From: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com (buffyfic-digest) To: buffyfic-digest@lists.xmission.com Subject: buffyfic-digest V2 #380 Reply-To: $SENDER Sender: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Errors-To: owner-buffyfic@lists.xmission.com Precedence: bulk buffyfic-digest Monday, November 30 1998 Volume 02 : Number 380 In this issue: BUFFYFIC: Thinking of Her (1/1) BUFFYFIC: Thinking of Her (1/1) (REPOST) BUFFYFIC: Hopeless Hope (2/?) BUFFYFIC: Hopeless Hope (3/?) BUFFYFIC: Xander's Incredible Journey (7b/?) See the end of the digest for information on (un)subscribing to the buffyfic or buffyfic-digest mailing lists and on how to retrieve back issues. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Sun, 29 Nov 1998 22:46:08 EST From: DaniLynn27@aol.com Subject: BUFFYFIC: Thinking of Her (1/1) TITLE: Thinking of Her AUTHOR: Danielle Loughlin E-MAIL: DaniLynn27@aol.com FEEDBACK: Very much welcomed! DISTRIBUTION: If you like it, you may have it. Just tell me where it's going and keep my name attached. RATING: PG, angsty stuff SPOILERS: through Lover's Walk CONTENT: Willow/Oz THINKING OF HER I sit quietly on the pool table, alone except for the company of my guitar. I am absentmindedly strumming the strings, not playing any melody or tune. My mind isn't on the music anyway. It's on her. I'm the first to admit it. My mind is on her probably about 95% of the time. The other 4% is on my music. And that missing 1%, well, I keep it to myself what happens in that one percent. Usually when I think of her, my thoughts are happy ones. She made me happy. Makes me happy. She didn't even have to do anything. She could just simply be, and I'd be happy because of it. She's incredible. I love her red hair, it feels so silky and soft when I put my hands in it. I love her smile. It's the sweetest smile you've ever seen. It lights up my world, and when she smiles and her eyes sparkle, I'm gone. I love everything about her, from her shyness and her resolve face and the fact she keeps me company during those nights of the full moon. I can't talk to her, but I know she's there. It's comforting. I love her. I love her despite of it. It. Amazing how much pain can be inside such a small word. It. She was kissing him. When I saw them, it was as if someone had shot a silver bullet right through my heart. At that moment, I wished someone had. It would hurt less than seeing that. I don't think I would have been able to do anything. I would have just stood there until one of them saw me. But Cordelia reacted when I couldn't. "Oh, god," Cordelia said. "Oh, god," Xander replied. She said just three words. "Oh, god. Oz." And I was thinking, please don't say my name. When she says my name she makes it sound special. I love it when she says my name. I don't want to hear it in a situation like this. "We have to get out of here," I said. I don't know why I said it. It seemed like the thing to say. I just stood and looked at her, and she looked at me. Xander got up and started to go after Cordelia. I didn't hear what he said. I barely registered the running footsteps up the stairs. I was too busy staring at her. And she couldn't not look at me. It was awful. And then the crash, and Cordelia fell. I'm the one who went to get help. Xander had to stay with Cordelia, and she had to stay with Xander. I didn't belong there. So I went. I haven't seen or spoken to her since. I don't know what to say. Not that I've ever said much to begin with, but I always had something to say to her. Now my thoughts of her are mixed with sadness. Confusion. Doubt. And it hurts so much. I don't cry very often. In fact, hardly ever. But I feel like crying now. I feel like screaming and throwing things and breaking things. But I don't. It's just not what I do. But as hurt as I am, I can't find it in me to be angry with her. I want to hold her, kiss her, run my hands through her hair. I want her to smile at me. I want to smile at her. I want to walk down the hall holding hands and have her sit on my lap when there's chair shortages. I want to offer her canapes and animal crackers and tell her about freeze frame and French monkeys. I like it when she brags about me. I like it when she reads me stories while I'm locked in the cage and the fact she's considerate enough to hang towels up for me. I like it. I like her. As much as I love her, I like her. Does that make sense? To me, it's making a kind of sense that's not, but anyway. There's a noise behind me. She's here. Without even turning around, I know it's her. I wait for her to come to me. "Oz?" she asks. It feels like someone's squeezing my heart. "Oz?" she repeats, not sure if I heard her. I put the guitar down on the pool table next to me. I look at her. Her eyes. They're so full of pain. She's been crying. "Oz--I --," she starts. I hop off the pool table, standing before her. Three days have passed since I last saw her. She's a wreck. Her eyes are swollen and she's shaking. "I don't deserve you," she says. "I deserve to lose you." "Shh, baby, come here," I say, wrapping her in my arms. It feels good to have her there. Even though it hurts so much, it feels good. She's crying again, I can feel her sobbing into my shirt. I don't say anything, I just stand and stroke her hair. "I'm so stupid," she says through the tears. "I love you. I didn't realize how much until I lost you." She never said 'I love you' to me before. I know it's not going to be easy. It's going to be awkward silences and difficult conversations. Baby steps, rebuilding trust. But she's worth it. I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to take her back. Can you blame me? ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 29 Nov 1998 22:52:04 EST From: DaniLynn27@aol.com Subject: BUFFYFIC: Thinking of Her (1/1) (REPOST) Oops forgot the disclaimer first time around! TITLE: Thinking of Her AUTHOR: Danielle Loughlin E-MAIL: DaniLynn27@aol.com FEEDBACK: Very much welcomed! DISTRIBUTION: If you like it, you may have it. Just tell me where it's going and keep my name attached. RATING: PG, angsty stuff SPOILERS: through Lover's Walk CONTENT: Willow/Oz DISCLAIMER: Willow, Oz, Cordelia, and Xander, are property of Joss & Co. I just borrowed them for my story. THINKING OF HER I sit quietly on the pool table, alone except for the company of my guitar. I am absentmindedly strumming the strings, not playing any melody or tune. My mind isn't on the music anyway. It's on her. I'm the first to admit it. My mind is on her probably about 95% of the time. The other 4% is on my music. And that missing 1%, well, I keep it to myself what happens in that one percent. Usually when I think of her, my thoughts are happy ones. She made me happy. Makes me happy. She didn't even have to do anything. She could just simply be, and I'd be happy because of it. She's incredible. I love her red hair, it feels so silky and soft when I put my hands in it. I love her smile. It's the sweetest smile you've ever seen. It lights up my world, and when she smiles and her eyes sparkle, I'm gone. I love everything about her, from her shyness and her resolve face and the fact she keeps me company during those nights of the full moon. I can't talk to her, but I know she's there. It's comforting. I love her. I love her despite of it. It. Amazing how much pain can be inside such a small word. It. She was kissing him. When I saw them, it was as if someone had shot a silver bullet right through my heart. At that moment, I wished someone had. It would hurt less than seeing that. I don't think I would have been able to do anything. I would have just stood there until one of them saw me. But Cordelia reacted when I couldn't. "Oh, god," Cordelia said. "Oh, god," Xander replied. She said just three words. "Oh, god. Oz." And I was thinking, please don't say my name. When she says my name she makes it sound special. I love it when she says my name. I don't want to hear it in a situation like this. "We have to get out of here," I said. I don't know why I said it. It seemed like the thing to say. I just stood and looked at her, and she looked at me. Xander got up and started to go after Cordelia. I didn't hear what he said. I barely registered the running footsteps up the stairs. I was too busy staring at her. And she couldn't not look at me. It was awful. And then the crash, and Cordelia fell. I'm the one who went to get help. Xander had to stay with Cordelia, and she had to stay with Xander. I didn't belong there. So I went. I haven't seen or spoken to her since. I don't know what to say. Not that I've ever said much to begin with, but I always had something to say to her. Now my thoughts of her are mixed with sadness. Confusion. Doubt. And it hurts so much. I don't cry very often. In fact, hardly ever. But I feel like crying now. I feel like screaming and throwing things and breaking things. But I don't. It's just not what I do. But as hurt as I am, I can't find it in me to be angry with her. I want to hold her, kiss her, run my hands through her hair. I want her to smile at me. I want to smile at her. I want to walk down the hall holding hands and have her sit on my lap when there's chair shortages. I want to offer her canapes and animal crackers and tell her about freeze frame and French monkeys. I like it when she brags about me. I like it when she reads me stories while I'm locked in the cage and the fact she's considerate enough to hang towels up for me. I like it. I like her. As much as I love her, I like her. Does that make sense? To me, it's making a kind of sense that's not, but anyway. There's a noise behind me. She's here. Without even turning around, I know it's her. I wait for her to come to me. "Oz?" she asks. It feels like someone's squeezing my heart. "Oz?" she repeats, not sure if I heard her. I put the guitar down on the pool table next to me. I look at her. Her eyes. They're so full of pain. She's been crying. "Oz--I --," she starts. I hop off the pool table, standing before her. Three days have passed since I last saw her. She's a wreck. Her eyes are swollen and she's shaking. "I don't deserve you," she says. "I deserve to lose you." "Shh, baby, come here," I say, wrapping her in my arms. It feels good to have her there. Even though it hurts so much, it feels good. She's crying again, I can feel her sobbing into my shirt. I don't say anything, I just stand and stroke her hair. "I'm so stupid," she says through the tears. "I love you. I didn't realize how much until I lost you." She never said 'I love you' to me before. I know it's not going to be easy. It's going to be awkward silences and difficult conversations. Baby steps, rebuilding trust. But she's worth it. I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to take her back. Can you blame me? ------------------------------ Date: Sun, 29 Nov 1998 23:34:53 EST From: RCCOLA503@aol.com Subject: BUFFYFIC: Hopeless Hope (2/?) Title: Hopeless Hope (2/?) Author: Meg R-C Distribution: Sure, but just tell me first Feedback: Pretty please with a cherry on top! Disclaimer: I own nothing. The basis for this story belongs to Anya, and the characters belong to Joss Whedon and the WB Rating: If you can watch the show, you can read this Summary: A sequel to Anya's Gone. Xander is dying and his final wish is for the gang to be reunited. She was so cold, so callous, uncaring and unsympathetic towards Willow's grief. At one time, what seemed an eternity ago, she would have taken Willow into her arms, crying for her friends pain. Willow had fallen asleep quickly, leaving Buffy and I in uncomfortable silence. "Angel." My head snapped up at the sound of her voice. She was staring at me with large pain-filled eyes; she was too tired to keep up the mask. "Yes," I answered as gently as possible, trying to keep the hope out of my voice. "Did you ever think about us?" She wasn't referring to us, as in me and her, but as in those who had stayed behind in Sunnydale. "Every moment of everyday," I answered her honestly. She smiled at me then, a smile full of age, and grief, and pain, and ... fear. "I'm so afraid," She admitted softly, "Xander's...he's everything. He's all I have." How much I wanted to go to her then, to wrap my arms around her, tell her everything would be all right, that she still had me, that she would always have me. Instead I settled for squeezing her hand. She smiled at me warily, knowing everything that I hadn't told her. We rode the rest of the way in comfortable silence. Nothing has changed in Sunnydale since my departure almost five years ago. When darkness comes the creatures of the night still go on the prowl, and the Slayer still goes on the hunt. To be honest I didn't think that Buffy would live this long. From what Angel's told me, and what Giles told me before that, most don't survive their teens. One time while surfing the net I learned that the oldest Slayer in history lived to be 21. Buffy was now 22, almost 23. I wonder if she knew that she was living on borrowed time. I hope she didn't, I hope no one's told her she's the oldest Slayer in history. I can't really see her taking it too well. "We're here," Buffy announced, pulling into the driveway of the old Chase mansion. Buffy shot me an odd look. "Cordelia left it to Xander in her will. We use it as a base of operations because of its huge library and close proximity to the hospital." "Oh." Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut. Every time I say something its the wrong thing. Oh well, I sighed, at least she hasn't staked me yet. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" A small girl came flying out of nowhere and into Buffy's waiting arms. "Hope, I missed you," Buffy cooed, hugging her tightly. I glanced at Willow who looked as shocked as I felt. Buffy had a daughter?! Did that mean she was married? Who was the father? Was it Xander?! As these thoughts occurred to me I could see they were simultaneously occurring to Willow. Her eyes filled with betrayal, the thoughts of Buffy with Xander evident on her face. I couldn't help but feel betrayed, Buffy had been with another man. But then again, what had I expected? She was an attractive young woman who thought we were never coming back. Why should she faithful to a memory? After all, I was the one who left without saying good-bye. I was the one who broke her heart. "Mommy, are those the people from Uncle Xander's picture?" Hope pointed to us. Uncle Xander. Cross him off the list. "Yes, baby they are. These are my old friends, Angel and Miss Rosenburg. This is my daughter Hope." While Buffy's eyes were warm when she gazed at her daughter, they cooled more than a couple of degrees when turned on Willow or me. "Hi," the child peered out from behind her mother, giving me clear look at her. She had long dark brown hair that curled slightly, like Buffy's. Her eyes were like chocolate, large for such a small face. After that she was the picture of her mother, down to the shape of her tiny hands, which were presently clutching her mother's. "Hope, why don't you show Angel your playroom? I'm sure he's love to play Barbies with you. He could play Ken." Buffy smiled down at her daughter, the humor of the situation completely lost on me. What are Barbies and who is Ken? Buffy was looking at me expectantly. "Sure, why not?" I knew Buffy wanted Willow and Xander to be reunited in private. Plus, that wasn't really my thing, too much emotion made me uncomfortable. ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 30 Nov 1998 01:01:50 EST From: RCCOLA503@aol.com Subject: BUFFYFIC: Hopeless Hope (3/?) Title: Hopeless Hope (3/?) Author: Meg R-C Distribution: Sure, but just tell me first Feedback: Pretty please with a cherry on top! Disclaimer: I own nothing. The basis for this story belongs to Anya, and the characters belong to Joss Whedon and the WB Rating: If you can watch the show, you can read this Summary: A sequel to Anya's Gone. Xander is dying and his final wish is for the gang to be reunited. I watched as Buffy's daughter took Angel's hand, leading him away with the innocence that only children possess. She didn't care about who he was, what he was, where he's been, or what he'd done. All she cared about was the fact that he was willing to play Barbies with her. Thinking about what would happen to her, as with every child before her, made me want to lay down and weep. Someday she would learn to judge others, to fear others. Someday very soon she would learn the meaning of death and eternity. Someday soon she would learn to fear the night. Her innocence would be gone, nothing could stop that, I only hope that she would not grow hardened to death, as we all have. I pray God forgives us our sins and protects Hope, the only good left in any of us. "Are you ready?" Buffy's voice brought me out of my reverie, and back to the present. It was time to see him, to face him. I nodded, but really I wanted to turn around and run. Running was the coward's way out, but I never pretended to be brave. She led me down a corridor that seemed to go on forever. All too soon, and yet not fast enough, we were at the door. On the other side lay my one and only love, my childhood friend, Xander. "Be gentle," Buffy reminded me, turning to go. "Wait!" I grabbed her arm, "You're not coming in?" Please, pleas come in. "No," she shook her head, "you have to face the music alone." With that, she was gone. I took a deep breath, and before I had a chance to change my mind, I opened the door and entered the past. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw. Once so full of life and energy, he lay on a white bed, surrounded by machines, and covered with wires. He was even skinnier than he used to be, and his face was grey with pain and impending death. His eyes were closed, and if it weren't for the steady pounding of his heart echoeing in my vampiric ears I would have thought he was dead. "Hello Willow." I jumped a foot in the air. His eyes were still closed, and he didn't appear to have moved at all. "I only get two visitors," It was as if he could read my mind, "Hope runs around and jumps on the bed, and Buffy doesn't hesitate in the doorway." At last his eyes opened, focusing on me, boring into my soul. He motioned me closer. "Its been five years and you can't even say hello?" He smiled at me. I smiled back, it was all I could do to keep from crying. Finally I found my voice, choking on the words, "Hello Xander." I had moved forward to the bed, and was surprised when he took my hand. "I missed you," he said. "I missed you, too," I whispered, finally letting my tears free. I finally found Buffy sitting on the back porch, staring out at the stars. Hope had just fallen asleep, Barbies in hand, so I had gone off in search of Buffy. "Hey," I slid into the chair next to her. "I guess you want to know who she is, huh?" She didn't look at me. I didn't say anything, just waited for her to continue. "Her whole name is Alexndria Hope Summers. I named her after the only two things that I had left, Xander, and the hope that someday you would come back to me." Buffy turned her head, "You're wondering who the father is, aren't you? "Well I'll save you the suspense. It's you. When you left I was three months pregnant with our children." I stared at her in shock. But I couldn't be a father, vampires couldn't have kids. Wait, children?! "Thats right. I was carrying twin baby girls. I named them Hope and Angela. But then, when they were two months old, Lynn came to town. She had this crazy idea of sending the world to hell by opening the link between our realm and the demon realm. But in order to do that she needed the power of a Slayer and a vampire together. There are two ways to do this, turn the Slayer into a vampire, or take the child of such a union. They grabbed me and Angela, but one of the vampires forgot that an infant is more fragile than a normal human, no matter who its parents are. He dropped her, and snapped her neck. I was standing right there when it happened." Without thinking I stood up and gathered her in my arms. She clung to me like a scared child. It was a wonder she was still sane. I wanted to cry out at the unfairness of it all. My daughter had died before I ever met her, killed by my own kind. But I just stood there, shaking with sorrow and rage, holding Buffy like there was no tomorrow. "There's more." I heard her whisper. We seperated and she motioned me to sit back down. Grudgingly I did as she asked. How could there be more. "Once she realized that Angela would be of no use to her dead, she flew into a rage. After that she got sloppy, declaring that she would be the one to 'make me'. When she got close enough I struck out at her. We fought, but she had already started the ritual. She had absorbed the power to join the dimensions into her. When I staked her the energy went wild. Not one vampire survived its rage, and it nearly destroyed me. Through some ide effect of the ritual my powers increased by half, and I became immortal. "The Watcher Council was thrilled, and eternal Slayer. Only one thing can kill me. They found it in a prophecy two months later. 'And the eternal Slayer shall rise, and naught shall destroy her but the sword bearing true love's blood swung by true love's hand'. It means that only you can kill me." Buffy immortal? I'm the only one that can kill her? What kind of sick, twisted game was fate playing this time. What God could sacrifice a being such as Buffy to eternal suffrage? "Oh Buffy," I pulled her back into my arms, and we stayed that way until dawn, when I had to go inside to avoid the sun. All I knew was that I would never leave her again. We would be together for eternity, as long as we both shall live ------------------------------ Date: Mon, 30 Nov 1998 12:22:35 PST From: "Cutter Kinseeker" Subject: BUFFYFIC: Xander's Incredible Journey (7b/?) Since the whole story didn't post properly last time, I'm trying again. TITLE: "Xander's Incredible Journey" AUTHOR: Cutter Kinseeker E-MAIL: ckinseeker@hotmail.com FEEDBACK: Yes! Yes! Yes! Tell me what you think, but constructive criticism only please. No "it sucks" type messages. DISTRIBUTION: Ask me first. RATING: Mostly PG-13 for language and adult themes. A couple of parts will be R. DESCRIPTION: In the aftermath of "Becoming," Xander sets out after Buffy and winds up "becoming" in his own right. Xander and Cordelia find themselves at odds in Las Vegas when they run across an old enemy. The "two mysterious strangers" from Chapter Five(e) are revealed, and they mess with Xander's mind. AUTHOR'S NOTES: For those of you who were waiting for the newest installation of XIJ, I'd like to apologize for taking so long. As you may notice, this chapter approaches 10,000 words in size! That took a long time to write, plus the fact that I had writer's block for a couple of weeks, and the power went down one day and I had to rewrite almost 2000 words of the story. But finally, here it is. Tell me what you think! DISCLAIMER: I don't own jack. Correction--jack's probably the only thing I do own. The rest belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and the Frog Network. SPOILERS: Everything up to "Becoming". *** Xander hated Las Vegas from almost the moment they crossed the city lines. To him it embodied all of the worst aspects of his species: greed, careless ambition, avarice, undirected desires, a thousand untold and unseen vices. Its shadowy alleys and gaudily lit streets both held the threat and lure of total oblivion. It was a place where form was more important than function or even content, where looks and style were the only things that mattered. In its neon confines, anything could be bought or sold, even human life. It was the antithesis of everything Xander believed in; simply being in the city brought him close to nausea. Had he and Cordelia discussed their feelings on their present locale, he would have found himself unsurprised by how much Cordelia liked it. Despite her significant advances of the last year, she still all too often placed the chic and the vogue above the practical and the necessary. Las Vegas was a purely created place, as much a fiction in its own way as Oz or Atlantis; it was like being trapped in a huge amusement park for adults rather than children. The glamour and glitz of the city appealed to Cordelia's (admittedly twisted) aesthetic ideals: a place based entirely on artifice and sensation, where only the moment mattered and the future was an abstract instead of a reality that must be faced. As they drove down the streets looking for a relatively cheap place to stay, they were both silent--Xander in mild disgust, Cordelia in amused wonder. Xander looked over at her, ready to share a snide comment on the facade of society that a place so obviously predatory wore to lure people in, then caught himself as he saw her face. Her expression was close to that of a child who was expecting clothes for Christmas but had gotten a pony instead. He knew he would get no sympathy from her on this subject (did he ever?), and it wasn't really worth starting an argument over. He sighed, choked back his remark, and concentrated on watching the road for a place to spend the night. Distracted as he was by the seething tide of humanity and the flashing expanse of neon lights penning them in on all sides, he didn't really notice the drunk until they were right on top of him. This made it doubly ironic, as he still saw the man before Cordelia, who was driving. Xander caught a flash of movement in his peripheral vision, turned to look out the windshield, and let out a scream of panic well before Cordelia even noticed that the road was no longer clear. The car plowed into the drunk, sending him rolling up the hood and across the windshield's support bar; he was hit crossways, so that the impact didn't shatter the front window, though it did create a hairline crack about six inches long. Cordelia, seeing a human body flying towards her, let out a small squeak of terror and slammed on the brakes hard. Xander flew forward and was prevented from crashing into the dashboard only by his seatbelt. The next few seconds were a blur, and Xander had virtually no idea of how he got out of the car and onto the street. Cordelia had been reduced to little more than a whimpering ball of denial, incapable of even undoing her seatbelt, let alone helping the ill-fated individual they had run into. The few people that Xander noticed roving about on the sidewalks had next to no interest in the accident, though scanty number milled about nearby, obviously hoping that someone had died or that the police were on their way and they could see an actual arrest. The rest were either typical city-dwellers, denying they had seen anything by their unceasing motion away from the accident, or people who were genuinely callous enough to notice but not care. So it was that Xander had no help or hindrance in examining the drunk's prone body. He knelt next to the crumpled figure, feeling a slight twinge of deja-vu at the drunk's tattered black duster; he dismissed it as disorientation from such a long car ride followed by such a sudden stop and continued to examine the victim. As Xander neared the person, he found that his original assessment as "drunk" had been right on the money; the individual on the ground smelled strongly of cheap whiskey and cheaper living, mixed in with a metallic tang that Xander felt he should recognize but could not for all of the alcohol in the air. A broken bottle of something that looked like it was brewed in a bathtub lay a few inches from the figure's gloved hand. A heavy woolen knit cap was pulled low on the drunk's head, but a sparse few white hairs poked out from beneath it where it had ridden up in the back. The hair was cut short and bristly; it reminded Xander insanely of Billy Idol. A chill went up Xander's back. He tried to ignore it, to force himself not to touch the drunk until the police and ambulance arrived; he remembered from first aid that you shouldn't move an accident victim. He listened closely, then made his choice. If it was who he thought it was--and he desperately hoped it wasn't--then it wouldn't matter. If it wasn't, it was already too late for an ambulance; the individual in question was not breathing. With a heart heavy with apprehension, Xander reached unsteadily out and flipped the drunk over onto his back. He stared for a few moments, considering. *Once the level of coincidence in your life rises above a certain point, he thought, you must question either your sanity or the coincidences. Since my sanity is obviously no worse than usual, then I must ask myself: if coincidences are just coincidences, then why do they feel so contrived?* He broke off his line of thought as he heard distant, but rapidly approaching, sirens. Struggling with a choice between conscience and caution, interest and ire, the curious portion of his brain won out. He shrugged the drunk's weight onto his shoulders and began to half-drag, half-walk him to Cordelia's car. Before Cordelia could protest, he tossed the drunk into the back seat and told her to drive. She did so, pausing only once to look in the rear-view mirror and scrutinize their guest. She nearly ran off the road when she recognized him, but a stern look from Xander forced her attention back to driving. As Xander busied himself by tying the hands of their passenger, he could hear Cordelia mutter "Oh, God--God damn it!" over and over again under her breath. When he woke up, Spike was going to have a lot of explaining to do. *** The voices were becoming louder, clearer, closer, more annoying. He grumbled in his sleep, something incomprehensible but obviously negative. The voices didn't stop, instead reaching new pitches of staccato aggravation. Words started to percolate through his brain, pieces of conversation bringing him slowly out of the depths of cool, pleasant oblivion back into the nightmare that was his life. Someone would die for his pain--as soon as he could move again, that was. He tested his limbs slightly and found that he was bound to something, probably a chair, with lots of rope, some handcuffs, and--oh, my word!--even a length of chain. Someone was going to a lot of trouble to keep him immobile. Good; that meant they were taking him seriously. "He's dangerous, and he's evil--not to mention totally gross!" said an indignant--and familiar--female voice. Well, he couldn't help but agree with the first two, but he had never considered himself "gross." In fact, it had always been a point of pride for Spike that he was quite a "handsome devil," as it were. "Maybe," came the reluctant reply, said in such a low tone that he couldn't tell if he recognized the speaker or not. "But there's something strange going on. What's he doing here, of all places? Why didn't Buffy kill him when she took on Angel?" Ah, now he knew the voices. The Slayer's little brat-friends: the nancy-boy and his grope-girl. Where were the nerd and the wolf? Not to mention that damned Watcher? It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he had gotten lazy and he had gotten himself caught; smart demons didn't live long doing that sort of thing. Angelus had taught him that: never get caught with your pants down. Of course, Angelus had turned out to be a complete psychopath (instead of just a run-of-the-mill sociopath like himself) and nearly ruined everything. At any rate, it was time to get up; his internal clock told him that it was still a good three hours before dawn and the annihilating sun, so it was as good a time as any to put the fear of God--or someone, at least--into the brats. He shot his eyes open and simultaneously shifted into his demonic visage, eliciting a slight squeak from the girl, Cordelia. Unfortunately, changing shape jostled his head, making the pain from his hangover boil up all over again. Any impressive effect from assuming his game face was instantly negated by the sight of him immediately returning to human form, groaning in agony, and puking all over the front of his shirt; the rancid smell of blood-tinged vomit almost made him throw up again, but he fought it back. When his vision cleared, he saw Xander looming over him--and did he detect just the slightest hint of smug satisfaction on the boy's face? Or was it something even more terrible--like pity? He changed again, ignoring the pain, and began to thrash against his bonds. The pain of his hangover was nothing compared to the fury of his rage--of the demon's rage--within him. It had grown strong over two hundred years' worth of nights, battling in the endless torment of existence to find some measure of equilibrium between its animal madness and the human intellect of the man who had once been called William. While most of that balance was based on externalizing his torment and on releasing the beast when he could, he still had enough of his human intelligence to know when he could win and when he couldn't. Which was why, when Spike saw that Xander had pulled a sharpened pool cue and was brandishing it in his direction, he immediately ceased struggling. He submerged the demon--though it did not go without protest--and simply looked at the whelp with an affected air of disdain and contempt. "That's better," said Xander, lowering the pool cue slightly, but still keeping it ready for action. "You know, Spike, you really should be more grateful to your rescuers. If it hadn't been for us, you'd still be passed out in the middle of the street when dawn came... or worse yet, in the hospital. I bet that the doctors and police would have some... interesting... questions about your condition." Xander snorted at the idea, knowing that the police were almost always deeply stupid about such things. "Why am I here?" asked Spike haughtily, his tone suggesting that being tied up in a chair with his vomit dripping down his shirt was no different than if it were the two teenagers who were tied up in his warehouse lair... except that the warehouse was no more; Angelus had seen to that. Thinking of that idiot nearly made him lose his cool, but remembering his sire's fate calmed him down again. "Answer me now, or it'll be worse for you when I get out of this." "You're assuming," said Xander with a smile, "that we intend to let you out of this. That particular assumption depends on any number of factors, not the least of which is your willingness to cooperate." "Quit talking like Giles already," complained Cordelia, who was maintaining a safe distance from their prisoner, afraid of Spike in spite of his captivity. "I still say you should have just staked him." She looked over at Spike with a nervous smile. "No offense intended or anything, but you *are* a monster, you know." "None taken," murmured Spike, his headache gone now due to the influence of the demon. He sighed; the amount of time it took a vampire to get drunk was almost worth it when you considered how short the hangovers were. "And, yes, I do know that I'm a monster. Sort of proud of it, actually." "I'm not surprised," muttered Xander darkly. "Let's get right to the point. What's a high-class freak-job like you doing in a place like Las Vegas?" "I think you just answered your own question," returned Spike, getting into the spirit of the interrogation. He smiled; he had been on both ends of this sort of inquiry before, and in two hundred years he had never been the loser. "Las Vegas: home of casinos and showgirls and..." He paused in mock reverence for a moment. "...and Wayne Newton. Just brings a bloody tear to your eye, don't it? Well, anyway, what brings the two of you to the modern-day Gomorrah? Getting married, are you?" Xander paled visibly at the thought, then shook off his terror as he remembered that Spike was the one in the big chair and he was the one asking the questions. "Not anytime soon," Xander replied with mock sincerity. He pointedly ignored Cordelia's surprised look at the idea that they might ever get married, then continued. "What happened, man? I thought for sure you were toast when the Buffster stormed Crawford Street." "Well, as you have seen before, vampires are sorta like roaches: We can survive anything. Remember the time your bunch dropped a burning cathedral on me?" His voice decreased to a conspiratorial whisper. "I still owe you for that." "I'm terribly afraid," responded Xander with a biting sarcasm that didn't manage to cover the fact that he really was scared of Spike. "Come to think of it, you weren't the only one we dropped that church on. Drusilla was there too." Spike started straight up at the mention of Drusilla's name, then tried to cover his lapse with a bit of posturing. "Looks like I hit a nerve. Well, Spike, what about it? Where's *your* girl?" Spike's sullen silence was the only answer Xander received, so he discontinued that line of questioning. "Okay," he started again, "let's talk about how you got away from Buffy and why you're in Las Vegas of all places." "You mean she didn't tell you when she sent you after me? Kind of sloppy of the Slayer, if you ask me. If she was going to use her friends to hunt me down, she should have at least told you why." He shook his head and sighed. "What's become of the forces of good these days? I tell you, in my day..." "Buffy didn't send us after you," blurted out Cordelia in confusion. "We just sort of ran into you while we were passing through..." "Bollocks!" interrupted Spike, finally becoming really angry. "There's no way in Hell you could have run into me by accident! What d'you take me for, a bleedin' idiot?!" Xander noticed that as Spike became agitated, his accent grew ever thicker, the Cockney youth he had once been becoming more apparent. "Why did the thrice-damned Slayer send you after me?! And if she was going to break her word, why didn't she have the nerve to come gunning for me herself?!" "Her word...?" murmured Xander, more to himself than to Spike. "That's right! We had an agreement, me an' her! I help her take down her fallen Angel and let her Watcher escape, and she lets me an' Dru go free. That was the agreement, anyway. And look, I know I gave her my word that I'd leave the country, and I was on my way to do just that, but I hit a little snag..." "And drank yourself into a stupor," concluded Xander. "Funny, I didn't think that vampires could eat or drink." "Eat, no. Drink, yeah. None of that 'I never drink... wine...' nonsense. As long as there's a little blood in it to fool the demon, we can drink whatever we want. We just need more booze than humans to get drunk, and..." He started, realizing what he was saying. "And why the bloody devil am I telling you this! Let me go, damn it!" With that, he began his struggles anew, though there was no hope of breaking the bonds. Xander sighed and shook his head as he walked away. They were no closer to understanding this than when they had started, and several new questions had appeared as well. It could wait, he decided, until he and Cordelia had gotten some sleep. But one of them would have to stay up and watch their prisoner to make sure he didn't try anything. "Cordy, how are you in the sleep department?" he asked her once he had pulled her a sufficient distance from Spike. "A word, mate!" Spike shouted from across the room. "Vampires have pretty good hearing; if you really want a private conversation, you'd best leave the room and go down the street a ways. I assure you, it won't inconvenience me at all." He smiled crookedly. Xander frowned and then returned to Cordelia, this time dropping all pretense of being quiet. "Well," she said, understanding his reasoning, "I've slept since you have. I'll take first watch, and you sleep in the next room." Before he could admonish her on being careful, she added: "And don't worry about me. I'm not about to take any chances with Spike; if anything happens, I'll scream and stake him--or maybe the other way around, but you can be sure that there'll be some screaming and stake-action if he gets rowdy. I'll wake you up a few hours after dawn, okay?" He nodded his assent and, feeling very sleepy indeed, kissed her goodnight. Ignoring the snide comments from Spike, he made his way to the adjoining room, made sure not to close the door, and fell asleep on the bed without even bothering to undress. Spike looked at Cordelia; she looked back at him. His stare was more intimidating than hers, but his smile suggested nothing but merriment in his heart. He cocked his head to the side and opened his mouth to speak. "You don't happen to play rummy, do you?" Continued in next message... Cutter Kinseeker - -Chieftain of the Wolfriders - -Holder of New Moon, artifact sword - -Slayer of the dreaded beast Madcoil - -Keeper of Xander's firm belief that he could take Angelus with the help of a bunch of orderlies, cops, doctors, and nurses (KBD) - -Keeper of Xander's derisive sneer at Angelus (KBD) - -Keeper of Xander's jaunty stake-whittling tune ("School Hard") - -Keeper of Willow's longing gaze at Xander while he talks about the unattainable ("Some Assembly Required") - -Keeper of Giles' masochistic need to spar with Buffy - -Keeper of Cordelia's divine request for aspirin ("School Hard") - -Keeper of Buffy's need for a warning label (KBD) "AYOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHH!!!!" --Cutter Kinseeker "From famine to feast and back to famine again." --Skywise Visit the Holt of Cutter Kinseeker http://www.geocities.com/Area51/Chamber/2234/ ______________________________________________________ Get Your Private, Free Email at http://www.hotmail.com ------------------------------ End of buffyfic-digest V2 #380 ****************************** To subscribe to buffyfic or buffyfic-digest, send the command subscribe buffyfic-digest or subscribe buffy to majordomo@xmission.com. 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