient.
As the last pool ball sank into the pocket, and her opponent pulled out his wallet with a groan, the demon came forward.
"Hey, kid," he greeted her softly. She turned to him, startled, the roll of bills she had just won still in her hand.
"Whistler?" she questioned, smiling slightly. Then she took in the troubled expression on his face.
"It’s time, huh?" she said, more calmly than she should have, as she tucked her winnings into her pants pocket and picked up her whiskey, knocking the last of it back.
"How the hell’d you know that?" he wondered. She laughed without humor.
"Because you only show up for the end of the world," she said sliding her pool cue back into the stand and reaching for her leather jacket. Whistler recognized that jacket. So, maybe she wasn’t quite so invulnerable after all. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not, given the circumstances.
"So," she said, shrugging into the jacket. "Where’s it going down?"
"L.A." he told her. She laughed once more, the same humorless dry chuckle.
"Of course." She didn’t say anything after that, just called out a good night to Willie and the other regulars as if this were just a routine summons and she’d be back at the bar next evening, not as if she had just been called forth to fight in the be all and end all of battles: The End Of Days.
She led Whistler to a vintage convertible, red as freshly spilled blood. The top was down, safe enough in the parking lot by Willie’s bar. She still said nothing as he slid into the passenger seat, and she behind the wheel, maintaining her silence even as she pulled out of the lot and onto the road. When he realized they were heading directly for the freeway that would get them to LA, he was the one who broke the silence.
"Not calling in the reinforcements?" he asked.
"It’s not their battle any more, Whistler," she said firmly. "Xander and Anya have twins. Willow and Tara have their daughters by Oz. Even Giles and Olivia have children now. If I survive this, I’ll see them soon enough. If I don’t," she smiled grimly. "At least the kids will have parents to protect them from whatever comes."
"Speaking of parents," he began, thinking how distraught Joyce would be if she knew what was happening.
"It’s better this way," she said shortly. He sighed, looking at the stern profile of the young woman beside him. Maybe it was.
"Okay, no talk about parents. Which begs the question: if all your friends managed to do the family thing, how come you never did?"
"What’s with the twenty questions?" she snapped.
"It’s a long drive to LA," he said evenly. Buffy cast him a cursory glance, then shrugged.
"There was a guy in college, Riley Finn, he was just about perfect for me. Knew about the whole Slaying deal, even helped out. But--he could walk away from it, and he never got that I never could. He’d talk about how, when I graduated and he got his Master’s degree, we could move back to Iowa. I told him I couldn’t ever leave the Hellmouth. He didn’t believe me. It wasn’t a big deal at first. I mean, we started dating in my freshman year, and I figured that by the time I graduated, he’d have seen for himself. But he didn’t. The closer it got, the more he wanted to make plans. And the less he wanted to hear that I wasn’t going anywhere. He kept telling me that I was just being negative. That if I killed enough demons, or found a spell to permanently seal the Hellmouth, I could leave Giles and the others to take care of things. They could always call me back if something big went down."
"Not a bad idea," Whistler said. "Why didn’t you?" She canted him a quick look of disbelief before focusing her attention back on the road.
"Because no matter how many times you seal up the Hellmouth for all eternity, it finds a way to open itself up again. The bad keeps on coming, Whistler, you know that."
"Maybe," he conceded, "maybe not. You win this battle, you’re home free."
"Yeah, home free," she agreed. "Until the next time."
"The bad always keeps coming," he said softly, "but the same warriors don’t always have to keep fighting. You done good, kid, better than anyone expected, better than anyone, except maybe the Powers, had hoped. No one can ask more of you."
She snorted derisively, telling him she thought of that statement.
"They can ask all they want," she said finally. "There’s nothing left for me to give. Except myself. And that’s been true all along."
"So, this Riley dude," Whistler said uncomfortably, trying to turn the conversation from an area he didn’t dare get into. They both knew what would happen to her if they lost, but only he knew what would happen to her if they won.
"Riley and I began to fight about our future. By the time I was in my senior year, things were just impossible. My mother was on his side, and even Giles wanted me someplace safer. I was twenty-two, and getting up in years for a Slayer. Giles was terrified that time was running out for me. Like my mom, he wanted me to be happy." She sighed. "Story of my life. Everyone just wants me to be happy, and they are willing to make my life hell in order for it to happen."
"Come again?"
"Never mind." She took a deep breath. "Long story short: I broke up with Riley, and realized that any relationship I was going to be in would present the same problems. If I were serious about a guy, he’d have to know what I was, and that the chances of happily ever after were slim to none. And if he were serious about me, that wasn’t going to make him happy. In the end, I figured it was just easier not to have relationships."
"That must’ve been hard, when all around you, your friends were finding partners for the long haul," Whistler observed.
"It would’ve been," she allowed. "But the damnedest thing happened. Spike blew into town, raising his usual havoc. He’d gotten the chip out of his head and he told me I had promised him a confrontation in that event and I was by God going to get a confrontation. I didn’t have a clue what he was talking about--turned out Faith had thrown down the challenge while she was in my body--but if he wanted to give me an invitation to kick his ass, I wasn’t about to pass it up." She chuckled "Bastard had a trick up his sleeve. Got me alone, thinking he wanted a no-holds-barred all-out fight. I wouldn’t let my friends come, because I was worried about the danger. Next thing I know, he hits me with a spell that leaves me weak as a kitten, then slings me over his shoulder and carries me back to his place, where he proceeds to tie me to the bed--with velvet ropes, no less--then ‘shag me rotten’ as he would put it. By the time the spell wore off and I got my strength back, I wasn’t inclined to dust him. Although I did kick his ass on general principals."
"That was damned gutsy on his part," Whistler said.
"That’s Spike," she agreed.
"So you and he. . .?"
"Now and then. It’s not hearts and flowers. It’s not a relationship and it sure as hell isn’t love. Just a healthy dose of lust, mixed with mutual respect. Neither of us could ever quite manage to kill the other. Maybe neither of us really wanted to. And as long as he keeps his end of the bargain, and doesn’t harm innocents, we’ll never have to find out."
"But, how do you feel about him?"
"I don’t," she said calmly. "Spike is a convenience, someone who knows the score, doesn’t make any demands, and doesn’t want anything more from me than I’m perfectly willing to give. Someday he’ll mouth off to the wrong demon and get himself dusted without any help from me. And maybe I’ll regret that. Then again, he can be such an annoying jerk, maybe I won’t."
Whistler nodded, understanding. It was pretty much what he feared. She had gradually isolated herself from everyone who had ever mattered to her, building walls around her heart that no one would ever breech again.
At least, no one new. He had to hope, for her sake, that if the battle went their way, there was still a chance. . .
He didn’t follow that train of thought. Other matters were more important, for the moment. He began to fill her in on the details about what she would face in L.A.
The worst of it, Buffy decided afterward, wasn’t the battle itself. She had simply faced the end of the world one too many times to get particularly worked up over this one. She was, at thirty, the longest surviving Slayer in history. If she couldn’t help win this battle, no other Slayer who had come before her, no other Slayer destined to come after, would have a prayer of doing so. But the rub was, it wasn’t her battle, after all. She was just one of the soldiers.
It was Angel’s battle.
It didn’t hurt like she expected it to. Maybe that was the worst of all, telling her that her heart really had scarred over, wasn’t capable of feeling pain because it was no longer capable of feeling love. Well, not entirely, anyway. There were still pangs. But she pushed them aside and dealt, because that was what she had to do.
Angel, of course, was unchanged. And it was clear from the moment her eyes met his, that if things had gotten easier for her, they had only gotten harder for him. But nothing about their situation had altered, after all. He, too, pushed his pain aside and dealt.
Cordy was different from the girl Buffy had known in high school: older, softer, smarter, more compassionate. Her marriage to Wesley had been good for both of them. The former watcher was more confident, more relaxed, more human than he had been. Buffy was glad to see that. And she was glad that Angel sent them both away. As Whistler put it, this was one battle in which only supernatural types could be expected to survive. Cordy and Wesley needed to be well out of it.
"If we don’t win, I’ll need to know you are someplace safe, helping the survivors to keep going," Angel told them.
"That’s not going to happen, because you are going to win," Cordy said flatly, but everyone could tell that she was trying to convince herself as much as anyone else. Angel smiled ruefully, dropping a gentle kiss on her brow in good-bye. That caused Buffy another pang. There was nothing remotely romantic about the gesture, and yet it spoke of an intimacy that she would once have given her very life to have had with him.
Once. Before the scar tissue formed around her heart.
So, it wasn’t the battle itself that was the horror. It wasn’t the sun being swallowed by darkness, because that had happened during the Mayor’s ascension, and it only allowed Angel to join in from the start. And it wasn’t the rain of blood, because God knew she had spilled her share. It wasn’t even the summoning of the dragons and the battle against fire and magic, the armies of demons, the earthquakes or the floods. She had fought monsters even more unimaginable, and no merely natural disaster, even if supernaturally instigated, held any terror for her. Those things she fought, using weapons when it was called for, whatever small magics Willow had taught her when it was not. Whistler got off the larger spells, allowing her to do the damage she needed to do.
No, the true horror for her was feeling Angel, even though she couldn’t see him, and knowing that whatever was being thrown at them, he was in the thick of it, the special target, and facing much worse.
Because Whistler had told her about the End of Days prophesy, and how it all hinged on the Vampire with a Soul. So, she knew that the combined might of the Powers of Darkness were even more interested in destroying him than they were in taking out the most successful Slayer in history. Not that they would mind taking her out, too.
She caught one glimpse of him in battle, his sword blazing fire as he leveled the enemies surrounding him. Then her own enemies eclipsed her view and she grimly leveled them in her turn.
In the end, the Powers of Darkness weren’t successful. The dragons fell from the skies, ice spells freezing their wings, causing them to shatter when they reached the earth. The armies of demons were turned back by the armies of light. The earthquakes were calmed, the floods forced to recede. And in the end, when her own sword took the last demon head, and she looked around for more enemies, she found none.
Then the sky began to lighten, and she saw that she and Whistler were still standing, almost alone, amidst carnage that stretched around her as far as the eye could see.
Almost alone.
Buffy watched in dawning horror as the sun blazed forth from its shrouding curtain of clouds. She was too far away to reach him in time, but she had to try. Dropping her sword, Buffy dashed across the battlefield, her mind refusing to accept that now, after all he had sacrificed and all he had won, Angel was going to turn to dust in the sunlight.
Screaming her denial she ran, desperate to reach him, desperate to shield him from the killing rays. Hours of battle had left her weary unto death, but the sight of Angel, kneeling in exhaustion, leaning against his sword as the sun emerged galvanized her as nothing else could.
By any law of science or physics she should never have gotten there in time. But she did the impossible, reaching him a whole second before the sun broke entirely free, knocking him to the earth, and shielding him with her own body, in what she knew would be a futile act.
Because there was no way she could shield all of him.
She was still sobbing out her denials five minutes later, before the fact that he was holding her and soothing her registered.
Before she realized that she could feel his heart beat.
Before memories of the last time she had felt his heart beat crashed over her in a wave of pain and grief.
"Oh, God," she said, scrambling up and away from him. "Oh, God."
"It’s okay, kid," Whistler said gently. But it wasn’t.
"Buffy," Angel began.
"How?" she spat out, tears streaming down her face. Whistler explained the parts of the prophecy that he had left out before. Angel had fulfilled his destiny, and could now enjoy his reward.
"And my memories?" she directed this question at Angel.
"I don’t know," he told her. "You were supposed to be spared the burden, so that you could go on with your life."
"My life," she said dully, then began laughing harshly, hysterically. Their efforts to calm her down were futile: she would have none of it. But when she tried to get away, to use her Slayer’s strength to break Angel’s merely human hold on her, she found to her utter horror that it had deserted her.
"Take it easy," Whistler said. "You’ll hurt yourself if you keep this up."
"And just why is that?" she demanded, though she stopped trying to pull out of Angel’s grip.
"The battle’s won, kid. Angel’s human, because he fulfilled his destiny." Whistler took a deep breath. "And you’ve fulfilled yours." He watched anxiously as the import of his words reached her. It took a moment, but the results were as bad as he feared. It was the last blow, the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. No longer having her Slayer’s stamina to fall back on, exhausted by battles and emotional trauma, Buffy fainted dead away.
She woke up in a soft bed, a cool, damp cloth on her brow. Angel was bending over her with a look of concern in his gentle brown eyes.
"Are you all right?"
"Hell, no," she said succinctly, and struggled to sit up. Her first attempt was greeted by a wave of dizziness. She lay back for a few minutes, ignoring Angel’s reassurances, explanations, and apologies. Her next attempt was slower, and much more successful. She cut off Angel in mid word.
"Got anything to drink?" she said coldly.
"Tea?" he suggested.
"Whiskey?" she demanded.
"That might not be such a good idea."
"Fuck you, Angel. I just helped you save the goddamned world. Again. And this time, for my trouble, I’ve been stripped of the powers that made the hell my life has become bearable. I don’t think a whiskey is too much to ask for." Tightlipped, Angel brought her what she wanted. She disdained the glass he tried to hand her, and took a swig directly from the bottle. "I know what you’re thinking," she said, wiping her hand across her mouth after the fist slug. "You’re human, now. And I’m a little less supernatural than I used to be. No more barriers. We just go off into the sunset, buy the house with the white picket fence, and raise a passel of kids, right?"
"It’s all I ever wanted," he said quietly.
"And for a long time, it was the only thing I wanted, too." she agreed. Sighing, she took another slug of whiskey. "For a long time. . ."
"But not now?" he said, keeping his voice steady only by great effort.
"Not now," she whispered. It took a third slug before she could meet his eyes. "It’s been too long, and it’s been too hard. I’m not sure I even know how to be just a human being anymore, and not the Slayer. And motherhood?" she shook her head. "I gave up on that a long time ago. At first, I was sorry, but the more darkness I had to fight," she paused remembering. "I didn’t even want to bring a baby into the world."
"But the darkness?" Angel said, grasping at anything to reassure her, to change her mind. "We won, Buffy."
"Did we?" she asked. "The world is safe. And I’m glad. Maybe we did banish darkness from the earth. But I have a big chunk of it inside me, Angel."
"Buffy," he began, but she knew she couldn’t bear to let him continue.
"I think I’m gonna leave now," she said, putting the bottle down on the nightstand and preparing to stand. He pulled her back down.
"No, you’re not," he said gruffly. "I don’t know how much darkness you think you have inside you, but I’m willing to bet I’ve got one whole hell of a lot more. I know you’ve been hurt, and I know I’m one of the things that hurt you the most. But we’ve been given a second chance. And I’ll be damned if I let you walk away from me without giving it a try."
Drained, she slumped back on the bed.
"You don’t get it, do you?" she asked. "You think love is enough. Riley thought so, too. But it isn’t. Love can only take you so far. It can’t wash out the bad memories, and it can’t change the past." She looked him in the eye. "Do you have a clue how many men I’ve been with since you?" She saw the flicker of discomfort in his gaze, and pressed her advantage, deliberately crude. "Did you know that Spike and I get together and fuck on a regular basis?"
"Do you know how little I care about that?" he said angrily.
"Yes." she surprised him by saying. "And you’re still missing the point. I know you don’t care. But I do."
"Then you’ll have to get over it," he told her. "Because I won’t let you go. You’re too important to me."
"Oh, yeah, the only girl you ever loved in two hundred and forty three years," she said bitterly.
"Two hundred and fifty-five years, now" he corrected. "Two hundred and eighty-four if you count the time I spent living, and a few years I lost after I was cursed by the gypsies."
"I’m sorry," she whispered, tears rising in her throat, threatening to choke her. "But I can’t--"
"Buffy, if you leave, then what is the point of my fulfilling my destiny? Of becoming human? Without you what the hell does any of it matter?"
"Ah, well, that shouldn’t be a problem." a new voice said.
"What?" Buffy and Angel said in unison, turning to face the door where Whistler stood.
"Actually, neither of you get it. What it means to have won this battle against the forces of darkness."
"It means that that big bad has gone away. Until next time," Buffy said tiredly.
"Right," Whistler said much too cheerfully. "And wrong."
"Whistler, can you just cut the cryptic shit and spit it out for once?" she demanded.
"It means, for one thing, that the gates between this world and the other worlds are sealed for a thousand years."
"So?"
"So," he beamed at her like a favorite uncle presenting a birthday gift, "no more Hellmouth for one thing."
"I’ve heard that one before," she groused.
"No. You’ve heard that it’s been sealed or closed. I’m telling you it no longer is."
"What?"
"You mean that the Hellmouth no longer exists?" Angel questioned. "What about Sunnydale?"
"Nice town. Good, strong family values, a decent university. Not a bad place to raise kids."
"Whistler," Buffy growled.
"The end of the Hellmouth is one thing," the demon went on, ignoring her. "Sure, it’ll reappear in another millenium. By that time your ten times great-great-grandkids should be ready to close it up all over again."
"But that’s only one of the gates between our dimension and the others," Angel said. "And you are saying that they are all closed, now."
"Right," Whistler beamed, glad that Angel at least was catching on.
"So, that means no more demons. They don’t have a way into this world from their own dimensions," Angel said slowly.
"Too true," Whistler agreed. "Except for the poor shmucks who’re already here."
"Like you?" Buffy pointed out waspishly, not really seeing how any of this made a difference to her situation with Angel.
"Hey, I’m not dependent on a gate between worlds," Whistler said. "The Powers That Be have their own ways of getting me to whatever part of whatever dimension or universe they want me in.
"Lucky you," she muttered.
"Kid, I’m trying to tell you. Do a demon a favor and let me finish, huh?" Buffy sighed, and nodded her head.
"No more interruptions," she promised.
"So, here’s the deal. Evil of the supernatural kind has all but vanished from the earth. The curses afflicting werewolves? Gone. The power behind witches and sorcerers? Vanished. Good or bad, doesn’t matter. That’s one avenue of power that’s closed. Demons? Whoever’s here is gonna have to acclimate. The ones that can will blend in with humans, maybe marry into the general population. The ones that can’t will die out. And vampires are a thing of the past."
"What?" Buffy sat up, forgetting her promise not to interrupt. Had it only been a few nights ago that she’d told Whistler she wasn’t sure she’d even regret Spike’s being dusted? She found that she minded, very much indeed.
"All the ones with no humanity left in them are dust," Whistler seemingly confirmed her fears. Then she caught the loophole.
"And the ones with any humanity? Like Dru and Spike, who were capable of love?"
"Still around. But they’re no more supernatural than you are. Their demons are gone, and they’re left to lead the kinds of lives they might have led if they’d never been turned. And in some cases, better, more useful lives.
Angel chuckled softly. "Spike’s safe, then. And if he has anything to say about it, Dru will be, too."
"But evil is still around, too, right?" Buffy said. "So, this victory wasn’t complete."
"They never are, kid, they never are. But this one is more far reaching than most. What you’ve bought is a millenium of peace, a thousand years for the world to catch its breath, and rest from the big battles. There’s just a bit of magic left, just a bit of power. Most of it will be forgotten quickly, surviving only in legends and stories. There will still be Slayers, but for the next thousand years, those girls will have an easier time. Get to do more mop up, and just plain guarding, than real nightly battles. They’ll keep the traditions alive, and when the next cycle starts, they’ll be ready."
Buffy nodded, smiling sadly. "Very cool," she said. "But it doesn’t really change things for me."
Whistler smiled. "Not yet, it doesn’t," he agreed. "But it will." He took a pocket watch out of his vest and tossed it to her. Buffy had to reach to catch it, her reflexes no longer that of a Slayer. She stared down at the face of the watch, puzzled. It read 11:45. She looked back at Whistler, opening her mouth to ask him a question.
But the world fell away at that moment, swept aside in a vortex of light and shadow, prismatic colors swirling, and a wind blowing round her like a tempest on the rise. Angel’s anguished cry--her name--echoed in her ears.
When the wind died away and the colors resolved themselves and the light and shadow took form once more, she was standing in sunlight.
On the steps of Hemery High.