The Deadly Hook (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} thedeadlyhook) wrote in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} summer_of_spike,@ 2005-08-08 07:25:00 |
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FIC: Heaven, Buffy/Spike, PG
Good morning, and here I am reporting for my day! I'm hoping to have more later, but for now, a strange little peek inside Buffy's mind, on Spike. Sort of. You'll see.
Title: Heaven
Author:thedeadlyhook
Disclaimer: BtVS characters not mine.
Rating: PG, maybe?
Summary: This is really a Buffy rumination, sort of Season 6 in her POV, with a little epilogue thing, in that way that I do, but it's about Spike in that she thinks about him. (I have no idea why so many of my stories tend to talk around Spike so much, unless it's just that I find it interesting to see him that way, through other eyes.) 1856 words.
There were moments, some mornings, just after she woke up, that laying in bed, sinking into the covers and still more than half-asleep, almost felt like what she remembered of heaven.
Weightless. Wrapped up in softness, nothing distinct. No sharp edges, no sights, no sounds. Just a hazy sense of light and warmth and comfort.
Almost. Almost.
And for whole fractions of a second, just before reality kicked in again, and she felt the weight of everything she had to be responsible for crashing down on her, she would remember that feeling. The utter freedom. Needing nothing.
Almost.
That was peace.
__________
It was like being in her coffin again when she really woke up. Well, not so much her real coffin--those sensations she remembered all too well. The confinement, the cheap padded softness closing in too tight and trapping her arms, hard wood planking underneath that she'd had to claw and scratch at to break through--not like that. But the awareness--her body coming back into focus all around her, her senses coming back online only to let her know that everything around her was something awful and sharp... smell and sound and slithering feelings... ugh.
Even sunlight and birdsong felt like that, now. Too much.
Damn chirping birds.
__________
. . . . . Flooded. . . . .
Everyone was so worried about her. Concerned.
Well... they tried to be concerned. In reality, though, they'd all done just fine without her. Better, in some ways. That was pretty obvious--hey, she just had to look at the house to see that. Way to redecorate.
Worth wondering if that wasn't where some of her mom's insurance money had went.
But hey, all of that was of the good, right? It was what she'd wanted--the world to not stop turning because Buffy Summers wasn't around. She would have liked it, honestly, if things could have stayed that way.
If she'd had a choice.
But they'd missed her. Brought her back, because they'd thought she was in hell.
Her friends thought she'd gone to hell.
And they were glad to have her back. Happy. Made sense they would be, if that's what they'd thought. And they could get on with their lives now, because they'd done the right thing, not leaving her in hell.
Everything was better now. For them.
You're home now, they kept saying. You're fine.
They'd been fine without her.
They'd been fine.
__________
Angel had gone on with his life too.
She'd seen it in his face. He'd grieved, and gotten over it, and now here she was again.
Hello to the pain.
Because you know? She'd known that Angel had learned to live without her. Known it for some time.
But she'd never wanted to see it like that.
He had to go. Eventually. After they talked for awhile. Kissed a little. Looked at each other, silent.
He didn't even try to suggest that she stay.
She didn't dare ask.
__________
. . . . . Drifting. . . . .
Sometimes, it occured to her to wonder why heaven had been so... empty.
Nobody else there. Not even people she wanted to see again, like her mom... but still, she'd felt sure that everyone she'd cared about had been okay. She'd known it.
But she couldn't feel them. Couldn't talk to anyone or see anything. Just floating. Just... content.
She'd only been able to feel herself.
But it hadn't been a sad feeling, not at all. Alone, but not lonely. She'd been... complete. Needing other people, apparently, was an Earth thing. A living thing.
Being dead took you past that. Beyond needing anything or anybody.
That was heaven.
__________
Late afternoons, she liked to sit on the back porch.
No one ever disturbed her there. Well... not during the day, anyway.
But at exactly the right time, the sunlight would hit just the right angle above the trees, and bathe the back step in gold light. It was like being swallowed in warmth.
Loved. If only by solar radiation.
Then the sun would go down, and she'd have to go out into the dark and kill things.
Being alive so sucked.
__________
Spike's crypt was cold.
She had no idea when she even went there. Other than... well, it was quiet. Except for him talking, and he'd shut up sometimes. Most times, really, these days. He'd let her think. Listen.
That was... nice. In a different way.
Not like there was anything warm there, least of all him. Certainly nothing safe. But he was always there, you know?
Candlelight pretty.
__________
See, the thing was, she didn't want to want things. That was... she was done with that. Been there, done that, got over it. Pushed up daises after giving up everything she'd ever wanted, because hey! The right thing to do, right? So what if she had to give up a normal life, any life, any future, the man she loved, her mother, her sister... everything. So what?
It was never going to end. Nothing she ever wanted was anything she'd get to keep.
So she didn't want anything. And she didn't want anyone to want things from her.
That would be like... making promises she couldn't keep. You know?
You didn't want things in heaven. In heaven, you were complete unto yourself, alone. Fulfilled.
Wanting things was hell.
She was in hell.
__________
. . . . . Rip Tide. . . . .
Let him rest in peace? Well, fine then.
He could have his damn peace. She'd have hers too, why not? They'd all been fine without her, they'd be fine again.
Oh, and now they didn't even want to help her. Fine.
Better for everyone this way.
And what in the world had made her sing about wanting fire? She didn't want anything. And fire just burned you.
Fire was hell.
__________
You have to go on living.
That was so like him. He never made any sense.
So one of us is living--what the hell did that mean? He wanted her--he'd said so. Didn't want to want her, but he did anyway--and why couldn't he just... go away, like he'd said.. sang... whatever. Forget all this stuff about wanting and needing and--
He was dead. Dead meant you didn't want things.
She knew that better than anyone.
Where was he going?
__________
...oh.
Oh.
She remembered this.
__________
Why him? Why him?
Because he wanted her? Needed her?
(No, no, don't think about Angel not needing her, don't think...)
She made him feel alive. He'd sang that, hadn't he? Wanting things made you feel alive.
She must've forgotten that, somehow. Knowing what it was not to need anything made you forget how to feel that. How to want.
She felt...
Oh, no.
Oh, god no.
Oh, please, no...
__________
. . . . . Whirlpool. . . . .
Why couldn't he just leave her alone? That would be so much better. So much more uncomplicated. And better. Definitely with the better.
Why couldn't he stop following her?
She didn't want this. Didn't want to want this. Didn't want to want anything. She just wanted to do her job, and do her time here on this Earth until she died again, which would happen eventually, one way or another, that much was certain. And she'd gotten used to that idea by now--there was no quitting this job once you got drafted into it, and someone had to do it. Right?
That was her job, making sacrifices. So other people could be happy. Being happy was... not having to worry all the time, because somebody else took care of things, and nobody, nobody could make that happen for her. Nobody. Because who could look after the Slayer? No more mother, and no more--hah--father, and no more Giles and no more Angel and...
She couldn't rely on anyone. Anyone.
Definitely not him.
She didn't want him.
Didn't.
__________
Her fists hurt from punching him.
And there he still was, still there, looking back at her with that face, and his smart mouth still talking, and he just would never shut up--
Oh, god, she wanted him.
__________
Dark.
It was dark, like her coffin had been dark, but not so much with the stale air, even though there was some of that too. Rotten wood all around them, plaster powder and dust.
But she was free. That was the difference. Nothing constraining her, confining her. And she wasn't alone.
That's how she knew this wasn't heaven or hell.
Clutching at him, clawing. She wanted him the way she'd wanted air in her lungs, back then. Scratched and clawed to get it, on reflex. Uncontrollable.
But she was free. That's what made it different. Free. Nothing holding her back, nothing. She wanted this, but didn't need it--she could get up and leave anytime.
Anytime.
It wasn't anything, now that she thought about it, like breathing.
God, how stupid was that?
__________
Warm and safe. Loved.
There were times, with him, when she'd have that feeling again, just for a second.
But it was like the sun in the afternoon--just enough to remind her how much like heaven it wasn't.
Living meant you had to want things. She'd accepted that, okay--you couldn't be alive and still want nothing, not really. Unless you were a saint or something, which wasn't her. Definitely wasn't him.
Sometimes it was almost enough.
But that was different too. In heaven, she'd felt free. Here, even the best of feelings were like... being held down. Trapped. Tied by invisible ties.
That couldn't be heaven. By definition.
__________
Epilogue
. . . . . Hurricane. . . . .
Warm and safe. Loved.
As she stared into the giant crater that was all that was left of her home, Buffy Summers thought, for the first time in more than a year, about heaven.
He must've felt it.
The moment he'd said those words, she'd known.
No you don't.
He didn't want anything.
And that was... she couldn't picture it, some part of her, not really. He was such a part of this world, so very much in it, the whole time she'd known him. Always wanting something, here and now.
But she'd felt it too, what he'd felt, holding his hand. He'd been complete. Free.
She forced a smile.
So one of us is living.
He was in heaven.
Good morning, and here I am reporting for my day! I'm hoping to have more later, but for now, a strange little peek inside Buffy's mind, on Spike. Sort of. You'll see.
Title: Heaven
Author:
thedeadlyhookDisclaimer: BtVS characters not mine.
Rating: PG, maybe?
Summary: This is really a Buffy rumination, sort of Season 6 in her POV, with a little epilogue thing, in that way that I do, but it's about Spike in that she thinks about him. (I have no idea why so many of my stories tend to talk around Spike so much, unless it's just that I find it interesting to see him that way, through other eyes.) 1856 words.
There were moments, some mornings, just after she woke up, that laying in bed, sinking into the covers and still more than half-asleep, almost felt like what she remembered of heaven.
Weightless. Wrapped up in softness, nothing distinct. No sharp edges, no sights, no sounds. Just a hazy sense of light and warmth and comfort.
Almost. Almost.
And for whole fractions of a second, just before reality kicked in again, and she felt the weight of everything she had to be responsible for crashing down on her, she would remember that feeling. The utter freedom. Needing nothing.
Almost.
That was peace.
It was like being in her coffin again when she really woke up. Well, not so much her real coffin--those sensations she remembered all too well. The confinement, the cheap padded softness closing in too tight and trapping her arms, hard wood planking underneath that she'd had to claw and scratch at to break through--not like that. But the awareness--her body coming back into focus all around her, her senses coming back online only to let her know that everything around her was something awful and sharp... smell and sound and slithering feelings... ugh.
Even sunlight and birdsong felt like that, now. Too much.
Damn chirping birds.
Everyone was so worried about her. Concerned.
Well... they tried to be concerned. In reality, though, they'd all done just fine without her. Better, in some ways. That was pretty obvious--hey, she just had to look at the house to see that. Way to redecorate.
Worth wondering if that wasn't where some of her mom's insurance money had went.
But hey, all of that was of the good, right? It was what she'd wanted--the world to not stop turning because Buffy Summers wasn't around. She would have liked it, honestly, if things could have stayed that way.
If she'd had a choice.
But they'd missed her. Brought her back, because they'd thought she was in hell.
Her friends thought she'd gone to hell.
And they were glad to have her back. Happy. Made sense they would be, if that's what they'd thought. And they could get on with their lives now, because they'd done the right thing, not leaving her in hell.
Everything was better now. For them.
You're home now, they kept saying. You're fine.
They'd been fine without her.
They'd been fine.
Angel had gone on with his life too.
She'd seen it in his face. He'd grieved, and gotten over it, and now here she was again.
Hello to the pain.
Because you know? She'd known that Angel had learned to live without her. Known it for some time.
But she'd never wanted to see it like that.
He had to go. Eventually. After they talked for awhile. Kissed a little. Looked at each other, silent.
He didn't even try to suggest that she stay.
She didn't dare ask.
Sometimes, it occured to her to wonder why heaven had been so... empty.
Nobody else there. Not even people she wanted to see again, like her mom... but still, she'd felt sure that everyone she'd cared about had been okay. She'd known it.
But she couldn't feel them. Couldn't talk to anyone or see anything. Just floating. Just... content.
She'd only been able to feel herself.
But it hadn't been a sad feeling, not at all. Alone, but not lonely. She'd been... complete. Needing other people, apparently, was an Earth thing. A living thing.
Being dead took you past that. Beyond needing anything or anybody.
That was heaven.
Late afternoons, she liked to sit on the back porch.
No one ever disturbed her there. Well... not during the day, anyway.
But at exactly the right time, the sunlight would hit just the right angle above the trees, and bathe the back step in gold light. It was like being swallowed in warmth.
Loved. If only by solar radiation.
Then the sun would go down, and she'd have to go out into the dark and kill things.
Being alive so sucked.
Spike's crypt was cold.
She had no idea when she even went there. Other than... well, it was quiet. Except for him talking, and he'd shut up sometimes. Most times, really, these days. He'd let her think. Listen.
That was... nice. In a different way.
Not like there was anything warm there, least of all him. Certainly nothing safe. But he was always there, you know?
Candlelight pretty.
See, the thing was, she didn't want to want things. That was... she was done with that. Been there, done that, got over it. Pushed up daises after giving up everything she'd ever wanted, because hey! The right thing to do, right? So what if she had to give up a normal life, any life, any future, the man she loved, her mother, her sister... everything. So what?
It was never going to end. Nothing she ever wanted was anything she'd get to keep.
So she didn't want anything. And she didn't want anyone to want things from her.
That would be like... making promises she couldn't keep. You know?
You didn't want things in heaven. In heaven, you were complete unto yourself, alone. Fulfilled.
Wanting things was hell.
She was in hell.
Let him rest in peace? Well, fine then.
He could have his damn peace. She'd have hers too, why not? They'd all been fine without her, they'd be fine again.
Oh, and now they didn't even want to help her. Fine.
Better for everyone this way.
And what in the world had made her sing about wanting fire? She didn't want anything. And fire just burned you.
Fire was hell.
You have to go on living.
That was so like him. He never made any sense.
So one of us is living--what the hell did that mean? He wanted her--he'd said so. Didn't want to want her, but he did anyway--and why couldn't he just... go away, like he'd said.. sang... whatever. Forget all this stuff about wanting and needing and--
He was dead. Dead meant you didn't want things.
She knew that better than anyone.
Where was he going?
...oh.
Oh.
She remembered this.
Why him? Why him?
Because he wanted her? Needed her?
(No, no, don't think about Angel not needing her, don't think...)
She made him feel alive. He'd sang that, hadn't he? Wanting things made you feel alive.
She must've forgotten that, somehow. Knowing what it was not to need anything made you forget how to feel that. How to want.
She felt...
Oh, no.
Oh, god no.
Oh, please, no...
Why couldn't he just leave her alone? That would be so much better. So much more uncomplicated. And better. Definitely with the better.
Why couldn't he stop following her?
She didn't want this. Didn't want to want this. Didn't want to want anything. She just wanted to do her job, and do her time here on this Earth until she died again, which would happen eventually, one way or another, that much was certain. And she'd gotten used to that idea by now--there was no quitting this job once you got drafted into it, and someone had to do it. Right?
That was her job, making sacrifices. So other people could be happy. Being happy was... not having to worry all the time, because somebody else took care of things, and nobody, nobody could make that happen for her. Nobody. Because who could look after the Slayer? No more mother, and no more--hah--father, and no more Giles and no more Angel and...
She couldn't rely on anyone. Anyone.
Definitely not him.
She didn't want him.
Didn't.
Her fists hurt from punching him.
And there he still was, still there, looking back at her with that face, and his smart mouth still talking, and he just would never shut up--
Oh, god, she wanted him.
Dark.
It was dark, like her coffin had been dark, but not so much with the stale air, even though there was some of that too. Rotten wood all around them, plaster powder and dust.
But she was free. That was the difference. Nothing constraining her, confining her. And she wasn't alone.
That's how she knew this wasn't heaven or hell.
Clutching at him, clawing. She wanted him the way she'd wanted air in her lungs, back then. Scratched and clawed to get it, on reflex. Uncontrollable.
But she was free. That's what made it different. Free. Nothing holding her back, nothing. She wanted this, but didn't need it--she could get up and leave anytime.
Anytime.
It wasn't anything, now that she thought about it, like breathing.
God, how stupid was that?
Warm and safe. Loved.
There were times, with him, when she'd have that feeling again, just for a second.
But it was like the sun in the afternoon--just enough to remind her how much like heaven it wasn't.
Living meant you had to want things. She'd accepted that, okay--you couldn't be alive and still want nothing, not really. Unless you were a saint or something, which wasn't her. Definitely wasn't him.
Sometimes it was almost enough.
But that was different too. In heaven, she'd felt free. Here, even the best of feelings were like... being held down. Trapped. Tied by invisible ties.
That couldn't be heaven. By definition.
Warm and safe. Loved.
As she stared into the giant crater that was all that was left of her home, Buffy Summers thought, for the first time in more than a year, about heaven.
He must've felt it.
The moment he'd said those words, she'd known.
No you don't.
He didn't want anything.
And that was... she couldn't picture it, some part of her, not really. He was such a part of this world, so very much in it, the whole time she'd known him. Always wanting something, here and now.
But she'd felt it too, what he'd felt, holding his hand. He'd been complete. Free.
She forced a smile.
So one of us is living.
He was in heaven.
