Fic: Wish You Were Here: Chapter 1
The first chapter of my entry for kellyhk and cindergal's Welcome Back to the Hellmouth Ficathon.
This was written for elsaf. I won't give her story requests just yet, but one of them--"no character deaths"--is briefly violated. Key word being briefly, and I promise a happy ending! This isn't an angst fic.
Huge thanks to yourlibrarian and sunnyd_lite for the emergency last minute beta. That'll teach me to write things down on a calendar.
All chapters here.
Title: Wish You Were Here
Setting: Rome, post-Not Fade Away
Rating: PG
Word count: 1784 (this part)
Disclaimer: Joss likes fanfic. He said so.
Chapter 1 of 6
“Dawn?” Buffy checked her watch and called up the stairs again. “Dawnie, you’re going to be late! Antonio’s mother is not going to be impressed if you’re late for your first family dinner with him.”
Dawn appeared in the bathroom doorway, her eyes wide and panic stricken; one hand struggled to put on a high-heeled shoe, while the other was engaged in brushing her teeth.
“Ung co-ing, ung co-ing!”
She teetered on the slender heel of the shoe she was already wearing, failed to regain her balance, and nearly pitched headfirst into the doorframe. The hand with the toothbrush saved her from a fall at the last second, but flecks of foam spattered onto the front of her black dress. She groaned and rolled her eyes, then stomped back into the bathroom to clean herself up.
Buffy grinned as she went to get Dawn’s coat and purse from the closet. It was entertaining watching Dawn discover the hazards of dating and meeting mothers of boyfriends. Antonio was a nice guy and probably worth the anxiety that this dinner was causing, but hey--what were little sisters for if not to tease and have a little fun with?
Heels firmly on this time and hands fanning the damp spots on her dress, Dawn reappeared in the hallway and clattered down the stairs. Buffy helped her into her coat. “Now remember: two kisses to say hello--that’s for Signora Rossi, not Antonio--first on the left cheek, then on the right...”
Dawn rolled her eyes again. “I know, Buffy, I know.” She turned to face her sister. “Do I look okay?”
Buffy’s expression softened as she took in the elegant shoes, the sleek black dress, and the expertly applied make-up. Little Dawnie, all grown up. She gave her a smile and a quick hug.
“You look wonderful. Antonio’s mother will love you. Now, go. Go! Don’t keep her waiting.”
A final peck on the cheek and Dawn was out the door in a swirl of shiny walnut hair. Buffy watched her go and was left with an odd sort of matronly, spinsterly feeling. Dawn had urged her to date too, since they’d moved to Rome, and she had for a while, but her heart wasn’t in it. She hadn’t finished mourning; she wasn’t ready to move on. Spike had taken years to work his way into her heart, and it looked like he was taking his time in working his way back out. He’d left a hole inside her that other men just couldn’t fill. Not yet, anyway. Someday, maybe... but not yet.
Buffy sighed and headed into the living room, readying herself for a quiet evening of old movies. Before she sat down, however, there was a knock on the door.
“Honestly, Dawn,” she muttered, trudging back to the hallway, “you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.” She stopped halfway to the door and wondered, not for the first time, just when she’d started turning into her mother. She shook her head in amusement and reached for the doorknob.
“Did you leave your keys behind agai...”
The brown eyes staring down at her were the last ones she’d expected to see on her doorstep tonight--or, really, any night. The floor seemed to lurch a little under her feet; she gripped the door handle for support and stared at them, open-mouthed, her question already forgotten.
“...Angel.”
“Buffy.” Angel’s voice cracked with emotion, and he leaned against the doorframe, pale and exhausted. Grief was written so plainly across his features that she almost couldn’t bear to look at him. His gaze dropped downwards, as if he didn’t have the energy or the will to hold his eyes up to meet hers.
Additional speech eluded her. The air around him felt thick and heavy, infused with dread and guilt and sorrow, and Buffy suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Pain--there had been so much pain, so much loss, in the past few years. Mom. Tara. Anya. Spike. She’d brought Dawn to Rome to leave their grim past behind, to try for a fresh start. She’d thought the worst was over, that the time for tears had ended, but the look on Angel’s face clearly said that there was another blow to come. The hole inside her ached anew, and she wondered why she didn’t just collapse inwards from the hollowness.
She drew a shaky breath, set her jaw, and steeled herself as best she could, then stepped back to let him enter.
~*~
Springtime in Rome should have been enough to lift anyone’s spirits: tree branches burst with fresh buds, and choruses of flowers filled the air with their scents; toddlers chased pigeons across sunlit piazzas under the watchful eyes of their mothers; and old men and students took breaks from their days over cups of colourful gelato.
Buffy sat on the patio of her favourite trattoria, forgetting to sip her long-since-cold latte and feeling woozy after a long night of many tears and little sleep. She stared unseeingly at clumps of chattering tourists, droplets welling from her eyes and slowly coursing damp trails down her cheeks.
Spike. Dead. Well, that was what she’d thought for the past year, wasn’t it? But this time he was really dead. Not dead from wearing a magic amulet in battle--and she couldn’t help but kick herself over that one: she, more than anyone, knew that mystical deaths were different. Not only could they sometimes be reversed, but what looked like death wasn’t always. Why had she been so quick to assume that Spike was irretrievably gone? Why, when she’d finally realized how much she still wanted him by her side, hadn’t she even thought of suggesting to Willow that his fate might be worth looking into?
But it was too late now. This time, he was dead by a vampire’s natural enemy: fire. He’d been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time and had been turned to ash in an alley by the breath of a dragon. Just a few more seconds--a few more feet in any direction--and he’d have been able to get out of the way. At least he’d mortally wounded the monster as it descended towards him. Angel owed him his life for that. Spike had gone down a hero. Again.
That was something, right? It had to be something. It had to be enough, because it was all she was ever going to get.
A fresh wave of tears blurred the picturesque scene in front of her. The conversation of the couple at the next table slowed, and they cast curious glances at her. Embarrassed, Buffy turned her back to them, buried her face in her hands, and wept quietly into the sodden sleeves of her sweater.
“There, there, dearie, are you all right?” A distinctly non-Italian accent cut into her thoughts, and a warm and gentle hand patted her lightly on the back. Buffy startled and raised her eyes to meet those of an elderly, white-haired woman who was looking down at her with concern. She groped for a napkin and blotted her face.
“Yes,” she choked. The woman tilted her head and gave her a disbelieving look. “I mean, no. I don’t know. I- I guess I will be, eventually, but it’s just...” She started shredding the wet napkin to give herself something to do with her hands. “I’ve had some bad news. It- it came as a bit of a shock.”
“Why don’t you let me get you a nice cup of tea?” The woman squeezed her shoulder, sank down into the chair next to her, and signalled a waiter. “I could use a rest,” she continued as she slipped off her shoes and wiggled her toes in the sun. “These old dogs aren’t what they used to be. Never get old, my love, never get old.” She patted Buffy’s hands, stilling their worrying movements. “Stay young and pretty as long as you can. And take care of your feet--wear sensible shoes. That’s sound advice from someone who’s been around the block more times than she’ll admit.”
Their tea arrived, and Buffy’s companion busied herself with pouring and offering milk and sugar. The hot sweet liquid was comforting; Buffy looked at the plump, lined face and managed a wan smile.
“I’m- I’m Buffy. It’s very nice of you to sit with me.”
“Buffy--what a pretty name. I’m Frances. Frances of Rome, the young ones call me.” Her eyes twinkled. “Though I’m not really from Rome at all. But you don’t need to hear about me. You’ve suffered a loss, a terrible loss. Why don’t you tell me about it? About him. It’ll help to ease your heart, dearie.”
Buffy gaped at her. “A- about him? How did you know there was a him?”
Frances gave her a knowing look. “I can always tell,” she said kindly. “You lost him recently, yes?”
Buffy’s eyes grew wide and glassy as she fought the urge to start crying again. “Yes. Well, no. I mean... well, I thought I’d lost him last year, but it turns out that I hadn’t. I thought he was, you know, dead, but he wasn’t, he was just... elsewhere.”
“But?”
“But I just learned all of this last night and that now he really is dead, and... and... things could have been different, but I just didn’t know...”
Frances reached over and gave Buffy’s arm another reassuring squeeze. “I expect you’d do things differently if you had the chance to do it over?”
Buffy nodded and sniffled as tears started trickling down her face once more. “Of course, yes, of course I would! I wouldn’t push him away or wait so long to tell him how I feel. I’d make sure he knew he was wanted and l- lo- well, I’d just make sure he knew. I’d do it right this time. I would.” Her eyes closed with longing and she covered her face with her hands. “I just... I just...”
“Yes?” Frances leaned towards her, listening intently.
“I just wish Spike were here,” said Buffy’s muffled voice. She dropped her hands to the table and gave Frances a pleading look. “I wish he were here.”
Frances sat back in her chair and smiled with satisfaction. As Buffy raised the soggy napkin to wipe her eyes, she glanced at Frances and saw, with a shock, that her gentle, weathered face had taken on a strange and twisted appearance. Before she could react, however, the world tilted around her, the sky went black, and all she could hear was a harsh, deep voice that seemed to come from all directions at once.
“Wish granted.”
This was written for elsaf. I won't give her story requests just yet, but one of them--"no character deaths"--is briefly violated. Key word being briefly, and I promise a happy ending! This isn't an angst fic.
Huge thanks to yourlibrarian and sunnyd_lite for the emergency last minute beta. That'll teach me to write things down on a calendar.
All chapters here.
Title: Wish You Were Here
Setting: Rome, post-Not Fade Away
Rating: PG
Word count: 1784 (this part)
Disclaimer: Joss likes fanfic. He said so.
Chapter 1 of 6
“Dawn?” Buffy checked her watch and called up the stairs again. “Dawnie, you’re going to be late! Antonio’s mother is not going to be impressed if you’re late for your first family dinner with him.”
Dawn appeared in the bathroom doorway, her eyes wide and panic stricken; one hand struggled to put on a high-heeled shoe, while the other was engaged in brushing her teeth.
“Ung co-ing, ung co-ing!”
She teetered on the slender heel of the shoe she was already wearing, failed to regain her balance, and nearly pitched headfirst into the doorframe. The hand with the toothbrush saved her from a fall at the last second, but flecks of foam spattered onto the front of her black dress. She groaned and rolled her eyes, then stomped back into the bathroom to clean herself up.
Buffy grinned as she went to get Dawn’s coat and purse from the closet. It was entertaining watching Dawn discover the hazards of dating and meeting mothers of boyfriends. Antonio was a nice guy and probably worth the anxiety that this dinner was causing, but hey--what were little sisters for if not to tease and have a little fun with?
Heels firmly on this time and hands fanning the damp spots on her dress, Dawn reappeared in the hallway and clattered down the stairs. Buffy helped her into her coat. “Now remember: two kisses to say hello--that’s for Signora Rossi, not Antonio--first on the left cheek, then on the right...”
Dawn rolled her eyes again. “I know, Buffy, I know.” She turned to face her sister. “Do I look okay?”
Buffy’s expression softened as she took in the elegant shoes, the sleek black dress, and the expertly applied make-up. Little Dawnie, all grown up. She gave her a smile and a quick hug.
“You look wonderful. Antonio’s mother will love you. Now, go. Go! Don’t keep her waiting.”
A final peck on the cheek and Dawn was out the door in a swirl of shiny walnut hair. Buffy watched her go and was left with an odd sort of matronly, spinsterly feeling. Dawn had urged her to date too, since they’d moved to Rome, and she had for a while, but her heart wasn’t in it. She hadn’t finished mourning; she wasn’t ready to move on. Spike had taken years to work his way into her heart, and it looked like he was taking his time in working his way back out. He’d left a hole inside her that other men just couldn’t fill. Not yet, anyway. Someday, maybe... but not yet.
Buffy sighed and headed into the living room, readying herself for a quiet evening of old movies. Before she sat down, however, there was a knock on the door.
“Honestly, Dawn,” she muttered, trudging back to the hallway, “you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached.” She stopped halfway to the door and wondered, not for the first time, just when she’d started turning into her mother. She shook her head in amusement and reached for the doorknob.
“Did you leave your keys behind agai...”
The brown eyes staring down at her were the last ones she’d expected to see on her doorstep tonight--or, really, any night. The floor seemed to lurch a little under her feet; she gripped the door handle for support and stared at them, open-mouthed, her question already forgotten.
“...Angel.”
“Buffy.” Angel’s voice cracked with emotion, and he leaned against the doorframe, pale and exhausted. Grief was written so plainly across his features that she almost couldn’t bear to look at him. His gaze dropped downwards, as if he didn’t have the energy or the will to hold his eyes up to meet hers.
Additional speech eluded her. The air around him felt thick and heavy, infused with dread and guilt and sorrow, and Buffy suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Pain--there had been so much pain, so much loss, in the past few years. Mom. Tara. Anya. Spike. She’d brought Dawn to Rome to leave their grim past behind, to try for a fresh start. She’d thought the worst was over, that the time for tears had ended, but the look on Angel’s face clearly said that there was another blow to come. The hole inside her ached anew, and she wondered why she didn’t just collapse inwards from the hollowness.
She drew a shaky breath, set her jaw, and steeled herself as best she could, then stepped back to let him enter.
~*~
Springtime in Rome should have been enough to lift anyone’s spirits: tree branches burst with fresh buds, and choruses of flowers filled the air with their scents; toddlers chased pigeons across sunlit piazzas under the watchful eyes of their mothers; and old men and students took breaks from their days over cups of colourful gelato.
Buffy sat on the patio of her favourite trattoria, forgetting to sip her long-since-cold latte and feeling woozy after a long night of many tears and little sleep. She stared unseeingly at clumps of chattering tourists, droplets welling from her eyes and slowly coursing damp trails down her cheeks.
Spike. Dead. Well, that was what she’d thought for the past year, wasn’t it? But this time he was really dead. Not dead from wearing a magic amulet in battle--and she couldn’t help but kick herself over that one: she, more than anyone, knew that mystical deaths were different. Not only could they sometimes be reversed, but what looked like death wasn’t always. Why had she been so quick to assume that Spike was irretrievably gone? Why, when she’d finally realized how much she still wanted him by her side, hadn’t she even thought of suggesting to Willow that his fate might be worth looking into?
But it was too late now. This time, he was dead by a vampire’s natural enemy: fire. He’d been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time and had been turned to ash in an alley by the breath of a dragon. Just a few more seconds--a few more feet in any direction--and he’d have been able to get out of the way. At least he’d mortally wounded the monster as it descended towards him. Angel owed him his life for that. Spike had gone down a hero. Again.
That was something, right? It had to be something. It had to be enough, because it was all she was ever going to get.
A fresh wave of tears blurred the picturesque scene in front of her. The conversation of the couple at the next table slowed, and they cast curious glances at her. Embarrassed, Buffy turned her back to them, buried her face in her hands, and wept quietly into the sodden sleeves of her sweater.
“There, there, dearie, are you all right?” A distinctly non-Italian accent cut into her thoughts, and a warm and gentle hand patted her lightly on the back. Buffy startled and raised her eyes to meet those of an elderly, white-haired woman who was looking down at her with concern. She groped for a napkin and blotted her face.
“Yes,” she choked. The woman tilted her head and gave her a disbelieving look. “I mean, no. I don’t know. I- I guess I will be, eventually, but it’s just...” She started shredding the wet napkin to give herself something to do with her hands. “I’ve had some bad news. It- it came as a bit of a shock.”
“Why don’t you let me get you a nice cup of tea?” The woman squeezed her shoulder, sank down into the chair next to her, and signalled a waiter. “I could use a rest,” she continued as she slipped off her shoes and wiggled her toes in the sun. “These old dogs aren’t what they used to be. Never get old, my love, never get old.” She patted Buffy’s hands, stilling their worrying movements. “Stay young and pretty as long as you can. And take care of your feet--wear sensible shoes. That’s sound advice from someone who’s been around the block more times than she’ll admit.”
Their tea arrived, and Buffy’s companion busied herself with pouring and offering milk and sugar. The hot sweet liquid was comforting; Buffy looked at the plump, lined face and managed a wan smile.
“I’m- I’m Buffy. It’s very nice of you to sit with me.”
“Buffy--what a pretty name. I’m Frances. Frances of Rome, the young ones call me.” Her eyes twinkled. “Though I’m not really from Rome at all. But you don’t need to hear about me. You’ve suffered a loss, a terrible loss. Why don’t you tell me about it? About him. It’ll help to ease your heart, dearie.”
Buffy gaped at her. “A- about him? How did you know there was a him?”
Frances gave her a knowing look. “I can always tell,” she said kindly. “You lost him recently, yes?”
Buffy’s eyes grew wide and glassy as she fought the urge to start crying again. “Yes. Well, no. I mean... well, I thought I’d lost him last year, but it turns out that I hadn’t. I thought he was, you know, dead, but he wasn’t, he was just... elsewhere.”
“But?”
“But I just learned all of this last night and that now he really is dead, and... and... things could have been different, but I just didn’t know...”
Frances reached over and gave Buffy’s arm another reassuring squeeze. “I expect you’d do things differently if you had the chance to do it over?”
Buffy nodded and sniffled as tears started trickling down her face once more. “Of course, yes, of course I would! I wouldn’t push him away or wait so long to tell him how I feel. I’d make sure he knew he was wanted and l- lo- well, I’d just make sure he knew. I’d do it right this time. I would.” Her eyes closed with longing and she covered her face with her hands. “I just... I just...”
“Yes?” Frances leaned towards her, listening intently.
“I just wish Spike were here,” said Buffy’s muffled voice. She dropped her hands to the table and gave Frances a pleading look. “I wish he were here.”
Frances sat back in her chair and smiled with satisfaction. As Buffy raised the soggy napkin to wipe her eyes, she glanced at Frances and saw, with a shock, that her gentle, weathered face had taken on a strange and twisted appearance. Before she could react, however, the world tilted around her, the sky went black, and all she could hear was a harsh, deep voice that seemed to come from all directions at once.
“Wish granted.”