No Hero
folder
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
3,406
Reviews:
26
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
AtS/BtVS Crossovers › Het - Male/Female › Buffy/Spike(William)
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
17
Views:
3,406
Reviews:
26
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.
As You Were
Author's Notes: After being gone for several days, I have a short new chappie with an evil cliffhanger. Muwahaha. Remember, feedback makes for a happy author.
As You Were
Angel was dreaming; it was one of his bittersweet dreams of Buffy. In it, she sat on a worn leather sofa beside Willow, and even in his dream state, he noted that the witch looked frail, so frail… Giles, ever-present and venerable, sat next to Xander, who apparently fancied himself a crossbow-wielding pirate in the dream.
For a moment, he allowed himself to take in her beauty as though seeing her for the first time. Her golden hair was paler than he had ever seen it, though not as pale as Spike’s, and her green eyes glistened with weary sadness and a fierce, hardened intelligence one could near gain in any formal institution. Her skin was a deep bronze, which made her eyes all the greener and her hair seem even lighter. She was a golden goddess, his true love, the ephemeral beating of his undead heart.
It was as though he were non-corporeal as Spike had been, yet even more ghostly. He was there, clearly, for he could see them, hear them laughing at Willow’s recollection of something amusing Oz had once said about monkey pants – whatever that meant – yet he was not seen or heard, himself. It was frustrating and liberating at once.
And as the conversation grew more serious, he heard it. A name was mentioned gravely and with reverence. Spike’s name, in fact, and Angel knew. As it sometimes happened in dreams when one realizes that they are in fact dreaming, he understood that this was no dream at all – he was seeing Buffy and her friends as they were, and Buffy missed Spike.
“Sometimes,” said dream-Buffy softly, her voice almost like an echo in his preternaturally animated brain, “I think I see him in a crowd, and I want to tell him that… I’m sorry.”
Angel vainly wished that he could speak to her, but he knew that his presence in their reality was for a greater purpose than his reunification with Buffy, much as he would have liked that to be the case. He understood it clearly, and he hated it. He was the go-between for his love and his childe.
Even as his sleeping conscious thought the words, he roused, but not before burning the image of Buffy, fierce, strong, and unbelievably beautiful, into his mind. Dark lashes parted as he returned to wakefulness, and he dragged a hand over his face with a pained sigh of breath he didn’t need as he rolled gracefully to his feet. He knew that Spike would be awake – reading, as he always did when he thought no one was watching him.
Following the plumes of smoke billowing down the hallway from his living room, Angel found Spike just as he had imagined him: sitting in a chair, hunched over a copy of Orwell’s 1984, a forgotten cigarette dangling from his tapered fingertips. At the same moment he opened his mouth to warn his childe that he was in danger of singeing his finger, the younger vampire lifted brilliant blue eyes from the book to meet his gaze.
“Fred’ll worry ‘bout you if you don’t get your rest,” said the blonde vampire, finally crushing out the neglected cigarette.
“I had a dream,” Angel began.
“Buggering Hell, Angelus, if you tell me you had a dream you were a Jedi, I’ll scream,” Spike interrupted with trademark sarcasm. He fell silent at his sire’s pointed stare.
“About Buffy,” he finished. “Only it wasn’t a dream, I was actually there with her. She’s with Willow, Giles, and Xander, and –”
“Oh, please. Of course she’s with them. She’s always with them… I thought she was in Italy with the Wanker.” Perplexed, the younger vampire gestured for Angel to sit down and set his book aside.
Pain evident in his eyes, the brunette stated, “She was… talking about you. She said that she sees you everywhere and that she wants to apologize.”
Agony, hope, passion, love, and a riot of emotions that passed by too quickly for Angel to name encompassed the blonde vampire’s features until his countenance of detachment returned; Spike remained silent.
“For whatever reason,” Angel began, “I was meant to see her, to hear that, and to tell you. I-it sounds self-important, I know. William, this is bigger than we previously thought.”
Finally, at the use of his real name, he replied, “I thought as much. Not about your vision, but about this bein’ bigger than we thought. Why else did you suddenly pop outta your nice little self-made Hell?”
“I had a link with Buffy,” the elder mused aloud.
“I have a feelin’ we’re bein’ used, here, Peaches.”
“I agree, but by whom, and what for?”
“Good questions, those,” said Spike.
“Call her,” Angel commanded, pushing his cell phone toward his childe. “She misses you. She… she loves you and needs you. Something is going on, and I sincerely doubt it’s only affecting the two of us. She obviously remembers you, but, my God, what if there’s something she can’t remember –”
“And it’s hurtin’ her…” the blonde finished. “I’ll call ‘er, I will, just… not now. I need to think of what to say. W-we don’t even have her number!”
“You’re stalling,” replied Angel. “I always have her number. She’s programmed into my cell phone.”
Sucking in a breath he didn’t need, Spike flipped the phone open and glanced at his sire pointedly. “Can’t bloody well make a call with you sittin’ right soddin’ there, now can I?”
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Angel pushed to his feet and strolled into the kitchen to warm blood – he would even feed his ungrateful childe, his true pride and joy. He could hear the sound of Spike pushing the button to dial Buffy’s number even from the other room.
“Sl-Buffy?” Spike murmured nervously. “It’s me.”
As You Were
Angel was dreaming; it was one of his bittersweet dreams of Buffy. In it, she sat on a worn leather sofa beside Willow, and even in his dream state, he noted that the witch looked frail, so frail… Giles, ever-present and venerable, sat next to Xander, who apparently fancied himself a crossbow-wielding pirate in the dream.
For a moment, he allowed himself to take in her beauty as though seeing her for the first time. Her golden hair was paler than he had ever seen it, though not as pale as Spike’s, and her green eyes glistened with weary sadness and a fierce, hardened intelligence one could near gain in any formal institution. Her skin was a deep bronze, which made her eyes all the greener and her hair seem even lighter. She was a golden goddess, his true love, the ephemeral beating of his undead heart.
It was as though he were non-corporeal as Spike had been, yet even more ghostly. He was there, clearly, for he could see them, hear them laughing at Willow’s recollection of something amusing Oz had once said about monkey pants – whatever that meant – yet he was not seen or heard, himself. It was frustrating and liberating at once.
And as the conversation grew more serious, he heard it. A name was mentioned gravely and with reverence. Spike’s name, in fact, and Angel knew. As it sometimes happened in dreams when one realizes that they are in fact dreaming, he understood that this was no dream at all – he was seeing Buffy and her friends as they were, and Buffy missed Spike.
“Sometimes,” said dream-Buffy softly, her voice almost like an echo in his preternaturally animated brain, “I think I see him in a crowd, and I want to tell him that… I’m sorry.”
Angel vainly wished that he could speak to her, but he knew that his presence in their reality was for a greater purpose than his reunification with Buffy, much as he would have liked that to be the case. He understood it clearly, and he hated it. He was the go-between for his love and his childe.
Even as his sleeping conscious thought the words, he roused, but not before burning the image of Buffy, fierce, strong, and unbelievably beautiful, into his mind. Dark lashes parted as he returned to wakefulness, and he dragged a hand over his face with a pained sigh of breath he didn’t need as he rolled gracefully to his feet. He knew that Spike would be awake – reading, as he always did when he thought no one was watching him.
Following the plumes of smoke billowing down the hallway from his living room, Angel found Spike just as he had imagined him: sitting in a chair, hunched over a copy of Orwell’s 1984, a forgotten cigarette dangling from his tapered fingertips. At the same moment he opened his mouth to warn his childe that he was in danger of singeing his finger, the younger vampire lifted brilliant blue eyes from the book to meet his gaze.
“Fred’ll worry ‘bout you if you don’t get your rest,” said the blonde vampire, finally crushing out the neglected cigarette.
“I had a dream,” Angel began.
“Buggering Hell, Angelus, if you tell me you had a dream you were a Jedi, I’ll scream,” Spike interrupted with trademark sarcasm. He fell silent at his sire’s pointed stare.
“About Buffy,” he finished. “Only it wasn’t a dream, I was actually there with her. She’s with Willow, Giles, and Xander, and –”
“Oh, please. Of course she’s with them. She’s always with them… I thought she was in Italy with the Wanker.” Perplexed, the younger vampire gestured for Angel to sit down and set his book aside.
Pain evident in his eyes, the brunette stated, “She was… talking about you. She said that she sees you everywhere and that she wants to apologize.”
Agony, hope, passion, love, and a riot of emotions that passed by too quickly for Angel to name encompassed the blonde vampire’s features until his countenance of detachment returned; Spike remained silent.
“For whatever reason,” Angel began, “I was meant to see her, to hear that, and to tell you. I-it sounds self-important, I know. William, this is bigger than we previously thought.”
Finally, at the use of his real name, he replied, “I thought as much. Not about your vision, but about this bein’ bigger than we thought. Why else did you suddenly pop outta your nice little self-made Hell?”
“I had a link with Buffy,” the elder mused aloud.
“I have a feelin’ we’re bein’ used, here, Peaches.”
“I agree, but by whom, and what for?”
“Good questions, those,” said Spike.
“Call her,” Angel commanded, pushing his cell phone toward his childe. “She misses you. She… she loves you and needs you. Something is going on, and I sincerely doubt it’s only affecting the two of us. She obviously remembers you, but, my God, what if there’s something she can’t remember –”
“And it’s hurtin’ her…” the blonde finished. “I’ll call ‘er, I will, just… not now. I need to think of what to say. W-we don’t even have her number!”
“You’re stalling,” replied Angel. “I always have her number. She’s programmed into my cell phone.”
Sucking in a breath he didn’t need, Spike flipped the phone open and glanced at his sire pointedly. “Can’t bloody well make a call with you sittin’ right soddin’ there, now can I?”
Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Angel pushed to his feet and strolled into the kitchen to warm blood – he would even feed his ungrateful childe, his true pride and joy. He could hear the sound of Spike pushing the button to dial Buffy’s number even from the other room.
“Sl-Buffy?” Spike murmured nervously. “It’s me.”