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Betrayal: 07/12/03. 369 words. post-Chosen. Angel. Birthday Picture: 06/10/03. 301 words. Little Xander, on his birthday. Echoes: 08/09/03. 205 words. Human Drusilla, after the scene at the church. Home For Christmas: 15/09/03. 374 words. pastfic. Liam. Just For Old Times' Sake: 19/10/03. 162 words. Possible glimpse into the W/X future. Lashing Out: 08/09/03. 164 words. S2, Dawn. Last Summer: 01/03/04. 297 words. Pre BtVS. Jesse gets an unexpected confession out of Xander. Little Things: 10/11/04. 195 words. Willow has to say sorry for one more thing. Futurefic. Meow!: 11/08/04. 250 words. Cordelia's first weeks in L.A. Written for Aaronlisa. Merry White Christmas: 03/11/03. 225 words. Riley, on Christmas '99 No Talking To Yourself: 13/10/03. 144 words. Two people in hell. Humour. Nevermore: 18/08/03. 436 words. Dawn runs away, post Gift. D/S. Shoe-Lacing Methods: 22/09/03. 248 words. Dawn goes visit Spike, S5 Surprise: 28/03/04. 249 words. R-ish. Spike likes to liven things up. Dawn/Spike fluff. Written for Murielle. Sweet Torture (Stracciamenta): 19/05/04. 153 words. S4. Buffy and Spike share a sweet moment. Kinda. Written for the Spuffy Ice-Cream Challenge Sharp pain through every cell and the instinct to howl and kill blinded him for a second. How he managed to park the car and not cause an accident in the process would forever stay a mystery. Angel closed his eyes. It had happened. Angel had gone to Sunnydale just as he always went when there was no other option. Not to see her, not to kiss her and certainly not to extract a sort-of promise out of her. He had gone because it was his duty, because eight years ago he had been appointed the Slayer's protector and he still had nothing but his word. True, he had gotten too close and then too distant, but he had never quit at all. The trip to Sunnydale was his only option was to protect the Slayer, to die in her stead if necessary. But it hadn't been necessary. Angel had felt him spying on them, he remembered the fury when he realised that it was Spike's privilege. Now it was Spike's territory and it was his woman too. That kiss had been enjoyed in more ways than the simple happiness it brought him. Angel had considered the new option carefully, finally deciding that his other duties allowed him the justification to take a last resort. Betrayal of self. Now, alone in his car, Angel remembered a brash smile and green eyes staring defiantly over Dru's dark hair. He remembered the angry words and the accusations. "This won't be forever," Spike had shouted once as Angel conducted Drusilla to his room. "You won't win," a broken whisper as Angel's fist connected with his chin again. Guilt wasn't an option now, he thought determinedly. Angel opened his eyes, struggling with himself to remove the feeling of rage and impotence. Even though the long distance he could still feel his youngest protegée disappearing in the fire. His hands fisted on the wheel, he couldn't say he hadn't known. Of course Spike would do it, their line had always been the most foolhardy of all the Houses. Only a mantra let him calm enough to drive again: She was alive, she was alive... and he did have some sort of promise out of her.
Stracciamenta Buffy could feel his jealous glare. She grinned to herself. Good. He deserved it. She licked the spoon clean before diving it back into the bowl. Yum, sweet mint and chocolate chips, it was a creation of gods. "Delicious," she whispered, licking her lips with the tip of her tongue. "You sure you don't want some?" She held the spoon to his lips, stopping just a millimetre from them. There it was. A glower, then something too much like a pout and finally a scowl that erased both. "Sod off, Slayer!" Buffy only giggled, shrugging and taking the bit of icecream herself. "Just behave, Spike," she tossed behind her as she left the room, closing the door behind her. Spike squirmed in his place, still thinking of the Slayer's actions. Oh, stracciamenta was definitely something to be fully explored. He groaned at the thought. Really, being chained to a bathtub was no fun. Sometimes he fed her cherries. Sweet and tart against her tongue and he always watched
in fascination as her teeth bit oh so slowly through it. This was a nightmare, Cordelia thought moodily. All of it: losing her
money, moving the L.A., not finding a chance to make a decent living and having to endure
this, it was all a nightmare. a Just Fourteen sequel Dawn can't go back. She thinks about it, even dreams of Xander(real!)crushes and Willow(real!)friends and Giles(real!)dads but in the end it is always just a dream. It had been a mistake, higher powers had never wanted to erase her from existence. Because even if the Key had no use, there was still Dawn in this plane. She wishes they had told her that. Especially before she left Sunnydale and discovered that there was a world beyond the Hellmouth. Before she discovered that the Dawn who her sister's friends knew couldn't go back. Maybe the Key was allowed to be. But that left Dawn condemned to wander lonely across the country. No. Not lonely. Spike still wanders at her side. Ten years after they left Sunnydale he still hasn't tired of following a girl from town to town. Sometimes he only is silent in a corner of her room. Sometimes he smokes as she dresses, as if waiting for her to order him to throw the damn cigarette. Sometimes he only crushes her against his chest without a word. Those are the times he tells her the most. But mostly they talk. Dawn asks him about the past and she wonders how it must feel to have so many memories and not doubt any of them. Spike asks her to call her friends and he smiles when she is finally convinced. So she still calls them. Mostly Willow because she never screams nor cries into the phone. Once, so long ago, she told Dawn that Buffy was back. Tears falling down her cheeks as she denied it, it couldn't be true. It couldn't. Her big sister had died for her. That was the first time Spike abandoned her. Dawn told him it wouldn't be Buffy, not to stop him but because it was true. He still checked on her regularly, travelling between Sunnydale and wherever she was for years. Sometimes Dawn could see the scars on his skin. But one day Spike stepped into her room and looked into her eyes. "You were right," was the only thing he said as she welcomed him for the first time. Dawn's fingertips traced the lines on his body and he didn't need to say Buffy's name for her to know the cause. The marks have disappeared long ago but sometimes, when the work gets too hard or the remorse gets too light, she likes to pass her lips over the vanished last connection to her dead sister. She doesn't blame anyone. She doesn't even blame herself anymore. They still wander together... ...and sometimes she feels like that Dawn again.
Dawn was scared. Terrified even. The stupid ex of her stupid sister had hurt her, purposely bruised her arm with his strong grip. "Tell Buffy I miss her," he'd said, a hateful smirk replacing his usual smile, finally loosening his hold when she cried out. She had come running home, tears and quiet sobs keeping her company. Now, just as she closed her door and curled herself fearfully on her bed, her idiot sister had barged in like a hurricane, demanding her puny belongings back. Never had she seen Buffy so furious and, without Mom to stop her, she was managing to scare the twelve-year-old even more. "It's just a freaking necklace!" Dawn finally shrieked. "See if I care!" Pulling it off her neck, she threw the silver cross down the window. Buffy's anguished expression was enough to make her regret it instantly. The sound of her sister's door slamming shut didn't let her apology be heard, instead promising silence for weeks to come.
Fulfil his plan, child. The priest's words didn't leave her in peace for a minute. They chased after her as she run home, afraid that they were true, frightened that she had always known it. Be evil. The echo followed her into the sanctuary of her room; not letting her brush her hair or change her clothes without his voice bouncing silently between the walls. Right now she felt the words caressing her back as she helped her mother set the table. Plates first. Unstable hands placed them on the board, one for each family member. Then the silverware. A polished spoon reflected her face grotesquely. She stared mesmerised into it. Long black hair framed her face, her dark eyes were haunted by a single question: Could she really be evil? Finally putting the harmless spoon down, she breathed deeply and concentrated in handling the fragile glasses next. Just give in. A memory teased her thoughts, unconsciously making its way through her lips. "God is watching me." She startled at her own words, so like the ones he'd said in the confessionary. The crystal glass in her hand slipped to the ground. God is watching you. Drusilla watched helplessly as the glass fell and shattered.
"Kathy?" Silence. "Kathy!" "Shh, Liam," a whisper coming from a nearby bush, "You'll alert him." He crouched down so their eyes would meet. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice trying desperately to sound stern and reprimanding. Not feeling the least bit scolded - she knew him too well - his little sister explained "Playing hide-and-seek with Sian, it's his turn." Said that, Kathy glanced furtively right and left, breathing in relief when her hiding place wasn't discovered even with Liam skulking by. "Sian?" She nodded. Liam thought hard. No, he didn't know of any boy in the vicinity called Sian, but then, it wouldn't be the first time his sister had invented a friend. The poor girl was too lonely because she was too little to participate in the other children's games. He decided not to call on her innocent fantasy and instead follow her lead. "And what does he look like?" Kathy didn't miss a beat. "I don't really know," she confided, "he's running all the time." "Well Kathysweet." He scooped her up in his arms despite her protests. "I think his mommy called him for dinner. Or maybe to open his presents," he finished with a playful wink. Predictably, the last word made her forget about her 'friend'. "Do I have presents too?" she asked curiously. Liam smiled, for once his Kathylove would have a real Christmas. He thought back to the dark-haired doll waiting for her on her bed. Somehow, he had managed to sweeten Mrs. Crowley into giving him more credit. "You'll be the death of my business, Liam," she had laughed before handing him the doll. "Of course, dear," he finally answered. Watching their house loom closer, she remembered the other children's words about their families' plans. "And will we dine together too?" He remembered Father's angry shouts and Mother's ghostly presence at past Christmases and wished it could be different at least for tonight. "Yes," he muttered and hoped Kathy hadn't picked on his dark tone. Looking into his little sister's face, he only saw trust and hope. Had he once wore that same expression? Careful not to lose his easy smile, Liam wished life would be different for her. And he opened the door.
There he was, all red shirt and platinum hair, fighting with his boots with a scowl on his face. Apparently the boots were winning this round. Dawn's giggles stopped, finally noticing the several bottles of liquor around the bed. She shook her head, so the vampire was drunk? She smiled, she couldn't have asked for a better chance. "Any problems?" His head raised slowly, his eyes taking a bit to recognise her. "Oh, Dawnie." He pouted childishly, motioning to the stubborn boots, or, Dawn noticed, to the stubborn laces which refused to be laced by Spike's fumbling fingers. She smiled, disregarding her sister's warnings and the smell of alcohol. She kneeled in front of him, taking the laces in her fingers and reciting, just as her mother used to do. "Here is a tree, and here a little rabbit. The rabbit runs and runs around the tree and finally hides in this little hole." She secured the knot, and hit his other leg to let him know that she needed it, too. Spike stared at her quizzically. "You are a strange kid, Nibblet," he said slowly but presented her with his other foot nonetheless. Dawn tried hard to continue smiling, all her hopes of he's-too-drunk-to-think flying away. She didn't mind the strange nickname, but she resented that he still thought her just a 'kid'. "Here is a tree..." Alexander pressed his treasure closer to his chest, making sure that Dad wouldn't see it. Mrs. Rosemberg had given it to him earlier today, she also gave him a kiss on the cheek and a slice of chocolate cake as she murmured "Happy Birthday, Alex." He had been scared at first, Mrs. Rosemberg was never that kind and not even Willow had had chocolate cake for her birthday. But then Mr. Rosemberg had smiled, told a joke and made everyone laugh. Alexander knew he wouldn't laugh much today, so he'd tried to spend as much time as he could with Willow's family but, of course, he was not allowed to sleep over. Not even for his ninth birthday. He took the photograph out of its wooden frame, knowing that its large form would be impossible to hide and avoid its destruction. Alex looked at his own smiling face next to Willow's, it had been taken as they were helping Mrs. Rosemberg to bake the cake and both had chocolate smeared on their lips. It was a funny picture. His secret book was still under his mattress, and he was very careful as he took it out. 'Important Moments', it read in Willow's neat writing, it had been her gift for last year's birthday. Only the first page had pictures in it: One was of Mom and baby-Alex cuddling on a bench park, the second was also quite old. It was of the three of them at a fair, he should be around three or four and was sitting on Dad's lap with a big grin on his face as Mom tried to wipe the caramel off his face. Alexander sighed at the old non-memories (for he couldn't actually remember being there) and carefully pasted the new photograph in the next page. "Why does he get to be in demon form?" he complained loudly to his companion, pointing to the vampire below them. Silence. "I mean, it's not fair. Sure, I had an human appearance for some centuries but, wasn't I a powerful demon in the end? I deserve some acknowledgement!" Silence. "And he? He was in his Bat-Cave ever since I was a kid, nothing more than a ghost story to make bad children go to bed. Why would I, the genius who built Sunnydale and made it grow, be denied the privilege to show my rightful form while he, petty Master who couldn't even drown a girl properly, shows his true face? Silence. "Oh, please! Will you never speak to me again?" Snyder kept silent, eyeing the Mayor hatefully. He wouldn't say a word until he at least heard his apologies for eating him. When they were eight, Willow forced her friends to play house for the first time. Seventeen years later, she and Xander are forced to share a flat. *** By her ninth birthday, Xander sang lullabies and Jesse satisfactorily tucked in her dolls. Sixteen years later the only baby is the neighbour's annoying brat. *** At ten, Willow told Xander she would iron his clothes like Mommy did for Dad. Fifteen years later she certainly isn't Mommy, just as Xander isn't even interested to be Dad. Willow remembers memories of a distant past as she irons Xander's shirts. She looks sidelong into the tiny kitchen/dining room and watches as he keeps one careful eye on the cooking soup while he sets the table. His head snaps up and for a moment Willow believes he's looking at her. But Xander turns around again. Willow looks back down rapidly, staring fixedly at the innocent shirt. And she stops bitter tears by pretending they are only playing house again.
Those had been Professor Walsh's words before sending him into a reconnaissance mission. For days she had been grumbling about 'strange signatures' but only today they had showed to be of apocalyptical proportions. With a sigh Riley kicked a stone. 'Strange signatures' his ass, the energy below Sunnydale had not acted tonight. In fact, the most interesting he'd seen was a couple of scrawny looking trees nobody had had the sense to buy for tonight. Tonight. Christmas night. He should be on campus, drinking beers with Forrest and maybe exchanging gifts with Graham, who didn't think it a 'pansy' thing to do. Of course, just as he was blaming Walsh's failing equipment, the snow began to fall. Riley stared around himself. Snow in California? He strode quickly to the Initiative's headquarters. Weather was not the usual manifestation of the abnormal forces; but then, he'd learned the hard way, anything could happen in this town. He just wondered what could have triggered the occurrence this time. "I'm sorry," he mumbled as he bumped into a couple, giving a passing thought at how cute they looked just holding hands in the middle of the falling snow. Ten seconds later he had forgotten about them, never knowing that he'd just passed by the answer he sought.
Willow knew her friends worried about her after she did this but, even after so much time, it had became a sort of ritual she had to go through every couple of months. Now, she smiled as she settled down on the ground, resting against a trunk. "You know I was sorry." "Yes." No, Willow didn't really believe it was Tara's voice but, the idea of talking with her dead lover was comforting in its simplicity. "I never intended to do it. I wasn't thinking right." "I know." "It was an accident, I swear." She fingered the dead leaves at her side. The next part was always the most difficult to say. "I always wanted to tell you how sorry I am." No, they weren't talking about the Great Mistakes Willow Committed, they were long past that. But it was the little things, those she'd never thought important enough, which Willow apologised for now. Tara-memory looked down at the pink sweater she wore. The same which had been her favourite white sweater before Willow's red sock took part of the laundry session. "I always liked pink." Willow smiled, happy to have another piece of absolution. |
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