Fic Commentary on "Time"
Fic commentary on Time, as requested by deird1. Hope you find it interesting, if not mildly amusing. :P The original fic is included, with my commentary in blockquotes.
So, I actually started this fic sitting in Astronomy class the day we covered the theory of alternate dimensions. Which, is kind of how I thought heaven might be viewed in Jossverse - as a type of alternate space that exists on top of the regular reality, where souls are transferred to after death.
Death was much more life-like than Cordelia had expected.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no golden gates, and no white, fluffy landscape. Instead there was a big, cushy armchair and elevator music.
In front of her were around two dozen seats, two to a row. The tops of heads peaked out from behind them and swayed lightly with the train's motion, the walls and floor vibrating faintly around them. A man two rows in front of her was snoring.
I have to theorize that the snoring man died in his sleep, and hasn’t quite woken up yet..
Out the window a sprawling field of long, green grass - dotted with groups of fat, grazing cows - crept by. Passing through the aisle beside her, a woman in a pale pink dress offered Cordelia something to drink. In a daze, she declined.
I just couldn’t get this image of a train ride out of my mind. It always feels like in movies and books when people die, they’re just suddenly somewhere completely different - which, to me, would be really distressing. It seems so much more relaxing to *ride* to heaven, with soft music in the background, and cows and grass going by in the window..
The last thing she remembered was being in Angel’s office - Angel’s Wolfram and Hart office - and having an unbelievably important conversation about why dealing with evil law firms is a bad idea.
She knew that they would all be lost without her, but honestly.
The woman in pink offered her some of those airline peanuts, and she took them without thinking; fingering the package in her lap.
But Cordelia had to admit, evil law firms aside, there was a lot to be said for the lot of them surviving the last apocalypse - even if Cordelia hadn't. Now that she’d gotten a certain C.E.O.'s undead ass back on track, they would be just fine.
Even if a selfish part of her was wishing passionately that they wouldn’t, wishing that they would miss her and need her so terribly that they would bend the laws of time and space to get her back. That at the end of the day she could go back with them to the Hyperion and it would all be normal again. They would sit up late eating crappy Chinese take-out and bitching about the forces of evil, and there would be warm arms and more kissing, this time without good-bye tears.
But Cordelia knew better. She knew that she wanted them to go on and live their lives; to move on and be happy, and all that Hallmark crap.
So she was dead, life went on. Or..unlife. Whatever.
Cordelia was pleased to see that she was still wearing the same fashionable, button down blouse and slimming black pants, finished off with a pair of heels so stylish she might have given Lilah Morgan -(though surely she would be in a much more firey place)- a run for her money. She had been worried the afterlife would throw her into some tacky white robe like in the movies - because the last thing she needed was to spend eternity looking like she had just gotten out of the shower.
Because I apparently can’t resist mentioning Lilah in almost every fic. Me, obsessed? What?
The chair beneath her was soft and comfortable, and the view out the window was constant. As the train ride drew on time took on a strange sense of meaninglessness, and Cordelia became increasingly aware of the odd sensation that she’d been on the bus for either moments or weeks, but which she couldn’t say.
Couldn’t really pin down the time it would take someone to get to heaven, so I decided that it should be an indefinite time, maybe even a time that bends to the person’s needs. A person who has a traumatic death to process might be on a different, longer train, so they have enough ride time to think it out and calm down a little more.
In time the cows and grass fazed from view, and they were passing buildings, cars and people. The gentle rumble of the train’s engine died down as the world outside became stationary, a light voice ringing out over the loudspeaker, “Sarah Terange, Jessica Beskle, John Small..” Cordelia blinked, eyebrow arching as it continued, “Tenecia Serae, Mark Hares and Cordelia Chase, this is your stop. Please exit to the right, and watch your step. There will be someone waiting to greet you.”
I’ve seen it played off before in books, and I’ve always loved the idea of someone waiting in the afterlife to greet the deceased. Like the train ride, it was stuck in here to make the transition to the afterlife seem less scary.
Cordelia’s first instinct was to grab for her luggage, but looking around she found that she didn't have any. A few expectant faces had lined up behind her in the aisle so, empty-handed, she filed out, stepping down curiously onto a crowded platform.
Almost instantly a hand was in hers, pulling her away from the people congregated around the door. Bodies nudged and bumped around her, and faces of all colors and shapes moved past in the crowd. Once they'd come to a stand-still on the outskirts of the mob, her hands found themselves on the surface of a worn, brown jacket that stretched over an average set of shoulders. A pair of smiling green eyes and a familiar, distinctly Irish voice greeted her, thumb brushing her chin. “Hey there, Princess.”
Cordelia's unintelligible shriek was not nearly as loud as the one that left Doyle as she tackled him enthusiastically to the ground.
I can’t imagine a better greeter for Cordy. I was so upset when Doyle died in season one, and kept hoping all series that he would return in some way, at least for some sense of closure. (I didn’t hear about the actor dying till I’d nearly finished the series. -sniff-)
So, really, this whole fic is really just my way of inventing a greater sense of closure for the two, as well as cushioning how sniffly I got at Cordy’s death. (Same with “A Simple Choice”, really.) We spend all this time watching these characters grow and develop over the seasons, so when they finally die, it’s like someone we know has passed away. For me, that means processing - which apparently in Cordelia’s case also means a lot of fic.
**********
The grass was soft under her feet, heels abandoned temporarily at the edge of the park they now wandered through. People of all sorts passed by, most of them walking, but a few floating. Several were naked - in a vague, misty way - and looked almost incorporeal.
Doyle explained that the longer people stayed in the afterlife, the more things like their appearance and their surroundings came under their control - became unearthly, ethereal. The more they let go of life, the less life-like the afterlife became.
Again with the adjustment theory. I’d guess that, if there is such a thing as the afterlife, people would initially long for the familiar; like their own solid bodies, their own clothes, plus food and water and other things they took comfort in in life. Then as time went on, and as they slowly let go of the things they had needed in life, but don’t necessarily need in the afterlife, they’d be traded in for new things. Like, a floaty, misty-type body.
Since Doyle's hand was still very much hand-shaped, intertwined casually with hers, she presumed that he too was still attached to the feel of his good old, Doyle-shaped body - and apparently also to his old, Doyle-shaped clothing.
That man's fashion sense was tragic, and she was beginning to think that he might have done better in the white robe getup.
I love snarky!Cordy, and I spent a lot of this fic trying to get that side of her down better. There was actually a whole hunk of bickering that I ended up having to take out of here, but stashed away for later use.
“Well, ‘least ya got a hero’s exit.” His voice was soft and familiar at her side, listening quietly through the details of her last few years of life. Though, she got the distinct impression that he already knew them.
Another one of the classic afterlife images I really like: the deceased watching over their loved ones from heaven. And of course, even if Doyle *had* been watching, and already knew about everything she was telling him, I’d imagine he’d listen to her re-tell it anyway, because he’s just sweet that way.
“I'd imagine you know a little something about that.” She nudged his arm with her elbow, shooting him her best attempt at the stink eye. “Nice parting gift, by the way.”
‘Parting Gift’ of course being a reference to the first episode in which Cordy had the visions, and ‘The splittin’ headaches with pictures’ from the next paragraph being the phrase that Doyle used to describe his visions in the very first episode.
“The splittin’ headaches with pictures? Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.." His thumb brushed the edge of his lips absently, twitching up into a smile, "S' got a kinda ring to it though, don't it? Cordelia Chase, seer!" His free hand gestured at the air emphatically, adding with a smile, "Part demon now too, way I hear it.”
I had quite a bit of trouble with his voice, because I’ve never actually known anyone with an Irish accent. Eventually I ended up playing season one in the background while writing this, just to listen to him talk.
“Yep. Well, I think so..not totally sure how the PTBs were playing that one. Could have been a sham..but," she offered with a shrug "there’s was floating, and random bursts of light.”
Not really on board with the way they played out the half demon thing in cannon. It seemed like that could have been part of the whole Possessed-by-Jasmine thing, but if that didn’t start until her ‘ascension’, then she really was just half demon for a tiny bit of time, prior to being possessed. (Which, in my personal opinion, means she should have gotten a nifty tail or something - flashes of light just do not say demon to me.)
“No scales, no tail? Sounds like you got the short end of the demonic stick,” His eyes were twinkling, and she wondered if they had always been that bright. “Was a brave thing, that. Takin' those visions from Angel. Man would’ve been lost without ya.”
Wandering into references to another alternate reality - the one where Cordelia was a movie star, and found vision-crazy Angel, before giving him a big smooch. I’d imagine that since that was how she became half demon, supposedly, she would have covered that in her story telling.
“Don’t I know it." She was looking at the grass beneath them. Their feet lifted off it and almost immediately the blades sprung back up into place with an unearthly determination. Her eyebrows knitted together, eyes on the motions of the grass. "Well, me-me anyway. Evil-possessed-me I think everyone could have done without.”
Dark magic and murder and sex with somebody who was practically her kid. None of that had been on her agenda. Ever.
Personally, I always found the sex-with-Connor thing to be the most disturbing. You have no idea how upset I was with my TV screen when I watched that episode. Popcorn was thrown.
Doyle's hand was on her shoulder, gently turning her towards him. Her eyes lingered on his jacket collar, but his hand tilted her face up. “None a' that was your fault, Cordy. None a' it was you, ya know that..” Her eyes were closed, blocking out the view of his painfully sincere face. With a thumb stroking along her jaw line, the soft Irish tone added, “Angel knows that.”
When Cordy came back in ‘Your Welcome’, there was that quick talk with Wes about Lilah’s death, but that was really the only mention of what she did while body-jacked. If it were me, I’d need a whole lot more reassurance that it wasn’t my fault.
"You loved him, an' he loved you." Her hands grew momentarily rigid, eyes flickering open to see his locked onto hers, unwavering. "He understands, n' he 'aint mad. Nobody blames ya, you've seen that fer yourself."
"Doyle, I-"
"S'alright Cordy," his hand gave her shoulder a soft squeeze, lips in a small smile. "Didn't expect ya to wait around - stay madly in love with me once I'd gone. Movin' on, it's all good n' natural."
"Madly in love?" A smile flickered over her lips, "A little vain of you, don't you think?"
He winked, "Just call 'em like I see 'em.”
Doyle has an advantage over Angel in the sense that Cordy was going to die sooner or later, and go to heaven to join him, where as Angel has to hang around and repent for his sins for the next forever. So, I can’t imagine he’d be too jealous when he saw the little Cordy Angel love that panned out. In fact, he probably preferred her being with Angel to her being with Groo. (As, I’d imagine, did half the audience. -throws popcorn at the Pylean goof-)
She rolled her eyes, but just the same couldn't resist a smile when his fingertips reached for hers.
They took to walking again, meandering along the edge of the park in silence. The sound of birds twittering goodnight was around them in the trees as the sun began to sink down in the distance, leaving a trail of pinks and golds across the sky.
Somewhere along the way Cordelia's smile faded into a thoughtful frown, eyes on the sunset as her voice left her tentatively, "He'll move on without me, won't he? Move on like I did."
There was a pause, then Doyle nodded. "He will. Takes time, though."
"Especially with Angel." She felt a smile on her lips again. That man took forever to get over anything, especially women. Then again - being immortal and all - he wasn't exactly in a hurry. "He's got that though, doesn't he? Time."
"Yeah, he does." The hand in hers gave a quick squeeze, green eyes fixed out on the sunset and lips in a smile. "N' so do we."
I love the idea of those two having forever to spend together, they certainly deserve it.
End!
So, I actually started this fic sitting in Astronomy class the day we covered the theory of alternate dimensions. Which, is kind of how I thought heaven might be viewed in Jossverse - as a type of alternate space that exists on top of the regular reality, where souls are transferred to after death.
Death was much more life-like than Cordelia had expected.
There was no light at the end of the tunnel, no golden gates, and no white, fluffy landscape. Instead there was a big, cushy armchair and elevator music.
In front of her were around two dozen seats, two to a row. The tops of heads peaked out from behind them and swayed lightly with the train's motion, the walls and floor vibrating faintly around them. A man two rows in front of her was snoring.
I have to theorize that the snoring man died in his sleep, and hasn’t quite woken up yet..
Out the window a sprawling field of long, green grass - dotted with groups of fat, grazing cows - crept by. Passing through the aisle beside her, a woman in a pale pink dress offered Cordelia something to drink. In a daze, she declined.
I just couldn’t get this image of a train ride out of my mind. It always feels like in movies and books when people die, they’re just suddenly somewhere completely different - which, to me, would be really distressing. It seems so much more relaxing to *ride* to heaven, with soft music in the background, and cows and grass going by in the window..
The last thing she remembered was being in Angel’s office - Angel’s Wolfram and Hart office - and having an unbelievably important conversation about why dealing with evil law firms is a bad idea.
She knew that they would all be lost without her, but honestly.
The woman in pink offered her some of those airline peanuts, and she took them without thinking; fingering the package in her lap.
But Cordelia had to admit, evil law firms aside, there was a lot to be said for the lot of them surviving the last apocalypse - even if Cordelia hadn't. Now that she’d gotten a certain C.E.O.'s undead ass back on track, they would be just fine.
Even if a selfish part of her was wishing passionately that they wouldn’t, wishing that they would miss her and need her so terribly that they would bend the laws of time and space to get her back. That at the end of the day she could go back with them to the Hyperion and it would all be normal again. They would sit up late eating crappy Chinese take-out and bitching about the forces of evil, and there would be warm arms and more kissing, this time without good-bye tears.
But Cordelia knew better. She knew that she wanted them to go on and live their lives; to move on and be happy, and all that Hallmark crap.
So she was dead, life went on. Or..unlife. Whatever.
Cordelia was pleased to see that she was still wearing the same fashionable, button down blouse and slimming black pants, finished off with a pair of heels so stylish she might have given Lilah Morgan -(though surely she would be in a much more firey place)- a run for her money. She had been worried the afterlife would throw her into some tacky white robe like in the movies - because the last thing she needed was to spend eternity looking like she had just gotten out of the shower.
Because I apparently can’t resist mentioning Lilah in almost every fic. Me, obsessed? What?
The chair beneath her was soft and comfortable, and the view out the window was constant. As the train ride drew on time took on a strange sense of meaninglessness, and Cordelia became increasingly aware of the odd sensation that she’d been on the bus for either moments or weeks, but which she couldn’t say.
Couldn’t really pin down the time it would take someone to get to heaven, so I decided that it should be an indefinite time, maybe even a time that bends to the person’s needs. A person who has a traumatic death to process might be on a different, longer train, so they have enough ride time to think it out and calm down a little more.
In time the cows and grass fazed from view, and they were passing buildings, cars and people. The gentle rumble of the train’s engine died down as the world outside became stationary, a light voice ringing out over the loudspeaker, “Sarah Terange, Jessica Beskle, John Small..” Cordelia blinked, eyebrow arching as it continued, “Tenecia Serae, Mark Hares and Cordelia Chase, this is your stop. Please exit to the right, and watch your step. There will be someone waiting to greet you.”
I’ve seen it played off before in books, and I’ve always loved the idea of someone waiting in the afterlife to greet the deceased. Like the train ride, it was stuck in here to make the transition to the afterlife seem less scary.
Cordelia’s first instinct was to grab for her luggage, but looking around she found that she didn't have any. A few expectant faces had lined up behind her in the aisle so, empty-handed, she filed out, stepping down curiously onto a crowded platform.
Almost instantly a hand was in hers, pulling her away from the people congregated around the door. Bodies nudged and bumped around her, and faces of all colors and shapes moved past in the crowd. Once they'd come to a stand-still on the outskirts of the mob, her hands found themselves on the surface of a worn, brown jacket that stretched over an average set of shoulders. A pair of smiling green eyes and a familiar, distinctly Irish voice greeted her, thumb brushing her chin. “Hey there, Princess.”
Cordelia's unintelligible shriek was not nearly as loud as the one that left Doyle as she tackled him enthusiastically to the ground.
I can’t imagine a better greeter for Cordy. I was so upset when Doyle died in season one, and kept hoping all series that he would return in some way, at least for some sense of closure. (I didn’t hear about the actor dying till I’d nearly finished the series. -sniff-)
So, really, this whole fic is really just my way of inventing a greater sense of closure for the two, as well as cushioning how sniffly I got at Cordy’s death. (Same with “A Simple Choice”, really.) We spend all this time watching these characters grow and develop over the seasons, so when they finally die, it’s like someone we know has passed away. For me, that means processing - which apparently in Cordelia’s case also means a lot of fic.
**********
The grass was soft under her feet, heels abandoned temporarily at the edge of the park they now wandered through. People of all sorts passed by, most of them walking, but a few floating. Several were naked - in a vague, misty way - and looked almost incorporeal.
Doyle explained that the longer people stayed in the afterlife, the more things like their appearance and their surroundings came under their control - became unearthly, ethereal. The more they let go of life, the less life-like the afterlife became.
Again with the adjustment theory. I’d guess that, if there is such a thing as the afterlife, people would initially long for the familiar; like their own solid bodies, their own clothes, plus food and water and other things they took comfort in in life. Then as time went on, and as they slowly let go of the things they had needed in life, but don’t necessarily need in the afterlife, they’d be traded in for new things. Like, a floaty, misty-type body.
Since Doyle's hand was still very much hand-shaped, intertwined casually with hers, she presumed that he too was still attached to the feel of his good old, Doyle-shaped body - and apparently also to his old, Doyle-shaped clothing.
That man's fashion sense was tragic, and she was beginning to think that he might have done better in the white robe getup.
I love snarky!Cordy, and I spent a lot of this fic trying to get that side of her down better. There was actually a whole hunk of bickering that I ended up having to take out of here, but stashed away for later use.
“Well, ‘least ya got a hero’s exit.” His voice was soft and familiar at her side, listening quietly through the details of her last few years of life. Though, she got the distinct impression that he already knew them.
Another one of the classic afterlife images I really like: the deceased watching over their loved ones from heaven. And of course, even if Doyle *had* been watching, and already knew about everything she was telling him, I’d imagine he’d listen to her re-tell it anyway, because he’s just sweet that way.
“I'd imagine you know a little something about that.” She nudged his arm with her elbow, shooting him her best attempt at the stink eye. “Nice parting gift, by the way.”
‘Parting Gift’ of course being a reference to the first episode in which Cordy had the visions, and ‘The splittin’ headaches with pictures’ from the next paragraph being the phrase that Doyle used to describe his visions in the very first episode.
“The splittin’ headaches with pictures? Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.." His thumb brushed the edge of his lips absently, twitching up into a smile, "S' got a kinda ring to it though, don't it? Cordelia Chase, seer!" His free hand gestured at the air emphatically, adding with a smile, "Part demon now too, way I hear it.”
I had quite a bit of trouble with his voice, because I’ve never actually known anyone with an Irish accent. Eventually I ended up playing season one in the background while writing this, just to listen to him talk.
“Yep. Well, I think so..not totally sure how the PTBs were playing that one. Could have been a sham..but," she offered with a shrug "there’s was floating, and random bursts of light.”
Not really on board with the way they played out the half demon thing in cannon. It seemed like that could have been part of the whole Possessed-by-Jasmine thing, but if that didn’t start until her ‘ascension’, then she really was just half demon for a tiny bit of time, prior to being possessed. (Which, in my personal opinion, means she should have gotten a nifty tail or something - flashes of light just do not say demon to me.)
“No scales, no tail? Sounds like you got the short end of the demonic stick,” His eyes were twinkling, and she wondered if they had always been that bright. “Was a brave thing, that. Takin' those visions from Angel. Man would’ve been lost without ya.”
Wandering into references to another alternate reality - the one where Cordelia was a movie star, and found vision-crazy Angel, before giving him a big smooch. I’d imagine that since that was how she became half demon, supposedly, she would have covered that in her story telling.
“Don’t I know it." She was looking at the grass beneath them. Their feet lifted off it and almost immediately the blades sprung back up into place with an unearthly determination. Her eyebrows knitted together, eyes on the motions of the grass. "Well, me-me anyway. Evil-possessed-me I think everyone could have done without.”
Dark magic and murder and sex with somebody who was practically her kid. None of that had been on her agenda. Ever.
Personally, I always found the sex-with-Connor thing to be the most disturbing. You have no idea how upset I was with my TV screen when I watched that episode. Popcorn was thrown.
Doyle's hand was on her shoulder, gently turning her towards him. Her eyes lingered on his jacket collar, but his hand tilted her face up. “None a' that was your fault, Cordy. None a' it was you, ya know that..” Her eyes were closed, blocking out the view of his painfully sincere face. With a thumb stroking along her jaw line, the soft Irish tone added, “Angel knows that.”
When Cordy came back in ‘Your Welcome’, there was that quick talk with Wes about Lilah’s death, but that was really the only mention of what she did while body-jacked. If it were me, I’d need a whole lot more reassurance that it wasn’t my fault.
"You loved him, an' he loved you." Her hands grew momentarily rigid, eyes flickering open to see his locked onto hers, unwavering. "He understands, n' he 'aint mad. Nobody blames ya, you've seen that fer yourself."
"Doyle, I-"
"S'alright Cordy," his hand gave her shoulder a soft squeeze, lips in a small smile. "Didn't expect ya to wait around - stay madly in love with me once I'd gone. Movin' on, it's all good n' natural."
"Madly in love?" A smile flickered over her lips, "A little vain of you, don't you think?"
He winked, "Just call 'em like I see 'em.”
Doyle has an advantage over Angel in the sense that Cordy was going to die sooner or later, and go to heaven to join him, where as Angel has to hang around and repent for his sins for the next forever. So, I can’t imagine he’d be too jealous when he saw the little Cordy Angel love that panned out. In fact, he probably preferred her being with Angel to her being with Groo. (As, I’d imagine, did half the audience. -throws popcorn at the Pylean goof-)
She rolled her eyes, but just the same couldn't resist a smile when his fingertips reached for hers.
They took to walking again, meandering along the edge of the park in silence. The sound of birds twittering goodnight was around them in the trees as the sun began to sink down in the distance, leaving a trail of pinks and golds across the sky.
Somewhere along the way Cordelia's smile faded into a thoughtful frown, eyes on the sunset as her voice left her tentatively, "He'll move on without me, won't he? Move on like I did."
There was a pause, then Doyle nodded. "He will. Takes time, though."
"Especially with Angel." She felt a smile on her lips again. That man took forever to get over anything, especially women. Then again - being immortal and all - he wasn't exactly in a hurry. "He's got that though, doesn't he? Time."
"Yeah, he does." The hand in hers gave a quick squeeze, green eyes fixed out on the sunset and lips in a smile. "N' so do we."
I love the idea of those two having forever to spend together, they certainly deserve it.
End!