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No Regrets - fanfic drabble continued..
[Where we left off - A 40 year-old Buffy journeys to visit a human Spike. Five years ago, Angel visited Buffy and told her that both he and Spike shanshued for different reasons and at different times. Time wears heavy on Angel, but he has a grandson by Connor and seems happy enough. Buffy has just made it to the top of the mountain to Spike's house and is standing at the entrance. There's no sex in this baby.]
No Regrets
Buffy stared at the house. It wasn't the sort of house she imagined Spike owning or even living in, although come to think of it, she wasn't entirely sure she ever imagined Spike in a house. Surrounded by trees and flowers in the side of the mountain, it made her think more of Xander or Angel, than Spike. Wood paneling. All wood actually. And windows, lots and lots of windows.
She took off her pack and sat down for a moment on a rock, studying it. Taking it all in. Angel had told her where Spike lived, but he hadn't described it.
Not a man of many words, Angel. Not like Spike. Or the Spike she'd known. He was different now - that much Angel had told her. But then, Angel wasn't the same man she'd known either. Nor was she. Time had changed all of them, even two ageless vampires who had believed they were doomed to live eternally outside of it. Or, she thought, more likely stuck in it as she once, long ago had been stuck with everyone racing past her, each minute she experienced, an hour for them - that had been a joke of course, a prank played by Andrew, Warren and Jonathan. Being a vampire - ah, that was something completely different.
The grounds surrounding the hilltop house were kept wild. Wildflowers, shrubs, pines, and tall Aspens. The smell of pine mixed with columbine twitched her nose. The path leading to it had a series of crudely cut blue stones intermittently spaced, then a few wooden steps, and a covered stoop with a chair. Behind the chair, stood two thick pine doors.
Buffy took a deep breath, got up, lifted her pack back onto her shoulders and moved gradually up the path to the doors. She glanced up at the sky, then back down at her wrist-watch, almost 5pm, nearing Sunset. Later than she intended.
Although he had said in his reply that she was not only welcome to visit him but she could stay in his house. He had a couple of guest rooms. The least he could do, considering how many times she and her friends put him up years ago.
Before she reached the door, it opened and Buffy took a step or two backwards.
Half expecting to see a blond head and black duster pop out of it, instead, a black man emerged. Tall, half balding, attractive, with a deep chuckle, clearly laughing at something someone had said within. Turning he caught sight of Buffy and his laughter dwindled slightly, while he assessed her. She came a few feet closer and he smiled.
"You must be Buffy."
He had a deep voice and wore a dark brownish green jacket over black jeans.
She tilted her head.
"Sorry, Charles Gunn. Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you over the years."
"Most of it good, I hope."
He laughed. "Yes, most of it. You might as well go on in. He's in one of his better moods actually. So you picked a good day to visit."
"Better moods?"
Gunn shrugged.
"How is he?"
"Good as can be expected, I guess. Been through quite a bit in the last few years no more than most, but the human thing - it takes a bit getting used to.
He and Angel, they were used to being able to leap up buildings, see in the dark, smell anything from yards away, and well the super-healing. They aren't used to being alive. And all that comes with it. Wore heavy on Angel. Wears heavy on Will. Time does. And unlike you and I, they've seen a lot of time those two, just not been really a part of its progress, stayed unaffected."
"Does he regret the Shanshue?"
Gunn shrugged. "You'd have to ask him. Will don't regret much. Not like..."
"I know."
"But it changed him, in some ways he's better than he was before, others worse.
He's...well. Not for me to say. Just do me a favor and try to persuade him to come down off that mountain of his every once and a while. Best the missus and I can do is get him to come down for Thanksgiving."
"Thanksgiving?"
"Yep, annual thing. Me, the missus, Angel, Connor, and their family and good ole Will there get together for some grub. Nothing major and not many of us.
But enough to thank the powers for our lives. And to mourn those we've lost."
Buffy nodded.
"Anyhow, must be moving on, told Annie, I'd be home tomorrow for supper. Stayed a bit longer than I intended. Nice meeting you. Hope to see you again, soon."
She watched him move down the path behind her. His car must be parked like hers at the bottom of the mountain. No roads appeared to climb to the top of it. Although she noticed that there was a motorcycle perched next to the front porch.
The door opened before she had a chance to knock. "Gunn? You still out there?
You forgot your bloody - Eh. Guess, he's gone." They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking. Their eyes assessing each other, taking each other in, bit by bit. He, she thought, had changed. His hair was no longer white for one thing, not that she really expected it to be. Instead it was sandy brown with streaks of gray, similar in tone to her own hair color. What some called dish-water blond. The eyes were the same, grayish blue, changing tone depending on the surroundings. His face and body were fuller though, less guant, less skeletal. While the cheekbones were still evident, they were not as sharp and the scar above his left eyebrow seemed to have diminished somehow. Also he had a bit of a belly, not large, just a little roundness there. But the most striking change was the wrinkles, or laughlines, around his eyes and nose and mouth. Showing his age. He no longer looked like the 26 year old vampire that she remembered. Guessing his exact age was problematic at best, but physically - she'd place him around 45.
"Hello, Spike."
"Buffy. You...right, come in. Make yourself at home."
[Not sure this is working...feels off somehow, so may or not continue it. I think the reason I'm writing it is pretty much the same reason I write anything, because I can't find the story or concept anywhere else. Oh sure the basic idea I can find, but not - well here's an example: I want a story that explores what it would be like for someone who has been a vampire to become human and for someone to deal with a past lover who they remember being eternally young, eternally strong and one certain way - to discover something completely different and realize, wait, that different person was at heart what they cared for way back then. Every time I find anything close to this, the writer for reasons I do not understand, decides suddenly and abruptly to turn Spike back into a vampire, almost as if they can't handle the challenge of just exploring human Spike. (This has happened in at least two frigging fanfics that I read.] Why? Ugh. So here I am, albeit clumsily and stupidly trying it myself, the whole time browbeating myself for not working on my own story and characters - which I sort of worked on prior to this. ]
No Regrets
Buffy stared at the house. It wasn't the sort of house she imagined Spike owning or even living in, although come to think of it, she wasn't entirely sure she ever imagined Spike in a house. Surrounded by trees and flowers in the side of the mountain, it made her think more of Xander or Angel, than Spike. Wood paneling. All wood actually. And windows, lots and lots of windows.
She took off her pack and sat down for a moment on a rock, studying it. Taking it all in. Angel had told her where Spike lived, but he hadn't described it.
Not a man of many words, Angel. Not like Spike. Or the Spike she'd known. He was different now - that much Angel had told her. But then, Angel wasn't the same man she'd known either. Nor was she. Time had changed all of them, even two ageless vampires who had believed they were doomed to live eternally outside of it. Or, she thought, more likely stuck in it as she once, long ago had been stuck with everyone racing past her, each minute she experienced, an hour for them - that had been a joke of course, a prank played by Andrew, Warren and Jonathan. Being a vampire - ah, that was something completely different.
The grounds surrounding the hilltop house were kept wild. Wildflowers, shrubs, pines, and tall Aspens. The smell of pine mixed with columbine twitched her nose. The path leading to it had a series of crudely cut blue stones intermittently spaced, then a few wooden steps, and a covered stoop with a chair. Behind the chair, stood two thick pine doors.
Buffy took a deep breath, got up, lifted her pack back onto her shoulders and moved gradually up the path to the doors. She glanced up at the sky, then back down at her wrist-watch, almost 5pm, nearing Sunset. Later than she intended.
Although he had said in his reply that she was not only welcome to visit him but she could stay in his house. He had a couple of guest rooms. The least he could do, considering how many times she and her friends put him up years ago.
Before she reached the door, it opened and Buffy took a step or two backwards.
Half expecting to see a blond head and black duster pop out of it, instead, a black man emerged. Tall, half balding, attractive, with a deep chuckle, clearly laughing at something someone had said within. Turning he caught sight of Buffy and his laughter dwindled slightly, while he assessed her. She came a few feet closer and he smiled.
"You must be Buffy."
He had a deep voice and wore a dark brownish green jacket over black jeans.
She tilted her head.
"Sorry, Charles Gunn. Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you over the years."
"Most of it good, I hope."
He laughed. "Yes, most of it. You might as well go on in. He's in one of his better moods actually. So you picked a good day to visit."
"Better moods?"
Gunn shrugged.
"How is he?"
"Good as can be expected, I guess. Been through quite a bit in the last few years no more than most, but the human thing - it takes a bit getting used to.
He and Angel, they were used to being able to leap up buildings, see in the dark, smell anything from yards away, and well the super-healing. They aren't used to being alive. And all that comes with it. Wore heavy on Angel. Wears heavy on Will. Time does. And unlike you and I, they've seen a lot of time those two, just not been really a part of its progress, stayed unaffected."
"Does he regret the Shanshue?"
Gunn shrugged. "You'd have to ask him. Will don't regret much. Not like..."
"I know."
"But it changed him, in some ways he's better than he was before, others worse.
He's...well. Not for me to say. Just do me a favor and try to persuade him to come down off that mountain of his every once and a while. Best the missus and I can do is get him to come down for Thanksgiving."
"Thanksgiving?"
"Yep, annual thing. Me, the missus, Angel, Connor, and their family and good ole Will there get together for some grub. Nothing major and not many of us.
But enough to thank the powers for our lives. And to mourn those we've lost."
Buffy nodded.
"Anyhow, must be moving on, told Annie, I'd be home tomorrow for supper. Stayed a bit longer than I intended. Nice meeting you. Hope to see you again, soon."
She watched him move down the path behind her. His car must be parked like hers at the bottom of the mountain. No roads appeared to climb to the top of it. Although she noticed that there was a motorcycle perched next to the front porch.
The door opened before she had a chance to knock. "Gunn? You still out there?
You forgot your bloody - Eh. Guess, he's gone." They stared at each other for a moment, neither speaking. Their eyes assessing each other, taking each other in, bit by bit. He, she thought, had changed. His hair was no longer white for one thing, not that she really expected it to be. Instead it was sandy brown with streaks of gray, similar in tone to her own hair color. What some called dish-water blond. The eyes were the same, grayish blue, changing tone depending on the surroundings. His face and body were fuller though, less guant, less skeletal. While the cheekbones were still evident, they were not as sharp and the scar above his left eyebrow seemed to have diminished somehow. Also he had a bit of a belly, not large, just a little roundness there. But the most striking change was the wrinkles, or laughlines, around his eyes and nose and mouth. Showing his age. He no longer looked like the 26 year old vampire that she remembered. Guessing his exact age was problematic at best, but physically - she'd place him around 45.
"Hello, Spike."
"Buffy. You...right, come in. Make yourself at home."
[Not sure this is working...feels off somehow, so may or not continue it. I think the reason I'm writing it is pretty much the same reason I write anything, because I can't find the story or concept anywhere else. Oh sure the basic idea I can find, but not - well here's an example: I want a story that explores what it would be like for someone who has been a vampire to become human and for someone to deal with a past lover who they remember being eternally young, eternally strong and one certain way - to discover something completely different and realize, wait, that different person was at heart what they cared for way back then. Every time I find anything close to this, the writer for reasons I do not understand, decides suddenly and abruptly to turn Spike back into a vampire, almost as if they can't handle the challenge of just exploring human Spike. (This has happened in at least two frigging fanfics that I read.] Why? Ugh. So here I am, albeit clumsily and stupidly trying it myself, the whole time browbeating myself for not working on my own story and characters - which I sort of worked on prior to this. ]
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Hey, Charles and Ann! I like that.