FIC aka Chapter One
I have survived the quagmire that has been the last week, and am now back to the just-about-keeping-my-head-clear that I usually do.
Anyway, I have also finished Chapter One of what is currently known as "the fic where that thing happens with the thing" (well, in my head anyway). I'll think of a title one day.
The prologue, "Better Living Through Chemistry", can be found here.
Chapter One, "Hello", can be found below. Again, there's no way it's higher than PG-13.
Thankyou to amarasaa for the several betas. She rules! Though possibly delights in mocking me.
Warnings: Death/grief, graphic violence (upcoming)
Anyway, without further ado...
I don't feel as if I know you,
You take up all my time.
The days are long and the night will blow you away,
‘Cause the sun don't shine.
Nobody ever mentions the weather can make or break your day.
Nobody ever seems to remember life is a game we play.
The wind was pricking at her eyes again. She’d spent the morning trying to fend the tears off, doing anything to try and save her make-up. Now, though, they were big enough to drip, and she did not want to see what would happen if they did.
Gingerly, she dabbed at her tear ducts, using the wool of her white gloves to absorb the water. She pulled back her fingers, and on the tip of each were specks of cheap mascara. Not unexpected, but not desirable either. Still, her eyes were dry again. Absent-mindedly, she tried to wipe the specks off onto her coat. Only they didn’t want to go, and instead spread over her fingertips, leaving black streaks behind them.
She cursed mildly, not knowing what else to do.
“Are you OK?” Buffy jumped at Andrew’s voice, having forgotten that she wasn’t alone.
“Yeah, fine. Just, y’know, cold.” She couldn’t be bothered to explain the actual reason. And besides, it was cold. Freezing cold, despite the sun in the sky. It was mocking her: blazing in a sea of clear, bright blue, an exact parody of summer, but without any of the warmth. There was still some frost lingering beneath their creaky bench. She decided that it was a very British sun.
She seemed to be the only one who minded, though. Everyone else was getting on fine, walking briskly among the pigeons; tall figures of black, with cheery faces and scarves of thick wool and bright colours. None of them ever ruined their shoes in puddles, though Buffy herself couldn’t pass one without her foot landing in the deepest point.
Shivering, she drew her own black coat closer around her. To think, that she could be in Nepal, or somewhere, wearing her pashmina as a pashmina, instead of a substitute scarf. Scowling, she kicked at some water, spraying a pigeon. It squawked, and flew away. She smirked.
“Buffy?” She looked around, washing all pettiness from her face. Andrew wasn’t looking at her, though. Instead, he was looking at his feet, which were swinging beneath him, toes grazing the surface of his own puddle.
“Yeah?” It was hard not to be short with Andrew. He’d changed since the Hellmouth, but there was still something about him that got on her nerves. She would never have let him stay with her, if he wasn’t such good friends with Dawn (just friends, though - a fact that she was thankful for on a daily basis).
“D’you ever think that you can know too much?” He was still watching his feet.
“Huh?” That was the one of the problems with New-and-Improved-Andrew. Whereas before he’d babbled out his thoughts in an endless, over-dramatic stream, he now only let you in on part of them, meaning that they made even less sense than before.
“D’you ever think that maybe it’s better not to know what’s coming next?” He was looking up now, gazing into the distance with a pseudo-mysterious air.
“Again: huh?”
“I mean, you’ve got experience with prophecy.” Finally, he turned to look at her. “ Is it better to know what will happen, or is it better to…not?”
She paused then, thinking. Being who she was, prophecy was something she thought about quite often, leading her to the conclusion that everything about prophecy was a trade-off. After her first death, and the Master’s rising, she’d thought that it simply did more harm than good. Without it, though, she would probably be permanently dead, without any hope of resurrection.
She said as much to Andrew, who nodded in a caricature of understanding.
“So, what are your views on spoilers?” He remained completely earnest. “’Cause I was thinking about Enterprise. The new season’s started, obviously, but, I mean, who knows when I’m going to see it? D’you think it’d be better to…”
Buffy groaned. She’d forgotten that, with Andrew, it always came back to his geeky obsessions. Dawn could try all she wanted to make him more of a “cool” geek (Buffy still had no idea what that meant), but it was clear that she wasn’t going to get anywhere. He was just a nerd: not cool, not anything.
“…I just want to know if they’re all right in the Expanse. Is that so bad?”
She was fine with him being a nerd. She wasn’t that shallow. It was just when he forgot she wasn’t one, and assumed that she knew what the hell he was talking about.
“Erm, have you asked Dawn?” Where was Dawn anyway? Buffy was pretty sure it didn’t take this long to get a few sandwiches.
“Yeah. But she doesn’t understand the moral dilemma I’m in.”
“There’s a dilemma?”
“Yes: to be spoilt, or not to be spoilt.”
“And you think that I understand?” Because she really, really didn’t.
“You’re the Slayer.” A Slayer, she was a Slayer. “You know about moral dilemmas. Every night you slay the Vampyres, knowing that deep inside each one there could be a lost soul, striving for redemption.”
“You have no idea how many things are wrong with that sentence. And I haven’t slain any vampires in a long time.” Being as she was just a Slayer, there was no need for her to patrol anymore.
“But -”
“Hey, guys!” Dawn called across the square. She came over to meet them, walking quickly through puddles, ruffling several pigeons as they hurriedly tried to get out of her way. “Sorry I took so long, but Starbucks, corporation-of-doom, has this place pretty much monopolised, so I had to look for some place else, and…” Buffy didn’t know whether to smile or groan. She was proud of Dawn for having a social conscience, but, when it came to it, she just wasn’t sure if she was proud enough to give up her decaf-soy-mochas (no matter how fattening they were).
Still, she was making an effort, a proper effort, to be a better sister to Dawn. And so, if Dawn wanted to burn every Starbucks to the ground and have a gaggle of geeky friends, she would have to support her in any way possible.
“…found out that British people have two types of chicken, so the guy had to explain what chicken tikka was…”
But no one could be supportive on an empty stomach.
“You got the sandwiches though, right?”
“Yeah.” Dawn looked a little put-out at not being allowed to finish her story. “They don’t seem to do eggplant…or “aubergine”…over here, though, so I just got you chicken salad.” Dawn said it like a come-back.
“They didn’t put cucumber in, did they?” That would be going beyond revenge.
“No. You’re safe from the ‘green goo of death’.”
“Hey! Cucumbers are evil, y’know.” Dawn rolled her eyes, but handed the sandwich over anyway. Buffy opened it and began to eat, deciding it was too cold to be worried about whether it was fat-free mayonnaise or not.
As she concentrated on her sandwich, she heard Dawn give Andrew his, and sit down. They talked about something or other, but Buffy soon tuned out their voices, adding them to the white noise of the city.
About five minutes later, she finished eating. Looking around for a bin, she noticed for the first time that Dawn had gotten out a magazine.
“Ooh. What’cha reading?” She felt like a bit of celebrity gossip. Only, looking over her sister’s shoulder, it quickly became clear that she wasn’t reading a gossip magazine. For one thing, there weren’t any pictures: well, none of Christina Aguilera with bony knees, anyway.
“Archaeology journal,” Came the quick response. Definitely not Christina Aguilera with bony knees, Bufffy thought to herself.
“Sounds…interesting.” It really didn’t.
“Oh, it is! There’s been some research into the Greek letters, and they reckon there’s some Egyptian…. I suppose you don’t really care about that.”
“Not so much. I’m kinda worried that you do, though.”
“Oh, it just caught my eye.”
“The magazine?” Because it looked pretty dull to her.
“No, the article. As I was reading the magazine.” She sounded a bit angry. “You know, Buffy, I can read about archaeology if I want to.” She passed the magazine to Andrew, who was keeping his eyes down. “Just because you’re not interested in anything old - unless it’s pointing out someone’s shoes that are “so last season” - doesn’t mean that I’m not.”
“Hey! I’m totally into old stuff.” She wasn’t a complete airhead.
“Yeah right, Buffy.” Obviously, Dawn thought she was. “Look. It doesn’t matter. Just don’t get all superior when I want to look at relics, and you want to look at Christina Aguilera with flabby knees.”
“It was bony knees,” Buffy muttered, feeling a little upset. Dawn just looked at her strangely.
“Hey, guys,” said Andrew, breaking the silence and causing Dawn to flip around, “I think I found something.”
Buffy didn’t realise that they were looking for something. She started to say something, but Dawn glared at her once more. However, as she began to scan the article, Buffy could see her mood change, and a smile form on her lips.
“Definitely something.” She was grinning now. “Look, Buffy.” Dawn thrust the magazine into her hands. “‘Extremely advanced metal smiths in prehistoric Uganda’, aka supernatural relic just begging to be investigated.”
Apparently this was what they were looking for: this “remarkably well preserved” gold wristband, with what was “quite likely diamond” running through it. Beneath the headline was a grainy black and white picture of it lying half-buried in some sand. It didn’t look very impressive, but it did fill her with a sense of familiarity. The more she looked at it, the more the feeling grew, until she could see it perfectly in her mind’s eye, the metal gleaming and lustrous. It was longer lying in sand, though…
…But on her wrist, the gold weighing heavily. The light was dim, but the veins of diamond were clearly visible, almost pulsing as they were with an inner light. Her left hand, jewellery free, was held by someone else, their fingers entwined with hers. The hold felt sure and secure: a sanctuary in the almost overwhelming gloom.
Without warning, energy rushed through her, causing her to spasm. Her insides jarred, and she was unable to move. Her right arm was stretched out, muscles taught, and her wrist was thrust into the darkness of the cavern.
A bolt of light released the energy, bursting from the veins in the wristband. The cavern lit up, and she closed her eyes to the intensity. Red flared across her eyelids.
A minute later, the light faded and she blinked her eyes open, seeing spots. Her left hand was squeezed gently, and she smiled, turning around. She was met by an answering smile, coupled with a pair of deep, blue eyes.
“Buffy? Are you OK?”
Buffy opened her eyes, looking blearily into her sister’s. There was no smile, just a worried frown. And the eyes were brown, not blue.
“Yeah, I’m OK.” She realised she was on the ground, and sat up, putting a gloved hand straight into a puddle. The gloves were going to be ruined. She would buy black ones next time. “Just a bit of relic-induced weirdness.”
“I knew it was something!” Andrew said, looking excited on the other side of her. The shrillness in his voice caused her head to throb. She winced.
“What’d you see?” Dawn was trying to be quiet, she could tell, but curiosity burned in her eyes, overcoming the sympathy. She was practically bouncing as she crouched.
“Oh…not much.” Only, y’know, dead vampires and flashy jewellery.
She closed her eyes again, trying to shut out the vision. Getting up, she sat back on the bench, pulling her wet glove off her right hand to wring it out.
“Buffy.” She didn’t look up, and concentrated on her glove. It was now a grimy grey colour. Dawn didn’t say anything more, and Buffy could feel the air getting heavier.
“It was…nothing that really matters, OK? Just flashbacks and stuff.”
“I love flashbacks.” Andrew interjected, breaking the tension as he sat down next to her. “What was it to? ‘Cause that usually means something. This one time, on -”
“Andrew! This isn’t, like, Geek-Fest 2003!” Dawn sounded angry, but obviously fighting a smile. She took the other side of Buffy, picking up the journal from where it had fallen on the ground. She rolled it up, saying, “I think we need to go see Giles about this. I mean, it was Slayer-related weirdness, right?”
“Yeah.” Well, it was related to her relationship with the wristband, which was related to saving the world, which was related to slaying. She didn’t see why they had to go and see Giles about it though. He was probably busy enough already. And, if he got the vision out of her in its entirety, she doubted he’d want to help anyway.
“You should probably rest or something…unless you have concussion!”
“I don’t have concussion.”
“Let me see your pupils.” She grabbed hold of her head. Buffy was too weary to fight her off. “What do dilated pupils look like? What d’you think, Andy?”
“I dunno….”
“I’m fine! I didn’t even hit my head!” The last thing she needed was to be forbidden sleep.
“We should get back to the ‘flat’ anyway. And you should probably write down your vision, so you don’t forget it or something.”
“Look, just stop worrying! Besides, I’m not gonna forget it.”
She really wasn’t.
And it's never gonna be the same,
‘Til the life I knew comes to my house and says
Hello.
-Oasis, Hello
[Chapter 2]
Anyway, I have also finished Chapter One of what is currently known as "the fic where that thing happens with the thing" (well, in my head anyway). I'll think of a title one day.
The prologue, "Better Living Through Chemistry", can be found here.
Chapter One, "Hello", can be found below. Again, there's no way it's higher than PG-13.
Thankyou to amarasaa for the several betas. She rules! Though possibly delights in mocking me.
Warnings: Death/grief, graphic violence (upcoming)
Anyway, without further ado...
I don't feel as if I know you,
You take up all my time.
The days are long and the night will blow you away,
‘Cause the sun don't shine.
Nobody ever mentions the weather can make or break your day.
Nobody ever seems to remember life is a game we play.
The wind was pricking at her eyes again. She’d spent the morning trying to fend the tears off, doing anything to try and save her make-up. Now, though, they were big enough to drip, and she did not want to see what would happen if they did.
Gingerly, she dabbed at her tear ducts, using the wool of her white gloves to absorb the water. She pulled back her fingers, and on the tip of each were specks of cheap mascara. Not unexpected, but not desirable either. Still, her eyes were dry again. Absent-mindedly, she tried to wipe the specks off onto her coat. Only they didn’t want to go, and instead spread over her fingertips, leaving black streaks behind them.
She cursed mildly, not knowing what else to do.
“Are you OK?” Buffy jumped at Andrew’s voice, having forgotten that she wasn’t alone.
“Yeah, fine. Just, y’know, cold.” She couldn’t be bothered to explain the actual reason. And besides, it was cold. Freezing cold, despite the sun in the sky. It was mocking her: blazing in a sea of clear, bright blue, an exact parody of summer, but without any of the warmth. There was still some frost lingering beneath their creaky bench. She decided that it was a very British sun.
She seemed to be the only one who minded, though. Everyone else was getting on fine, walking briskly among the pigeons; tall figures of black, with cheery faces and scarves of thick wool and bright colours. None of them ever ruined their shoes in puddles, though Buffy herself couldn’t pass one without her foot landing in the deepest point.
Shivering, she drew her own black coat closer around her. To think, that she could be in Nepal, or somewhere, wearing her pashmina as a pashmina, instead of a substitute scarf. Scowling, she kicked at some water, spraying a pigeon. It squawked, and flew away. She smirked.
“Buffy?” She looked around, washing all pettiness from her face. Andrew wasn’t looking at her, though. Instead, he was looking at his feet, which were swinging beneath him, toes grazing the surface of his own puddle.
“Yeah?” It was hard not to be short with Andrew. He’d changed since the Hellmouth, but there was still something about him that got on her nerves. She would never have let him stay with her, if he wasn’t such good friends with Dawn (just friends, though - a fact that she was thankful for on a daily basis).
“D’you ever think that you can know too much?” He was still watching his feet.
“Huh?” That was the one of the problems with New-and-Improved-Andrew. Whereas before he’d babbled out his thoughts in an endless, over-dramatic stream, he now only let you in on part of them, meaning that they made even less sense than before.
“D’you ever think that maybe it’s better not to know what’s coming next?” He was looking up now, gazing into the distance with a pseudo-mysterious air.
“Again: huh?”
“I mean, you’ve got experience with prophecy.” Finally, he turned to look at her. “ Is it better to know what will happen, or is it better to…not?”
She paused then, thinking. Being who she was, prophecy was something she thought about quite often, leading her to the conclusion that everything about prophecy was a trade-off. After her first death, and the Master’s rising, she’d thought that it simply did more harm than good. Without it, though, she would probably be permanently dead, without any hope of resurrection.
She said as much to Andrew, who nodded in a caricature of understanding.
“So, what are your views on spoilers?” He remained completely earnest. “’Cause I was thinking about Enterprise. The new season’s started, obviously, but, I mean, who knows when I’m going to see it? D’you think it’d be better to…”
Buffy groaned. She’d forgotten that, with Andrew, it always came back to his geeky obsessions. Dawn could try all she wanted to make him more of a “cool” geek (Buffy still had no idea what that meant), but it was clear that she wasn’t going to get anywhere. He was just a nerd: not cool, not anything.
“…I just want to know if they’re all right in the Expanse. Is that so bad?”
She was fine with him being a nerd. She wasn’t that shallow. It was just when he forgot she wasn’t one, and assumed that she knew what the hell he was talking about.
“Erm, have you asked Dawn?” Where was Dawn anyway? Buffy was pretty sure it didn’t take this long to get a few sandwiches.
“Yeah. But she doesn’t understand the moral dilemma I’m in.”
“There’s a dilemma?”
“Yes: to be spoilt, or not to be spoilt.”
“And you think that I understand?” Because she really, really didn’t.
“You’re the Slayer.” A Slayer, she was a Slayer. “You know about moral dilemmas. Every night you slay the Vampyres, knowing that deep inside each one there could be a lost soul, striving for redemption.”
“You have no idea how many things are wrong with that sentence. And I haven’t slain any vampires in a long time.” Being as she was just a Slayer, there was no need for her to patrol anymore.
“But -”
“Hey, guys!” Dawn called across the square. She came over to meet them, walking quickly through puddles, ruffling several pigeons as they hurriedly tried to get out of her way. “Sorry I took so long, but Starbucks, corporation-of-doom, has this place pretty much monopolised, so I had to look for some place else, and…” Buffy didn’t know whether to smile or groan. She was proud of Dawn for having a social conscience, but, when it came to it, she just wasn’t sure if she was proud enough to give up her decaf-soy-mochas (no matter how fattening they were).
Still, she was making an effort, a proper effort, to be a better sister to Dawn. And so, if Dawn wanted to burn every Starbucks to the ground and have a gaggle of geeky friends, she would have to support her in any way possible.
“…found out that British people have two types of chicken, so the guy had to explain what chicken tikka was…”
But no one could be supportive on an empty stomach.
“You got the sandwiches though, right?”
“Yeah.” Dawn looked a little put-out at not being allowed to finish her story. “They don’t seem to do eggplant…or “aubergine”…over here, though, so I just got you chicken salad.” Dawn said it like a come-back.
“They didn’t put cucumber in, did they?” That would be going beyond revenge.
“No. You’re safe from the ‘green goo of death’.”
“Hey! Cucumbers are evil, y’know.” Dawn rolled her eyes, but handed the sandwich over anyway. Buffy opened it and began to eat, deciding it was too cold to be worried about whether it was fat-free mayonnaise or not.
As she concentrated on her sandwich, she heard Dawn give Andrew his, and sit down. They talked about something or other, but Buffy soon tuned out their voices, adding them to the white noise of the city.
About five minutes later, she finished eating. Looking around for a bin, she noticed for the first time that Dawn had gotten out a magazine.
“Ooh. What’cha reading?” She felt like a bit of celebrity gossip. Only, looking over her sister’s shoulder, it quickly became clear that she wasn’t reading a gossip magazine. For one thing, there weren’t any pictures: well, none of Christina Aguilera with bony knees, anyway.
“Archaeology journal,” Came the quick response. Definitely not Christina Aguilera with bony knees, Bufffy thought to herself.
“Sounds…interesting.” It really didn’t.
“Oh, it is! There’s been some research into the Greek letters, and they reckon there’s some Egyptian…. I suppose you don’t really care about that.”
“Not so much. I’m kinda worried that you do, though.”
“Oh, it just caught my eye.”
“The magazine?” Because it looked pretty dull to her.
“No, the article. As I was reading the magazine.” She sounded a bit angry. “You know, Buffy, I can read about archaeology if I want to.” She passed the magazine to Andrew, who was keeping his eyes down. “Just because you’re not interested in anything old - unless it’s pointing out someone’s shoes that are “so last season” - doesn’t mean that I’m not.”
“Hey! I’m totally into old stuff.” She wasn’t a complete airhead.
“Yeah right, Buffy.” Obviously, Dawn thought she was. “Look. It doesn’t matter. Just don’t get all superior when I want to look at relics, and you want to look at Christina Aguilera with flabby knees.”
“It was bony knees,” Buffy muttered, feeling a little upset. Dawn just looked at her strangely.
“Hey, guys,” said Andrew, breaking the silence and causing Dawn to flip around, “I think I found something.”
Buffy didn’t realise that they were looking for something. She started to say something, but Dawn glared at her once more. However, as she began to scan the article, Buffy could see her mood change, and a smile form on her lips.
“Definitely something.” She was grinning now. “Look, Buffy.” Dawn thrust the magazine into her hands. “‘Extremely advanced metal smiths in prehistoric Uganda’, aka supernatural relic just begging to be investigated.”
Apparently this was what they were looking for: this “remarkably well preserved” gold wristband, with what was “quite likely diamond” running through it. Beneath the headline was a grainy black and white picture of it lying half-buried in some sand. It didn’t look very impressive, but it did fill her with a sense of familiarity. The more she looked at it, the more the feeling grew, until she could see it perfectly in her mind’s eye, the metal gleaming and lustrous. It was longer lying in sand, though…
…But on her wrist, the gold weighing heavily. The light was dim, but the veins of diamond were clearly visible, almost pulsing as they were with an inner light. Her left hand, jewellery free, was held by someone else, their fingers entwined with hers. The hold felt sure and secure: a sanctuary in the almost overwhelming gloom.
Without warning, energy rushed through her, causing her to spasm. Her insides jarred, and she was unable to move. Her right arm was stretched out, muscles taught, and her wrist was thrust into the darkness of the cavern.
A bolt of light released the energy, bursting from the veins in the wristband. The cavern lit up, and she closed her eyes to the intensity. Red flared across her eyelids.
A minute later, the light faded and she blinked her eyes open, seeing spots. Her left hand was squeezed gently, and she smiled, turning around. She was met by an answering smile, coupled with a pair of deep, blue eyes.
“Buffy? Are you OK?”
Buffy opened her eyes, looking blearily into her sister’s. There was no smile, just a worried frown. And the eyes were brown, not blue.
“Yeah, I’m OK.” She realised she was on the ground, and sat up, putting a gloved hand straight into a puddle. The gloves were going to be ruined. She would buy black ones next time. “Just a bit of relic-induced weirdness.”
“I knew it was something!” Andrew said, looking excited on the other side of her. The shrillness in his voice caused her head to throb. She winced.
“What’d you see?” Dawn was trying to be quiet, she could tell, but curiosity burned in her eyes, overcoming the sympathy. She was practically bouncing as she crouched.
“Oh…not much.” Only, y’know, dead vampires and flashy jewellery.
She closed her eyes again, trying to shut out the vision. Getting up, she sat back on the bench, pulling her wet glove off her right hand to wring it out.
“Buffy.” She didn’t look up, and concentrated on her glove. It was now a grimy grey colour. Dawn didn’t say anything more, and Buffy could feel the air getting heavier.
“It was…nothing that really matters, OK? Just flashbacks and stuff.”
“I love flashbacks.” Andrew interjected, breaking the tension as he sat down next to her. “What was it to? ‘Cause that usually means something. This one time, on -”
“Andrew! This isn’t, like, Geek-Fest 2003!” Dawn sounded angry, but obviously fighting a smile. She took the other side of Buffy, picking up the journal from where it had fallen on the ground. She rolled it up, saying, “I think we need to go see Giles about this. I mean, it was Slayer-related weirdness, right?”
“Yeah.” Well, it was related to her relationship with the wristband, which was related to saving the world, which was related to slaying. She didn’t see why they had to go and see Giles about it though. He was probably busy enough already. And, if he got the vision out of her in its entirety, she doubted he’d want to help anyway.
“You should probably rest or something…unless you have concussion!”
“I don’t have concussion.”
“Let me see your pupils.” She grabbed hold of her head. Buffy was too weary to fight her off. “What do dilated pupils look like? What d’you think, Andy?”
“I dunno….”
“I’m fine! I didn’t even hit my head!” The last thing she needed was to be forbidden sleep.
“We should get back to the ‘flat’ anyway. And you should probably write down your vision, so you don’t forget it or something.”
“Look, just stop worrying! Besides, I’m not gonna forget it.”
She really wasn’t.
And it's never gonna be the same,
‘Til the life I knew comes to my house and says
Hello.
-Oasis, Hello
[Chapter 2]