The Open Halls of the Soul, chapter 5
TITLE: The Open Halls of the Soul
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: R for now
SPOILERS: post-NFA
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Spike, Buffy, Spike/Buffy, others
WARNINGS: Character death, violence, disturbing post-Apocalypse-type imagery
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
SUMMARY: Spike always said it would take the end of the world to keep him away from Buffy. And he was right.
A/N: thanks as always to kellyhk
Previous parts can be found here.
Her head is spinning with words and images she doesn't understand. She just wants them to go away. She comes across another group of demons standing outside a bar and mows them down, slashing through them without thought. She is pure instinct, her blade merely an extension of her hand. The relief she feels is instantaneous. This is what she is made for.
But that relief is short-lived. Once she returns to the place where she sleeps, her thoughts return to the other. The one like her. She puts her head in her hands, trying to push the memory away. That girl moved like her. Was strong like her. And called her a name that echoes through her mind in different voices. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy!
She screams in frustration and climbs out onto the fire escape, and then all the way up onto the roof. She just wants to be alone. She just wants some peace. But she can't get away from them. They're in her head, flashing images behind her eyes. They're everywhere. She lies down on the flat surface and stares up at the sky, breathing slowly in and out, trying to clear her head. Eventually her heartbeat begins to calm and her breathing slows down. There is no moon tonight, but there are stars, millions of them. From here, they're all she can see, just sky and stars. She could be the only person left in the world. She feels a wetness on her face, but there is no rain tonight. Not a single cloud. She lifts her head and the water runs into her mouth, warm and salty. With surprise, she realizes that she's crying.
***
Spike slows the bike down to a crawl as he picks his way through the maze of cars and corpses littering the highway, the twisted remains of a forty car pile-up. There's no moon tonight, but the sky is lit up with stars which twinkle cheerfully, unaware of the carnage below. Still, he lets his demon face come forth; he can't afford to wreck the bike. The better to see you with, my dear, he used to tease Buffy. But there's no one here to see. No one alive, at least. Just bodies, desiccated over these many weeks by the hot desert sun. His eyes adjust quickly, and he maps out a path through the wreckage in his head.
He found the old motorcycle in the barn he'd slept in the day before. And a good find that small farm was. Though he's used to cow's blood, he usually doesn't get it directly from the source. Not that he's complaining. The leg's nearly healed, though he's still got quite a limp. And the place provided not only food and shelter, but transportation. The bike is pretty beat up, and it isn't even a Harley, but it runs, and that's all he cares about.
It turns out he's better off than he would've been with that that old Firebird anyway, even if it means he can move only at night. A car could never have navigated these crack-ups he's run across. People trying to escape the cities, and ending up easy targets instead. This one's not too far west of Las Vegas, and he can only imagine what kind of demon Disneyland that's turned into. Spike doesn't plan on finding out. He has to get off the bike and walk it through one particularly congested area. People, or what's left of them, are sprawled on the hoods of their cars or strewn across the highway. One headless body slumps half out of an open door, most of his Honda civic wedged under the trailer of a semi.
"You were one of the lucky ones, mate."
The demons weren't nearly so tidy. Or quick, he guesses. He steps over a mummified hand that's been separated from the rest of its body, but is still holding a gun. A man's hand, and an expensive watch encircles the wrist. His wedding ring, loose around the remains of his finger, glitters in the starlight. Spike reaches down to grab the gun, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. The wedding ring slips off and rolls away, spinning wildly on the asphalt before toppling over. Spike stares at it for a moment before moving on.
He steers the bike slowly along the shoulder of the road until it finally clears, nothing but miles of flat blacktop broken only by faded yellow lines as far as he can see. It's a gorgeous night. The nights shouldn't be this beautiful anymore. Doesn't seem right. But it's clear and cool, with a sky so big you could almost imagine a place where things aren't as terrible as they are here.
Spike imagines a slight weight on the bike behind him, a small, warm body pressing close. Her long blonde hair comes loose of its tie and begins to whip around them. She's holding onto him so tight that he's glad he doesn't have to breath. She whispers secrets in his ear, words she saves only for him. She's happy. And she's laughing.
Spike opens up the throttle and roars down the highway. He's got many miles to go, and the sun will not wait on him. Someday, he might wait on it - him and the best bottle of whiskey he can find. But today's not that day.
Chapter 6
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: R for now
SPOILERS: post-NFA
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Spike, Buffy, Spike/Buffy, others
WARNINGS: Character death, violence, disturbing post-Apocalypse-type imagery
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
SUMMARY: Spike always said it would take the end of the world to keep him away from Buffy. And he was right.
A/N: thanks as always to kellyhk
Previous parts can be found here.
Her head is spinning with words and images she doesn't understand. She just wants them to go away. She comes across another group of demons standing outside a bar and mows them down, slashing through them without thought. She is pure instinct, her blade merely an extension of her hand. The relief she feels is instantaneous. This is what she is made for.
But that relief is short-lived. Once she returns to the place where she sleeps, her thoughts return to the other. The one like her. She puts her head in her hands, trying to push the memory away. That girl moved like her. Was strong like her. And called her a name that echoes through her mind in different voices. Buffy. Buffy. Buffy!
She screams in frustration and climbs out onto the fire escape, and then all the way up onto the roof. She just wants to be alone. She just wants some peace. But she can't get away from them. They're in her head, flashing images behind her eyes. They're everywhere. She lies down on the flat surface and stares up at the sky, breathing slowly in and out, trying to clear her head. Eventually her heartbeat begins to calm and her breathing slows down. There is no moon tonight, but there are stars, millions of them. From here, they're all she can see, just sky and stars. She could be the only person left in the world. She feels a wetness on her face, but there is no rain tonight. Not a single cloud. She lifts her head and the water runs into her mouth, warm and salty. With surprise, she realizes that she's crying.
***
Spike slows the bike down to a crawl as he picks his way through the maze of cars and corpses littering the highway, the twisted remains of a forty car pile-up. There's no moon tonight, but the sky is lit up with stars which twinkle cheerfully, unaware of the carnage below. Still, he lets his demon face come forth; he can't afford to wreck the bike. The better to see you with, my dear, he used to tease Buffy. But there's no one here to see. No one alive, at least. Just bodies, desiccated over these many weeks by the hot desert sun. His eyes adjust quickly, and he maps out a path through the wreckage in his head.
He found the old motorcycle in the barn he'd slept in the day before. And a good find that small farm was. Though he's used to cow's blood, he usually doesn't get it directly from the source. Not that he's complaining. The leg's nearly healed, though he's still got quite a limp. And the place provided not only food and shelter, but transportation. The bike is pretty beat up, and it isn't even a Harley, but it runs, and that's all he cares about.
It turns out he's better off than he would've been with that that old Firebird anyway, even if it means he can move only at night. A car could never have navigated these crack-ups he's run across. People trying to escape the cities, and ending up easy targets instead. This one's not too far west of Las Vegas, and he can only imagine what kind of demon Disneyland that's turned into. Spike doesn't plan on finding out. He has to get off the bike and walk it through one particularly congested area. People, or what's left of them, are sprawled on the hoods of their cars or strewn across the highway. One headless body slumps half out of an open door, most of his Honda civic wedged under the trailer of a semi.
"You were one of the lucky ones, mate."
The demons weren't nearly so tidy. Or quick, he guesses. He steps over a mummified hand that's been separated from the rest of its body, but is still holding a gun. A man's hand, and an expensive watch encircles the wrist. His wedding ring, loose around the remains of his finger, glitters in the starlight. Spike reaches down to grab the gun, tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. The wedding ring slips off and rolls away, spinning wildly on the asphalt before toppling over. Spike stares at it for a moment before moving on.
He steers the bike slowly along the shoulder of the road until it finally clears, nothing but miles of flat blacktop broken only by faded yellow lines as far as he can see. It's a gorgeous night. The nights shouldn't be this beautiful anymore. Doesn't seem right. But it's clear and cool, with a sky so big you could almost imagine a place where things aren't as terrible as they are here.
Spike imagines a slight weight on the bike behind him, a small, warm body pressing close. Her long blonde hair comes loose of its tie and begins to whip around them. She's holding onto him so tight that he's glad he doesn't have to breath. She whispers secrets in his ear, words she saves only for him. She's happy. And she's laughing.
Spike opens up the throttle and roars down the highway. He's got many miles to go, and the sun will not wait on him. Someday, he might wait on it - him and the best bottle of whiskey he can find. But today's not that day.
Chapter 6