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Title: Ampwish
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fenderlove
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Mentions of major characters deaths. I'm going somewhat dark with this one.
Summary: At the end of the Spike series, our heroic blonde vampire left Drusilla at the Mosaic Wellness Center in the care of Dr. Thilbault and Malposo in Primm, Nevada. Several months later, Spike has returned with a new patient for the asylum.
Notes: The title for this ficlet was inspired by a misheard lyric in Carbon Leaf's "Life Less Ordinary." Also, I think that writing this has effectively reconciled Season Eight for me. Read on to see why and how and whatever.
Ampwish
Exiting Dr. Thilbault's office from her third session of the day, Drusilla clutched Miss Edith's porcelain body to her chest. This was the new one, Miss Edith #576 to be exact, and Drusilla had been very accurate in her accounting of them. She had found the doll outside her room that morning, and she knew that Spike must have gotten back from his mission and left the trinket just as he had done with other long-since-lost dolls in far distant places and in almost-forgotten times.
Miss Editih #576 had thick brown hair and oversized blue eyes which seemed almost sparkling with life. Drusilla carefully reminded herself that dolls were not people and that inanimate objects could not speak to her. For many months, it had been a constant struggle, but a combination of antipsychotic drugs, sedatives, and intensive physic therapy had lifted most of the clouds from Drusilla's mind, allowing her to function somewhat normally, though she still had bad days and very bad days.
On the plus side of things, Drusilla was discovering the world she left behind over a century prior. Though this world lacked stars that sang to her and flowers that wept spectral tears, it still had wonders to behold such as churros, Angry Birds, and actual pixies like Tobias and Vermillion who taught her how to use the microwave in the commissary to heat up her synthesized blood. Another luxury Drusilla was enjoying was getting to know Spike without madness drowning her senses. She had not been able to partake in his company as much as she would have liked with Spike off helping his bug friends on their spaceship.
Drusilla took an unneeded breath and repeated that to herself as calmly as possible to remind herself that the aliens and their 'craft were some of things she remembered that were not part of a fevered delusion.
Even though she and Spike had spent the better part of one hundred and eighteen years together, Drusilla felt as though he was a stranger to her. While gripped by insanity, Spike's face was always shifting, glimmering with sunlit armor one moment and dusted with purplish-blue frost the next. Now, Spike seemed relatively ordinary, but, to Drusilla, his true face, that of her Knight, was there all along shining through the madness.
At the Wellness Center, they had awkward talks. How does one go about a normal conversation with the person they committed all manner of astrocities with when the urge to do those vile acts had dissipated? Drusilla envied Spike's soul, remembering what it was like inside her for those few fleeting moments. The soul had burned her, tried to scorch the demon from her body or so it had felt. His soul was the only thing that made her feel touched by goodwill since long before she had met her death, and she wanted that purity for herself, to wash away an old life of sin and begin anew. Drusilla knew that Spike was not perfect, but he was a good man. She had coveted his innocence and what was held in his heart, and she nearly destroyed it in her need to possess him, to do to him what had been done to her, but she never succeeded. Spike's love, while not always for her, had allowed him to weather the storms, and he had come through a better person. Perhaps there was still an inkling of jealousy, greed, or even lingering cruelty that pushed Drusilla back to him, but maybe she was falling in love.
While walking back to her room, Drusilla spotted Spike standing in main corridor of the Lockdown Ward where she had resided when she first arrived at Mosaic. Though the Center's mission statement was to rehabilitate and acclimate demons, magical users, and otherworldly creatures to living within society, there were some residents who needed to be shown restraint of the straitjacket-and-padded-room variety. Spike was speaking quietly to two well-armed guards posted outside of one cell. As Drusilla approached, Spike turned to her with a tired, uneasy smile.
"Welcome back," Drusilla said, noticing that Spike did not want to take his eyes away from the reinforced metal door to the cell.
Spike gave a nod of thanks and replied, "I got an intergalactic call from Malposo about some 'Sunnydale business' that might concern me, so I had the bugs bring me back."
Spike moved aside so that Drusilla could look through the small observation window. As she stepped closer to glance inside, Drusilla took Spike's arm. It was such a familiar gesture, his scent and the way her body fit against his unchanging after so long apart. Idle touches only sought to remind Drusilla how little she knew about Spike. Dru didn't know his favourite colour or song, but she knew how he took his tea, that he hated marmalade, and which books were his favourite to read to her, and she supposed that was better than knowing nothing at all.
Upon seeing the occupant in the cell, Drusilla gasped, "Is that the Slayer?"
Spike swallowed a lump in his throat, his lips tightly pursed together, and nodded.
Huddled in a corner, Buffy was fighting against the straitjacket that bound her arms behind her. Her jeans hung in tatters around her legs, and her hair was one matted tangle. Dried blood was caked on her skin, and the Slayer's eyes darted around the stark white room. There was a quiet constant stream of mumbling coming from her mouth interspersed with sudden shrieks and growls as she flung herself against the walls and floor.
"Malposo's gone to get Doc Thilbault to authorize the Big Gun," Spike said regretfully.
The "Big Gun" was literally that- a large rifle loaded with a tranquilizer cocktail suitable for taking down superpowered beings of all sizes. Drusilla cringed at the thought of it though she was glad not to be on the receiving end of a dart on this day.
"What's happened to her?" Drusilla asked.
"Don't rightly know. A group of land developers was excavating out the Sunnydale crater," Spike explained, "and they found her down there, raving and ranting like... well, like you used to. No offense."
Drusilla couldn't help but sigh and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his comment.
Spike continued sadly, "They also found the bodies of the Watcher, the Scoobies, and a whole lot of young girls, likely the new Slayers. EMTs and the cops managed to get Buffy restrained enough to take her to a nearby psych ward, and the folks there reached out to Malposo to send the transport team to go pick her up. I think the hole Buffy managed to kick through the side of the ambulance gave them a clue that Mosaic was the right place to deal with her." He paused for a moment, "I have some contacts at the local morgues, and I was able to ID some of the bodies... what was left of them. The papers seem to think that it was some cult mass-suicide."
Glancing back at Buffy, Drusilla said quietly, "You don't think she... I mean, when was the last time you talked to her?"
"Not since right before I caused the crater. I don't even think she knew I was undead and kicking until today. I tried contacting Angel to see if he knew what was going on, but he's disappeared. Illyria, Gunn, and Connor are all AWOL too, and the one person on the Slayer's team who I wasn't able to account for in the body count is Dawn," Spike's attempt at stoicism faltered for a moment, and he cleared his throat, "Malposo had me talk to Buffy, but all I got out of her was a lot of babbling about centaurs and something about a dog."
"That does sound like me," Drusilla squeezed his hand, "Maybe I could try to translate?"
"Thanks, Pet, but I think Buffy's too crazy, and you're not crazy enough," Spike finally looked away from the observation window, no longer able to keep his emotions fully under control.
Dr. Thilbault appeared in the corridor, loading the tranquilizer cartridges into the Big Gun. As the vampires stepped out of the way, the guards unlocked the cell door, and Dr. Thilbault took aim. Buffy let out a strangled cry as she lunged towards the doorway. Luckily for everyone involved, a single dart was enough to take the combativeness out of the Slayer. Buffy slumped to the floor, making pitiful whimpering sounds and staring off into nothing.
Before the guards secured the door, Drusilla stopped them, "Wait." She stepped inside the cell and placed her new doll carefully on the padded floor, "It gets scary when you're by yourself in a new place, and it always made me feel better to have company even if it was just a poppet."
Spike smiled at the display of empathy and placed his arm around Drusilla's back as she exited the cell, "Come on, Ducks. Why don't you show me this 'blood tapioca' George told me you concocted?"
Drusilla laughed softly and nodded, "I'll make you some as thanks for the doll you brought me."
Spike's brow furrowed, "... I didn't bring you a doll."
Buffy lay on the floor, rocking on her side and moaning. Any hope of rationality was completely intangible, and the Slayer would not have known how to go about attempting to be clearheaded nor could she remember what ordered thoughts were like. She felt so lost in a swell of emotion and a jumble of pieces that were from several different puzzles. Finally, she managed to focus her eyes on the doll sitting primly near the entry to her cell. Its eyes were so bright and blue, and if Buffy had not been sedated, she might have screamed when those eyes blinked of their own accord.
The doll's ruby-painted porcelain lips cracked open only slightly, and it spoke in a hoarse, hushed tone, "Buffy..."
The Slayer managed a scream after all.
x-posted on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nekid_spike.
Author:
fenderloveRating: PG-13.
Warnings: Mentions of major characters deaths. I'm going somewhat dark with this one.
Summary: At the end of the Spike series, our heroic blonde vampire left Drusilla at the Mosaic Wellness Center in the care of Dr. Thilbault and Malposo in Primm, Nevada. Several months later, Spike has returned with a new patient for the asylum.
Notes: The title for this ficlet was inspired by a misheard lyric in Carbon Leaf's "Life Less Ordinary." Also, I think that writing this has effectively reconciled Season Eight for me. Read on to see why and how and whatever.
Ampwish
Exiting Dr. Thilbault's office from her third session of the day, Drusilla clutched Miss Edith's porcelain body to her chest. This was the new one, Miss Edith #576 to be exact, and Drusilla had been very accurate in her accounting of them. She had found the doll outside her room that morning, and she knew that Spike must have gotten back from his mission and left the trinket just as he had done with other long-since-lost dolls in far distant places and in almost-forgotten times.
Miss Editih #576 had thick brown hair and oversized blue eyes which seemed almost sparkling with life. Drusilla carefully reminded herself that dolls were not people and that inanimate objects could not speak to her. For many months, it had been a constant struggle, but a combination of antipsychotic drugs, sedatives, and intensive physic therapy had lifted most of the clouds from Drusilla's mind, allowing her to function somewhat normally, though she still had bad days and very bad days.
On the plus side of things, Drusilla was discovering the world she left behind over a century prior. Though this world lacked stars that sang to her and flowers that wept spectral tears, it still had wonders to behold such as churros, Angry Birds, and actual pixies like Tobias and Vermillion who taught her how to use the microwave in the commissary to heat up her synthesized blood. Another luxury Drusilla was enjoying was getting to know Spike without madness drowning her senses. She had not been able to partake in his company as much as she would have liked with Spike off helping his bug friends on their spaceship.
Drusilla took an unneeded breath and repeated that to herself as calmly as possible to remind herself that the aliens and their 'craft were some of things she remembered that were not part of a fevered delusion.
Even though she and Spike had spent the better part of one hundred and eighteen years together, Drusilla felt as though he was a stranger to her. While gripped by insanity, Spike's face was always shifting, glimmering with sunlit armor one moment and dusted with purplish-blue frost the next. Now, Spike seemed relatively ordinary, but, to Drusilla, his true face, that of her Knight, was there all along shining through the madness.
At the Wellness Center, they had awkward talks. How does one go about a normal conversation with the person they committed all manner of astrocities with when the urge to do those vile acts had dissipated? Drusilla envied Spike's soul, remembering what it was like inside her for those few fleeting moments. The soul had burned her, tried to scorch the demon from her body or so it had felt. His soul was the only thing that made her feel touched by goodwill since long before she had met her death, and she wanted that purity for herself, to wash away an old life of sin and begin anew. Drusilla knew that Spike was not perfect, but he was a good man. She had coveted his innocence and what was held in his heart, and she nearly destroyed it in her need to possess him, to do to him what had been done to her, but she never succeeded. Spike's love, while not always for her, had allowed him to weather the storms, and he had come through a better person. Perhaps there was still an inkling of jealousy, greed, or even lingering cruelty that pushed Drusilla back to him, but maybe she was falling in love.
While walking back to her room, Drusilla spotted Spike standing in main corridor of the Lockdown Ward where she had resided when she first arrived at Mosaic. Though the Center's mission statement was to rehabilitate and acclimate demons, magical users, and otherworldly creatures to living within society, there were some residents who needed to be shown restraint of the straitjacket-and-padded-room variety. Spike was speaking quietly to two well-armed guards posted outside of one cell. As Drusilla approached, Spike turned to her with a tired, uneasy smile.
"Welcome back," Drusilla said, noticing that Spike did not want to take his eyes away from the reinforced metal door to the cell.
Spike gave a nod of thanks and replied, "I got an intergalactic call from Malposo about some 'Sunnydale business' that might concern me, so I had the bugs bring me back."
Spike moved aside so that Drusilla could look through the small observation window. As she stepped closer to glance inside, Drusilla took Spike's arm. It was such a familiar gesture, his scent and the way her body fit against his unchanging after so long apart. Idle touches only sought to remind Drusilla how little she knew about Spike. Dru didn't know his favourite colour or song, but she knew how he took his tea, that he hated marmalade, and which books were his favourite to read to her, and she supposed that was better than knowing nothing at all.
Upon seeing the occupant in the cell, Drusilla gasped, "Is that the Slayer?"
Spike swallowed a lump in his throat, his lips tightly pursed together, and nodded.
Huddled in a corner, Buffy was fighting against the straitjacket that bound her arms behind her. Her jeans hung in tatters around her legs, and her hair was one matted tangle. Dried blood was caked on her skin, and the Slayer's eyes darted around the stark white room. There was a quiet constant stream of mumbling coming from her mouth interspersed with sudden shrieks and growls as she flung herself against the walls and floor.
"Malposo's gone to get Doc Thilbault to authorize the Big Gun," Spike said regretfully.
The "Big Gun" was literally that- a large rifle loaded with a tranquilizer cocktail suitable for taking down superpowered beings of all sizes. Drusilla cringed at the thought of it though she was glad not to be on the receiving end of a dart on this day.
"What's happened to her?" Drusilla asked.
"Don't rightly know. A group of land developers was excavating out the Sunnydale crater," Spike explained, "and they found her down there, raving and ranting like... well, like you used to. No offense."
Drusilla couldn't help but sigh and resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his comment.
Spike continued sadly, "They also found the bodies of the Watcher, the Scoobies, and a whole lot of young girls, likely the new Slayers. EMTs and the cops managed to get Buffy restrained enough to take her to a nearby psych ward, and the folks there reached out to Malposo to send the transport team to go pick her up. I think the hole Buffy managed to kick through the side of the ambulance gave them a clue that Mosaic was the right place to deal with her." He paused for a moment, "I have some contacts at the local morgues, and I was able to ID some of the bodies... what was left of them. The papers seem to think that it was some cult mass-suicide."
Glancing back at Buffy, Drusilla said quietly, "You don't think she... I mean, when was the last time you talked to her?"
"Not since right before I caused the crater. I don't even think she knew I was undead and kicking until today. I tried contacting Angel to see if he knew what was going on, but he's disappeared. Illyria, Gunn, and Connor are all AWOL too, and the one person on the Slayer's team who I wasn't able to account for in the body count is Dawn," Spike's attempt at stoicism faltered for a moment, and he cleared his throat, "Malposo had me talk to Buffy, but all I got out of her was a lot of babbling about centaurs and something about a dog."
"That does sound like me," Drusilla squeezed his hand, "Maybe I could try to translate?"
"Thanks, Pet, but I think Buffy's too crazy, and you're not crazy enough," Spike finally looked away from the observation window, no longer able to keep his emotions fully under control.
Dr. Thilbault appeared in the corridor, loading the tranquilizer cartridges into the Big Gun. As the vampires stepped out of the way, the guards unlocked the cell door, and Dr. Thilbault took aim. Buffy let out a strangled cry as she lunged towards the doorway. Luckily for everyone involved, a single dart was enough to take the combativeness out of the Slayer. Buffy slumped to the floor, making pitiful whimpering sounds and staring off into nothing.
Before the guards secured the door, Drusilla stopped them, "Wait." She stepped inside the cell and placed her new doll carefully on the padded floor, "It gets scary when you're by yourself in a new place, and it always made me feel better to have company even if it was just a poppet."
Spike smiled at the display of empathy and placed his arm around Drusilla's back as she exited the cell, "Come on, Ducks. Why don't you show me this 'blood tapioca' George told me you concocted?"
Drusilla laughed softly and nodded, "I'll make you some as thanks for the doll you brought me."
Spike's brow furrowed, "... I didn't bring you a doll."
Buffy lay on the floor, rocking on her side and moaning. Any hope of rationality was completely intangible, and the Slayer would not have known how to go about attempting to be clearheaded nor could she remember what ordered thoughts were like. She felt so lost in a swell of emotion and a jumble of pieces that were from several different puzzles. Finally, she managed to focus her eyes on the doll sitting primly near the entry to her cell. Its eyes were so bright and blue, and if Buffy had not been sedated, she might have screamed when those eyes blinked of their own accord.
The doll's ruby-painted porcelain lips cracked open only slightly, and it spoke in a hoarse, hushed tone, "Buffy..."
The Slayer managed a scream after all.
x-posted on
nekid_spike.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Thanks for reading! :D
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Very awesome.
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Yay! *is happy*
I'm going to have to go read your fic! Do you have a link?
I'm not really sure what happened in mine. Was the whole Twilight saga was all some kind of paranoid delusion of an evermore disenfranchised Buffy who was slipping slowly into madness in which she went into the Hellmouth with her friends on her orders and they all died somehow or did Angel/Twilight win the battle but the Master was able to abscond with the Seed of Wonder so that there's still magic in the world? There's a lot of possibilities that would make sense to different views, I think. Also, creepy doll which may or may not be Thricewise-related...
I am falling in hearts with Saner!Dru. I may have write more of her in the future. XD
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And yeah, I assumed the dolly was the S8 dolly. (Don't get me started on the wrong of the resolution of that arc. Hoo boy. Flames...on the side of my face.)
There are a lot of ways that Buffy could have ended up in the shape she's in here! I like the open-to-interpretation approach.
Here's a link to my story:
http://seasonal-spuffy.livejournal.com/423792.html
It may not be your cuppa, as it's unrequited (for the reader) Spuffy. I won't be hurt if you decide against.
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All of a sudden S8 started to actually make perfect sense. In a creepy, twisted way.
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And now it works for me, too. Clearly, Hell must have frozen over! =D
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