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| Entry tags: | fanfic, ftvs, teaser |
Life During Wartime 1 - Get It Done
Edited from original post
Here it is, my partial S7 rewrite. Just under 22,000 words, covering the final eight episodes ("Get It Done" through "Chosen") with an Angel thrown in for good measure ("Orpheus"). Not exactly an AU S7 -- I only really changed one element -- but hopefully this will serve as a prequel to my Faith the Vampire Slayer universe. After all the chapters are posted here, I'll archive a copy at the Buffy Fiction Archive, and anyone is welcome to archive it elsewhere (just let me know where).
Disclaimer: This is "fan fiction". Amateur. Derivative at best, rip off at worst; one big cliche from start to finish, with more macguffins and split infinitives than you can shake a pointed stick at. There are a lot better fics out there, but you could probably do worse. I wrote it to make me happy, not you, but I still hope you enjoy it. And whether you love it or hate it, I wouldn't mind hearing from you.
Share, and enjoy.
Life During Wartime
a Buffy the Vampire Slayer fanfic
by damaged justice
Winter 2005
All characters owned by others; they know who they are
Made for pleasure, not profit. (But there is no profit without honor.)
Disclaimer: Minor tweaks on S7 to suit my One True Shipness. Spins off from "Get It Done" through "Chosen".
Datclaimer: Assumes my remix of Lint's "Maps".
Get It Done
From the day he left, Willow knew the Oz-shaped hole in her heart would never quite heal; losing Tara only made that lesson more true, another wound joining the old in an odd camaraderie of grief. She figures it's her fate, for whatever reason, to lose everyone she loves twice, and so either she didn't love Kennedy or they weren't together long enough for a second time.
Not to diminish in any way from altering Tara's memories -- it still makes her cringe, the line that crossed and everything that followed -- but draining the young Potential's essence to aid in opening the portal was more an instinctive reaction than a deliberate decision. Instead of guilt, the aftermath merely leaves her empty. If Tara had been there, to see what she'd done to Warren, the look on her face would have been far worse. And Willow can't even feel properly ashamed of what she's done.
She wants to go to her empty, huge room and curl up with the ghosts, but she leaves the closed door behind, trying to look appropriately together as she walks down the hall. She's been wanting to talk to Xander for a while and this is as good an excuse as any, especially when he's just --
"Packing."
"Huh?" He doesn't look caught in the act, just confused as ever as he stands by the bed with an open duffel bag. He holds up a shirt in each hand for her inspection.
"So, the light, or the dark? 'Cause they say dark's better for interviews."
She almost doesn't have a comeback. "Xander -- are you evil?"
"Well, you could always poke me." He has the decency to blush. "You know -- to test for corporealness. And the flaky goodness of being so been there and done, with all of that."
She pokes him in the shoulder, not too hard, though she can't match his smile. "But you are."
A shadow moves over his face. "Buttery like a croissant?"
"Packing." She pokes a little harder, for emphasis.
"Well, you can only carry so much stuff. And since the single suit I own is the one I made the biggest mistake of my life in --" He looks around, lowers his voice. "I figure one good shirt is all a body needs."
She sits on the bed, because her feet are tired. From the sound of it he's the one in more of a pacing mood anyway.
"Is this the pre-emptive kind of packing, or the kind where you're just... running away again?"
It's the first honest laugh she's heard from him in longer than she cares to remember.
"Don't blame you for jumping the gun, but don't worry. I'm here for the long haul." He stuffs the dark shirt into the bag. "Plus, lack of material possessions equals less time packing. When the time comes, we'll be ready to bug outta town in the proverbial flash."
She folds her arms, trying for resolve over petulance. "And this sounds a lot like the kind of leaving where --" Her voice almost gives out. "Where you don't come back."
"From Sunnydale, Will." His smile is shaky but real. "Planning on as few casualties as possible, here. And firmly in the not-voting Xander off the island camp."
She almost tenses when he sits down beside her, but when her head naturally descends onto his shoulder it's already too late. His arm feels as right around her as anything ever could, she should be issuing all kinds of disclaimers and god, what if Kennedy walks in? But even this doesn't cause the faintest ripple of discomfort, and her normally chatty subconscious falls silent.
He shifts a little, easing back into her like he belongs there.
"Yeah, when I found out my parents skipped town I figured it was high time to do that old boogie magic and hightail it out of here. After we finish the job, of course."
She wants to sit up to see his face, but this embrace is too much to let go after so long. And he isn't sounding tired or careworn or world-weary, or like he's making a joke so he won't have to feel any of those things.
"When did they leave? Or, I guess -- when did you notice?"
She feels the tiniest shrug, barely enough to move her. "Stopped by last week on this wild random whim. Whole place was cleaned out, dog dish and all." He doesn't even sound bitter at this final act of abandonment. "Didn't find any overly suspicious stains, so I'm thinking they got out okay."
Xander's father is just the sort of man who should meet a demon, or so she used to think. "Might be the smartest thing they ever did." She raises her head and captures his eyes. "Besides having you."
He offers a rueful grin. "I'll ignore that questionable judgement and settle for a heaping helping of thank you. With a generous side portion of the same to you, and more of it."
His lips touch her cheek and her heart quickens just a beat before settling back to the methodical rhythms of contentment. Later she will remember this moment and want to cry, tear her heart right out of her chest. Right now it's perfect.
When she calls in the morning, her mother's number is disconnected.
**