Eternal Sunshine
folder
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,134
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,134
Reviews:
3
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer (BtVS) or Angel, the Series (AtS); nor any of the characters from them. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Eternal Sunshine
Disclaimer: Joss owns the characters, Charlie Kaufman claims the concept and I happily steal from them both.
Summary: {Post Ats: Season 5’s ‘The Girl In Question’} When Buffy learns Spike is alive, the Immortal hatches a plan to wipe him completely from her memory. Buffy POV (unless otherwise indicated)
Author’s Note: The open-endedness of ‘The Girl In Question’ sparked the plot bunny in me and I couldn’t resist this idea. I haven’t seen ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ but I know the basic premise and that is the model this story is based on. This story is fairly strange and a little complicated so, if I’m confusing the hell out of you later on please let me know!
As always feedback is nice, it keeps me warm and fuzzy, and makes me sort of tingly – please give generously.
**
Prologue
I really hate Mondays.
The alarm pierces my ears promptly at eight o’clock a.m. and without hesitation, I do the funny bolting upright in bed – hair standing on end, heart pounding in my throat…
I wonder if anyone else finds having the living crap scared out of them by a Scooby Doo alarm clock an effective way of waking up?
One hand expertly slams the snooze button (mental note: call Xander, thank him for giving the clock as a ‘going away present’, use four letter words only) while the other makes a feeble attempt at wrestling the cat on my head.
“No more Sunday night club-hopping. No matter how yummy boyfriend looks or how cheap the drinks are,” I swear to myself, half, yawning, half, grumbling as I settle back down under the covers.
In the five months or so I’ve called Rome ‘home’, I have become quite the social butterfly; but the jet setting and the associating with Euro-trash didn’t happen overnight.
Oh no.
In typical, grand Buffy fashion I threw myself into slayer work. The first two months, post-Sunnydale, were spent in London helping Giles and Robin rebuild the Council.
Dawn and I moved into a nice, little apartment (calling it a ‘flat’ is too Gwyneth Paltrow for me) in the West End. I bought goldfish and a hamster, trendy, damn near impossible to put together furniture from the local Ikea, and hung up pictures on almost every available wall space. In short, I made a big show of convincing Dawnie that this place was ours and ours alone –
And then I moved in five newbie slayers to share the spaciousness of two bedrooms and one bathroom.
The morning I was awakened by the sound of three sixteen year olds screaming over the last bit of Corn Pops at the bottom of the box, I knew it was time to make a real go of this retirement thing. That night I wrote out the names of every major European city I could think of, stuffed the pieces of paper in a hat and tossed it on Dawn’s bed –
She drew Rome.
“Wow, Rome. I can’t wait to tell the other fifty people living here that we’re all moving into an Italian closet,” was her glib reply.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
“They’re not coming. It’s just you and me, smart ass.” I grinned.
Dawn smiled brightly. “Really?!”
“Yup. Break out the Soprano’s DVDs and the Spaghetti-O’s.”
She raised a brow, smirking. “They’re gonna hate us over there, aren’t they?”
“Possibly.”
I turned the London digs over to Faith putting her in charge of my – um – charges, and informed Giles that unless ‘apocalypse’ was spelled out in all caps across the page in one of his books, I was officially collecting Slayer – Social Security.
I stepped foot on the Italian soil with a new sense of purpose; all work, no play Buffy was a thing of the past – I was resurrecting the party girl. Only, you know she wouldn’t be nearly as shallow and obnoxious as version 1.0.
“Rise and shine!”
Eyes slowly opening, teeth gritting, I somehow manage to let Andrew keep his windpipe… for now.
“I made eggs and bacon; oh and I finally got that Espresso maker Willow and Kennedy sent for Christmas working,” he says, pausing to add, “I’m not a big coffee drinker – does it always taste like feet?”
(Mental note #2: Buy deadbolt for bedroom door) “Seems to work for Starbucks,” I grumble, tossing the covers off of my head and I make sure to give him the best glare I can muster this early in the morning.
“Hmm, looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the letto, this morning,” Andrew says folding his arms across his chest.
“I had two minutes left on the snooze until…”
Scooby Dooby Doo! Where are you…?
I slam the off button on the alarm and give him a withering look. “Until that,” I sigh. “Why aren’t you bothering Dawn?”
“She was up late working on that Biology project.” He shakes his head. “Poor thing deserves to sleep in.”
“I was up late, too.”
Andrew smiles. “But you were working on Cosmopolitans, there’s a difference. Come on, it’s getting cold and I tried really hard not to burn anything this time!”
“Fine! Fine, I’m up.”
Reluctantly I crawl out of my extremely comfortable bed to pad down the hall towards the kitchen, towards a breakfast that’ll undoubtedly taste like various body parts. The second I walk into the dining room I am greeted by a bouquet of roses and my grinning wannabe-sidekick –
“A present from the Immortal,” Andrew gushes in a singsong voice.
Reading the card I call out over my shoulder, “You know, some of us just call him Tony.”
He shrugs. “What kind of superhero name is that?”
“You’re asking the chick named ‘Buffy’?” I snicker. “Please tell me there’s a vase around here somewhere.”
His face scrunches up in a sign of deep concentration. “I’m pretty sure there’s an empty one in the living room,” Andrew informs me as he heads into the kitchen.
Month three brought along casual dating and a boyfriend who specializes imantmantic little gifts and notes.
On the end table in the living room, pinned under the vase in question is another note – neatly folded and almost completely unnoticeable.
“Some guys are still getting it…” The painful twisting of my stomach stops me from finishing that thought and I can feel my eyes widening as I stare blankly at the note in my hands,
Sorry I missed you,
Spike.
Did I mention I really hate Mondays?
Summary: {Post Ats: Season 5’s ‘The Girl In Question’} When Buffy learns Spike is alive, the Immortal hatches a plan to wipe him completely from her memory. Buffy POV (unless otherwise indicated)
Author’s Note: The open-endedness of ‘The Girl In Question’ sparked the plot bunny in me and I couldn’t resist this idea. I haven’t seen ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ but I know the basic premise and that is the model this story is based on. This story is fairly strange and a little complicated so, if I’m confusing the hell out of you later on please let me know!
As always feedback is nice, it keeps me warm and fuzzy, and makes me sort of tingly – please give generously.
**
Prologue
I really hate Mondays.
The alarm pierces my ears promptly at eight o’clock a.m. and without hesitation, I do the funny bolting upright in bed – hair standing on end, heart pounding in my throat…
I wonder if anyone else finds having the living crap scared out of them by a Scooby Doo alarm clock an effective way of waking up?
One hand expertly slams the snooze button (mental note: call Xander, thank him for giving the clock as a ‘going away present’, use four letter words only) while the other makes a feeble attempt at wrestling the cat on my head.
“No more Sunday night club-hopping. No matter how yummy boyfriend looks or how cheap the drinks are,” I swear to myself, half, yawning, half, grumbling as I settle back down under the covers.
In the five months or so I’ve called Rome ‘home’, I have become quite the social butterfly; but the jet setting and the associating with Euro-trash didn’t happen overnight.
Oh no.
In typical, grand Buffy fashion I threw myself into slayer work. The first two months, post-Sunnydale, were spent in London helping Giles and Robin rebuild the Council.
Dawn and I moved into a nice, little apartment (calling it a ‘flat’ is too Gwyneth Paltrow for me) in the West End. I bought goldfish and a hamster, trendy, damn near impossible to put together furniture from the local Ikea, and hung up pictures on almost every available wall space. In short, I made a big show of convincing Dawnie that this place was ours and ours alone –
And then I moved in five newbie slayers to share the spaciousness of two bedrooms and one bathroom.
The morning I was awakened by the sound of three sixteen year olds screaming over the last bit of Corn Pops at the bottom of the box, I knew it was time to make a real go of this retirement thing. That night I wrote out the names of every major European city I could think of, stuffed the pieces of paper in a hat and tossed it on Dawn’s bed –
She drew Rome.
“Wow, Rome. I can’t wait to tell the other fifty people living here that we’re all moving into an Italian closet,” was her glib reply.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes.
“They’re not coming. It’s just you and me, smart ass.” I grinned.
Dawn smiled brightly. “Really?!”
“Yup. Break out the Soprano’s DVDs and the Spaghetti-O’s.”
She raised a brow, smirking. “They’re gonna hate us over there, aren’t they?”
“Possibly.”
I turned the London digs over to Faith putting her in charge of my – um – charges, and informed Giles that unless ‘apocalypse’ was spelled out in all caps across the page in one of his books, I was officially collecting Slayer – Social Security.
I stepped foot on the Italian soil with a new sense of purpose; all work, no play Buffy was a thing of the past – I was resurrecting the party girl. Only, you know she wouldn’t be nearly as shallow and obnoxious as version 1.0.
“Rise and shine!”
Eyes slowly opening, teeth gritting, I somehow manage to let Andrew keep his windpipe… for now.
“I made eggs and bacon; oh and I finally got that Espresso maker Willow and Kennedy sent for Christmas working,” he says, pausing to add, “I’m not a big coffee drinker – does it always taste like feet?”
(Mental note #2: Buy deadbolt for bedroom door) “Seems to work for Starbucks,” I grumble, tossing the covers off of my head and I make sure to give him the best glare I can muster this early in the morning.
“Hmm, looks like somebody woke up on the wrong side of the letto, this morning,” Andrew says folding his arms across his chest.
“I had two minutes left on the snooze until…”
Scooby Dooby Doo! Where are you…?
I slam the off button on the alarm and give him a withering look. “Until that,” I sigh. “Why aren’t you bothering Dawn?”
“She was up late working on that Biology project.” He shakes his head. “Poor thing deserves to sleep in.”
“I was up late, too.”
Andrew smiles. “But you were working on Cosmopolitans, there’s a difference. Come on, it’s getting cold and I tried really hard not to burn anything this time!”
“Fine! Fine, I’m up.”
Reluctantly I crawl out of my extremely comfortable bed to pad down the hall towards the kitchen, towards a breakfast that’ll undoubtedly taste like various body parts. The second I walk into the dining room I am greeted by a bouquet of roses and my grinning wannabe-sidekick –
“A present from the Immortal,” Andrew gushes in a singsong voice.
Reading the card I call out over my shoulder, “You know, some of us just call him Tony.”
He shrugs. “What kind of superhero name is that?”
“You’re asking the chick named ‘Buffy’?” I snicker. “Please tell me there’s a vase around here somewhere.”
His face scrunches up in a sign of deep concentration. “I’m pretty sure there’s an empty one in the living room,” Andrew informs me as he heads into the kitchen.
Month three brought along casual dating and a boyfriend who specializes imantmantic little gifts and notes.
On the end table in the living room, pinned under the vase in question is another note – neatly folded and almost completely unnoticeable.
“Some guys are still getting it…” The painful twisting of my stomach stops me from finishing that thought and I can feel my eyes widening as I stare blankly at the note in my hands,
Sorry I missed you,
Spike.
Did I mention I really hate Mondays?