The mid-S5 Spuffy thing that I’d like to finish up for the next session of seasonal_spuffy:
“I need you to help me save the world,” Buffy said. “Again. It’s a vampire/Slayer... thing. You know, the moon’s in the second house, and Jupiter, something something...”
“That’s the Fifth Dimension, love.”
“Whatever. You, me, in a cave, with a ritual and this shiny rock.” She pulled the crystal out of her jacket pocket. It was actually pretty dark and dull at the moment, but Giles promised it’d glow with all sorts of colors of imminent doom later.
“Is this one of those shag or die things, then?” His tongue slid over his teeth and oh that grin made her feel dirty just to look at.
“No. No! Why does everyone think it’s about sex?”
“It’s not about sex?” He looked positively crestfallen, which just, ew.
The post-“Lovers Walk” Oz/Cordelia (or possibly Oz&Cordelia - y’all know how I am with the shippy stuff) piece:
The first thing he sees in the hospital room is the bedside table overflowing with greenhouse blossoms. Xander’s, he figures, judging by the unopened card still turned towards the door. Their fragrance clashes with the room’s antiseptic smell, giving the whole place a suggestion of cheap, fake-floral perfume.
He’s not even quite sure why he’s here. It just seemed like the thing to do, visiting the girl who fell through a floor while she was running away from where her boyfriend was kissing your girlfriend.
The mid-S5 Giles/Buffy (or maybe Giles&Buffy - see above *g*) thingy, in which Buffy gets some time out from the S5 all-crisis, all-the-time mode:
He’d assured her that Dawn would be fine with Joyce and Aunt Arlene, it was only for five days after all, and so she let them go. He stood with her as she watched them speed into the late-December sky, and she knew he had to see how stiff her shoulders were, how her face had frozen in a mask of half-hidden worry, but he didn’t say anything, and she was grateful for that British reticence.
Then he told her that the Hellmouth would most likely not implode and suck the world into oblivion if she left it for a night or two, and after she’d conceded warily that that was probably true, he told her of a cabin on a hill up a road somewhere. Council property. It’s a good place for meditation, he said. Peaceful, he whispered. A place of solitude. He said the words almost reverently, as though they signified realities too wonderful to be spoken aloud. Then she thought about the rattle-rattle of hospital carts and the blunted whirring of helicopter blades lifting into the night, and she thought maybe they were. Okay, she said. Let’s go.
And so there they were, Watcher and Slayer wedged into his little tramp of a car like two fingers in a cherry-red mitten, winding up the mountains.
The Fred portion of a series of rememberances of Darla, post-“Lullaby”:
I know she was a vampire, and I know she tried to eat Cordelia even though Cordelia was being nice to her. We have a file on her and I read all through it, and I know she did awful things -- like Angel did. But I know Angel has a soul and she didn’t -- mostly -- and that’s supposed to make the difference, and I know she wouldn’t have died in the end -- least not the way she did -- if she hadn’t been sharing Connor’s a little. And even then we couldn’t trust her, not really, even though she said “thanks” when we found her a chair.
I shouldn’t feel sorry for her -- not her, anyway, the vampire I met. She was human before, twice even, and if I’m gonna feel sorry it should be for that Darla, not the other one.
But I do. What she did was really courageous, even for someone with a soul. Besides, Lorne doesn’t have a soul, does he? ‘Course neither did all the other green people in Pylea, and we all know how that worked out. Anyway, I don’t think the soul is really the point -- but don’t tell Angel I said that, okay? I think it’d hurt his feelings.
The Seraph sequel that I may or may not ever write:
“Do you know why Angel left me? Not when I screwed him soulless or stuck a sword in him - I mean when he really left me.”
“No,” Spike said, his voice questioning where this was going.
“He told me he wanted a normal life for me -- ‘in the light,’ he said those exact words, swear to God. I guess with vamps that’s kind of the ultimate symbol for being human, huh?”
“I hated him for it. I mean, I didn’t hate him, hate him, but things’ll never be the same. Apparently I can forgive a person for losing his soul and then tormenting me and killing my teacher and torturing my Watcher, but I can’t forgive him for walking out on me of his own free will -- even when I’d give almost anything to have him back.
“And that’s even though I wanted that normal life, too, you know? I’ve tried so hard to be ‘normal,’ and now and then I have a moment when I think I’ve got it, I’ve managed to catch a butterfly of normalness and if I just put them all fluttering together in a big glass jar that says ‘Buffy’ then I’ll be normal.”