Between Two WorldsPart TwoPythia |
Eternity.
Everything suspended, nothing in motion, time itself unravelling in a single instant of forever.
Buffy stood on the brink, facing the ultimate answer, offered the ultimate release. No more pain. No more suffering. No more effort.
No more.
Just nothing.
It might hurt for a moment, it might hurt for a while, But it would stop. Everything would stop, and she could be at peace.
Finally, forever, at peace …
‘Living hurts,’ she’d said. And he’d answered her with a smile. ‘Sometimes it’s meant to. That’s one of the ways you know that you’re alive.’
"Nooo!" she howled, a cry of pain, of terror and denial. Existence flooded back with a rush, carrying with it the savagery of sensation; the slight dampness in the air, the abruptness of the hard surface beneath her feet, the grating laugh of the demon – and the cold charnel scent of the soul eater as it lunged for her, mouths gaping, claws curving in to grasp and tear and kill.
Instinct and reflexes took over. Buffy dodged, ducked, kicked out and rolled away, all in one smooth, certain motion. The soul-eater’s momentum took it past her with an angry hiss, its mouths closing on nothing, its claws flailing wildly, and its legs skittering desperately for purchase on the smooth concrete floor. The Slayer bounced back to her feet. Spun round. Kicked aside a lashing tentacle. Blocked the strike from another – and slashed down, the knife blade glittering in the flicker of light from the fire.
The blow didn’t even mark the creature’s hide.
"Bummer," Buffy cursed, dodging back as a writhe of tentacles surged towards her. The Caranth demon chuckled.
"Having fun?" he inquired. "I am …"
"You’re next," she promised, a hiss through clenched teeth. The soul-eater was fast. All those legs gave it a distinct advantage – especially as it didn’t seem to care which way it was facing. She dived back to the ground as claw tipped limbs snapped to the attack, and tried a second time, driving the knife up into what could have been sensitive underbelly.
Which turned out to be as hard as the top layer. The force of the blow nearly jarred the knife from her hand.
"Okay, okay," she muttered, rolling away to avoid claws that jabbed down – and sent chips of concrete dancing up from their impact. Panic sent her heart racing. "Gotta be a way …"
Another bounce, and she was up and running for the fire. Maybe she could fight it with that …
"Oh, no you don’t." The Caranth made an elaborate gesture. The fire went out – and the world went dark. Utterly dark, an inky absence of everything. Buffy gasped, whirling round as the creature scuttled up behind her. Fear flooded through her. She could no longer see it – just feel it, stalking her. The demon’s laugh was triumphant.
"Little fool," he mocked. "You don’t stand a chance. The soul-eater thrives in darkness. It feeds on it. Down here – in the true night - it’s practically invulnerable."
"Practically." She seized on that, twisting on the spot to try and judge where the thing might be lurking.
"So it can be hurt?"
"Oh yes,"’ Caranath hissed. "But it will simply draw in the dark and heal itself. Light is its only enemy. And you don’t have one."
"Yes, she does."
The voice – warm, and tinted with laughter – was instantly recognisable. The man in the park … Buffy backed away from the sweep of the souleater’s claws and wanted to scream. What was he doing here? Didn’t he know how dangerous this was? And what was he talking about? She didn’t have any kind of light. She was going to die.
Again.
Except that – this time – it would be a true death. The soul-eater would snuff her out, as if she’d never existed. She’d go down into the dark. Never to see the Light again …
"Help me!"
She didn’t know why she said it – because she suspected no-one could help her, not now. Probably not ever again. And that was going to suck.
"You only had to ask."
The underground car park was suddenly filled with light. Soft golden light, an almost tangible thing, streamed out across cold concrete and painted it with warmth. The Caranath let out a howl – one of rage and fear and frustration – and the soul-eater – a thing made large and desperate with hunger – screamed and shrank back as if burned. Buffy stared at the horror as it writhed away, seeking refuge from the unexpected assault, then she turned, holding her breath, not knowing what she was going to see. Dreading it – and wanting it, all at once.
There was an angel standing at the top of the slope. Not Angel – her Angel, the dark spirit she had loved despite his curse – but a true creature of the Light, his wings unfurled like golden banners, and the glory wreathed around him in a halo of brilliance and fire.
Wow …
Her mouth dropped open. She’d thought the man in the Park had been kinda cute – all those golden curls and little boy smiles, not to mention that hint of solid muscle beneath well worn denim. But this guy was gorgeous – drop dead gorgeous; bronzed skin, taut muscle, perfect body, laughing blue eyes – and a smile that would have lit up the world even without the angel fire to back it up. He’d discarded his jacket; without it the sleeveless purple t-shirt clung to his torso and left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
"Wow," she said again, this time out loud. The angel grinned.
"Cool, huh?" he noted, tilting his head towards the arch of his wings. "I got to keep mine. They go with the job description."
"Job description?" He was power and he was glory – a piece of heaven stepped down to Earth – and he was talking about job descriptions?
"Uhuh." He nodded unconcernedly. "I think they made me one of the Aeon to try and keep me out of trouble. Like that was going to work," he giggled, bouncing off the steep slope and headed down towards her with a ruffled upsweep of his wings.
‘Oh.’ Buffy stepped back a little as he descended, giving him room to land. He did so with enviable ease, dropping down as lightly as a feather and arching his wingtips high above his head. He brought with him a waft of teasing scent – honey and cinnamon and a hint of that stuff Willow sometimes used for incense. Frankincense. That was it.
God – I know that smell.
Not because Willow used it – but because she suddenly remembered. It belonged to a place, a purpose and a feeling of utter bliss …
The soul-eater howled, scrabbling at the concrete floor and beginning to edge forward again. Perhaps it had got over its initial shock or – worse - had sensed the soul of the angel behind the light; if she were a tidbit for it to savour, then surely he’d be more like a feast.
"Yes, my pretty," the demon cajoled encouragingly. "Destroy them both."
She threw him a look of disgust and he cowered back behind the packing crates he’d found to hide behind. The soul eater hissed menacingly. The angel frowned. "You wanna take care of him?" he suggested, nodding towards the lurking demon. "I’ll put this thing out of its misery."
She caught his arm as he took a step forward. "The knife," she explained, at the look he gave her. "It didn’t even dent it."
"I know," he assured her, unwrapping her fingers from his arm and giving them a quick squeeze of reassurance. "I’ve got something a little more effective." He reached behind his shoulder – and drew out a sword. Not just any sword either; this was one seemingly forged from light, as bright and as brilliant as its wielder.
"Niceness," she acknowledged, not without a touch of envy. He laughed.
"The word is cool," he corrected warmly. "Except – in the case of this – it isn’t. If you see what I mean." The sword swung down – and flame rippled along the blade, adding to the dance of light that filled the echoing spaces. What little remained of the shadows burned away completely. The Caranath howled in pain and frustration. The soul eater screamed in rage.
And charged straight at them both.
Tension gave way to action. Suddenly Buffy felt very much alive, as if her soul – like the sword – had been immersed in fire. The angel danced into to meet the dark beast’s attack with a whoop of wild joy – and she got out of the way with an athletic leap and flip that brought her face to face with the Caranath’s horrified expression. ‘Time to pay the piper,’ she announced, winding up to a spin and a kick that took the demon down with a gurgle of pain. She followed through with a upwards scissor kick, spun as she landed, backhanded him with her left hand – and drove the point of the silver dagger straight into the demon’s heart with her right.
Well – the place where his heart ought to be, that is. She didn’t know if Caranaths had a heart – but the dagger did damage in any case. The demon’s eyes bulged, his long tongue flicked out, and he collapsed into a slimy heap. The sort of slimy heap that oozed away into a nearby drain, leaving nothing but his suit behind.
The fight had been short and sweet – and lit by the fires of heaven, which flared and danced in time to the clash of unearthly steel against a hide forged in hell. The air was filled with a flurry of golden feathers and scented air; the angel moved with the grace and speed of a cat, twisting and parrying every lunge and snap the soul eater made. He moved in three dimensions, up, over, left, and right, using his wings as well as his hands and feet - as weapons, as shields, and in the extension of his dance. It was an amazing sight, and Buffy stood with her mouth open as the combat played out in front of her. She knew she was fast. She knew she was good – but she’d never be this good, unless she practiced for a thousand years and then maybe practiced what she’d practiced for another millennium or two.
"Wow," she breathed, wondering why he didn’t just hack the creature into itty little bits. "You like playing with these things?"
"Uhuh," he denied a little breathlessly, avoiding another snap and lunge with a half twist and a backward somersault. "Can’t just – hack a soul eater – into pieces. Have to – "He kicked aside a slashing claw, dropped to one knee and ran the flaming sword deep into the exposed side of the beast. "Burn it from – the inside!"
The creature went up like dry tinder. Flame possessed it, darting out from every minor cut and scratch the angel had inflicted in his dance. The dark hide cracked, shattering into a myriad of fissures that flared and flamed into incandescent heat. The soul-eater howled with agony – the agony of every soul that it had ever devoured. Its body dipped. Its tentacles shivered. Its hide grew brighter and brighter …
‘Oh-oh,’ the angel realised, tossed his sword back over his shoulder, turned – and wrapped Buffy in a sudden embrace of warm flesh and fluttering feathers.
The soul eater went boom. Cindered hide shattered across the car park like shrapnel from an incendiary bomb. It ripped huge holes in the packing cases, gouged chunks out of the concrete walls – and rattled off the protective arch of golden wings that the angel had folded around the pair of them. Buffy gave a little shriek of alarm and buried herself into the purple tee-shirt, pressing herself as close as she could. Her reaction – born from a sudden sense of self preservation – turned into a decidedly pleasant experience. He smelt even better close up, despite the fact that he was sweated and warm from his exertions. And he felt wonderful – not just all that sculptured muscle and the very manly way he filled his jeans – but because of the glorious sense of presence that came with it. Buffy embraced the light – and felt it wash over her weary soul with a fire and fury that took her breath away.
This is what I miss …
The journey back had been hard – but the worst part of it had been how it had stripped her of everything. Even memory. Those half glimpsed echoes, those hints of what she’d lost – they were the things that hurt. Knowing that there was more. That she’d had it, and lost it, and couldn’t even remember it. Until now.
"I’m afraid," she murmured, finding revelation and studying it with bemusement. "Aren’t I?"
"Afraid of what, Buffy?" he prompted, caressing her hair and holding her close. You need to be touched, he’d said. Now she knew what he’d meant.
"Of living. Of feeling. I don’t – I don’t want this to be real – and yet it is, isn’t it? More real than anything else can ever be."
His embrace was strong, but gentle; he cradled her with a strength she recognised – the strength of love. The strength that had called her back from the grave. The strength that reached out to her each and everyday – from Willow, from Xander, from Dawn, in Giles’ worried looks and his anxious concerns, even – she smiled into purple cotton – in Spike’s brusque pretences.
"Yes," he answered softly. "This is real. You’re real. And that’s what you have to face. But it’s not as hard as you think – and if you believe in it – believe in yourself – then anything is possible. Anything at all."
She had tears in her eyes; she blinked them away with difficulty. "Even living here – after you’ve seen the Light?"
"Even that," he said. "Especially that. Like I said – you never lose it. And it’s here. All around you. Every day. You just have to look. It’s what you bring to this world – what you do in it, how you act, who you are. Put your faith in what you most believe in, Buffy. Let your heart decide where you belong."
"Is that what you did?" she asked, looking up to meet his eyes. She could see herself reflected in them, a pale figure outlined in gold and blue. He laughed.
"Oh yeah. No doubts – and no regrets. I get to take care of the things I care most about. It’s not always easy, but – hey. Who needs easy? That’s no fun. Living is. Making it count. Sharing it. Being with the people you love. And I have got to stop sounding like a movie theme song …"
She laughed, knowing what he meant, knowing that he was probably right. About living, at least. Movie theme songs – well, they had their place too.
"Thank you," she said, speaking from her heart. She was going to have to start listening to it more often.
"You’re welcome." He uncurled his wings and opened his arms; she stepped out of them reluctantly, unwilling to lose the sense of warmth and life that he had given her. Golden feathers rustled as he gave his pinions a shake – and then their light was gone, folded safely away. "You okay to walk home?"
Buffy nodded. "Yeah," she said, knowing that he had given her more than she’d ever had a right to ask. "I’m the Slayer, you know? Round here, the things that stalk the streets are afraid of me. And – I’ll try," she promised, discovering that the brave smile wasn’t so hard to find after all. "To live, I mean."
"There is no try," he retorted, straight faced but with a decided twinkle in his eye. "Only do."
I never asked him his name…
Buffy was up in the balcony at the magic shop, perched at the top of the steps and flicking through some of the dusty volumes that rarely got to see the light of day. Last night she’d walked home in something of a daze; she couldn’t really recall going to bed – but she could remember waking up this morning. For the first time in a long time she’d actually wanted to get up – and the smell of breakfast had only been vaguely nauseating. She’d even put maple syrup on her morning waffle.
Machobean’s Alchemy, The Seriph’s Circle, Djinn in perspective …ahah!
Her hand closed around the book she’d been searching for and she drew it out, laying it on her knees and carefully turning the pages. Woodcuts of winged figures illustrated the text; the carefully draped medieval angels with their stiff wings and angled halos bore only a passing resemblance to the creature she had encountered the night before.
Dominations, Thrones, Virtues, Principalities …
She’d never realised that the ranks and orders of Heaven were so complicated before.
Ah – here we are …
The entry on Aeons was filled with references to other texts, quoting this and that, contradicting itself with regularity. She frowned and struggled though it, hoping for some glimpse of truth behind the confusing words.
…placed as the ninth order, which for some is the lowest of the ranks, below which sit the ordinary angels …
Ordinary! She nearly laughed out loud at that. There was nothing ordinary about angels or demons, and her rescuer had been decidedly extraordinary, in all senses of the word.
…closest to the earth, guardians and guiding spirits …
That was more like it. A guardian angel. She’d certainly needed one last night.
… certain mortal souls of renown have been elevated to their ranks …
What had he said? I got promoted. Something like that.
…those set over nations, or given to the guarding of gods and heroes, are sometimes known as Archons, or ‘greater angels’ …
There was more, but she didn’t need any. The truth was in the memories she carried, not the vague postulations of Caballistic scholars. She thoughtfully closed the book and put it back where it had come from. Maybe she could ask Giles ...
The shop bell rang, admitting a customer. She heard Anya welcome them, and then a man’s voice speak in response. A rather nice voice, actually. It asked something she couldn’t quite make out, and then Giles said, in that somewhat surprised and startled way he had: "Good Lord! That can’t possibly be genuine."
Buffy climbed down the steps, stepping down into the shadows at the back of the shop. Spike was there, leaning against the shelves, being his usual nuisance, and he gave her a quick glance and a wry smile before returning his attention to the new arrival. Xander, Willow and Tara were busy staring at the customer. Dawn actually had her mouth open.
Buffy didn’t blame her.
The man was tall – as tall as, or taller than Giles, but with a body built like a professional athlete. Not a hulking linebacker, but with the sleek and powerful curves of a quarterback; he filled the soft lines of his sweatshirt to perfection. He had honey blond hair, which was cut short around a square, sculpted face, and a smile that, maybe a year ago, Buffy would have said was to die for. She knew better now – but there was definitely something about him that inspired trust and suggested hidden strength. In fact – if she hadn’t spent part of the night in the company of a real live angel – she have said he looked decidedly divine.
"Isn’t he dreamy," Dawn sighed, looking utterly smitten. Willow shushed her; Xander snorted.
"If you like men with all those muscles," he muttered. "Probably got them between his ears, too."
The man glanced up as he spoke, and smiled directly at the group in the corner; Xander immediately went a little red, and Spike smothered a laugh.
"Insult his mother while you’re at it – moron," he said, out of the corner of his mouth. Xander glowered at him.
"No, no," Giles was saying, turning the artifact the customer had brought over in his hands with the kind of care he reserved for very precious items. "The last of these was destroyed – centuries ago."
"Uhuh," Anya agreed, tearing puppy dog eyes away from the man to poke at the metal band Giles was holding. "I haven’t seen one since the sixteenth century. But the one I saw looked just like that. Didn’t have that crystal in it though. It’s pretty."
"The crystal’s the most important part," the band’s owner smiled, reaching to take it back. "It’s useless without it."
"Ah – what is it, exactly?" Buffy moved out from the safety of the corner to take a better look at the stranger. He really was as tall and statuesque as first impression suggested. And he had blue eyes. Steel blue.
"It’s a Hephaestian bracelet," Giles said, taking off his glasses and polishing them. "They were constructed by his priests in Ancient Greece, and they reputedly have the power to ward off predations by the keres – the souls of the recently dead. Legend has it that they are a powerful protection against all forms of the undead – not just vampires. Legend, of course," he added, slipping his glasses back on and pushing them firmly into place.
"That’s why they were all destroyed," Anya announced brightly. "Because they kept people safe. Anyone wearing one couldn’t have their soul stolen. Well, they couldn’t," she concluded, pouting a little at the skeptical look this comment had earned her from most of the Scooby gang.
"Actually," the stranger said with a smile, "they’re made by Hephaestus himself. They used to be given to the priestesses of Dionysis so that they could defend against Bachae that invaded their wine festivals. And, yes, their power is exactly that – it prevents the soul from being stolen against the wearer’s will. It’s a gift for the Slayer," he concluded warmly. "In case she runs into another soul-eater without help being at hand."
In case …
Buffy’s mouth dropped open.
"You’re his friend," she blurted out in astonishment. He grinned at her.
"Always," he said.
"Ah, come on," Spike protested, strolling out of the shadows and taking up a protective stance at Buffy’s shoulder. "A complete stranger strolls in off the street and says he has a gift for the Slayer? You’re not gonna take it, are you? Stupid looking thing, anyway." He reached for the metal band – and then pulled his hand back with a curse. "Bloody hell," he said. "That thing bit me!"
The stranger gave him a puzzled look. Giles, a decidedly arch one.
"What’s a Bachae?" Dawn asked, ignoring the way Xander sniggered at the vampire’s reaction.
"I know," Tara interjected. "They’re Greek vampires, aren’t they? The followers of Bachus? They were all women."
"Bachus had taste," Willow said, smiling at her girlfriend. "And I think the bracelet’s pretty. What do you think, Buffy?"
Buffy didn’t answer. She was staring at the stranger – at a man who’s soul had been shattered by the loss of his friend, and for who’s sake that friend had been willing to abandon the bliss of heaven.
Let your heart decide where you belong …
What depth of love had this man inspired, that the heart of an angel would choose life in order to be with him?
"Who are you?" she asked, softly, pitching it for his ears alone. He smiled, stepping closer to slip the bracelet neatly around her wrist. It fitted as if it had been made for her. She was beginning to suspect that it had.
"Call me Herc," he advised warmly. "He does." He stepped back again, looking around him with a satisfied smile. "I gotta go. Things to do, places to be. It was nice meeting you all. I can see Sunnydale is in good hands. Take care, huh?" He nodded politely and turned to head for the door – just as it popped opened and a compact figure in leather and denim bounced into the shop.
"Hey Buffy," the angel cloaked in the semblance of a man waved. "Hope you like present. Herc – we gotta go. You were right. That idiot archeologist is trying to open the seals on Crius’ casket, and you know what’ll happen if he gets out again. I think Balberith may have put him up to it. He’s always trying to cause confusion and chaos."
"So what’s new?" his friend inquired wryly. "Crius, huh? I can deal with him. Think you can deal with Balberith?"
The smaller man grinned.
"Can angels fly?"
"Get outta here," his friend laughed, half throwing him out of the shop. "Gods – some days I don’t know what to do with you. First, that is," he added – a parting threat as the two of them vanished back into the street.
Somehow the shop seemed cold and empty once they’d gone.
"Balberith?" Anya said after a moment of stunned silence. "I’ve heard of him. I think."
"A fallen angel," Giles supplied abstractedly. He was staring at the shop door as if he’d never seen it before. "Master of ceremonies in the ranks of hell. Buffy – who was that, exactly?"
Buffy had been studying the snug fit of her bracelet, admiring the way the crystal glittered and flared with inner fire. There was a spark, burning somewhere deep in her soul, that echoed its light. The light that she carried, and would never lose sight of again. She looked up at the question and found a wan smile.
"Do you know what an Archon is, Giles?"
He blinked at her. "An Archon?"
She nodded. "Mmhuh. You just met one. And his friend – who I think might have been a demi-god."
"A- " Spike reacted with disbelief. "Oh, you gotta be kidding."
She turned and gave him a look. One that reminded him of what he knew and where she’d been – and he went a little white. Well – a little paler than his usual colour.
"Maybe not," he concluded faintly. "Just keep that damn thing away from me, okay?"
"You all right, Buffy?" Willow asked, moving to join her. Buffy drew in a deep breath and glanced around the bemused faces of her friends.
She risked so much to call me back.
They all did.
It hurts so much to be here – but how much were they hurting without me? And was that why I was able to come back? Because they needed me?
When she’d been offered another chance at oblivion, she had chosen to live. To endure the price, rather than walk away from it altogether. She knew she had a long road ahead of her still. But now she knew that road could be traveled. Could be faced. Could be conquered.
How does he live with it? Where does he find the strength?
What was it that he’d said?
Put your faith in what you most believe in …
In love. In friends. In family.
She reached out and gave Willow an appreciative hug.
"You know," she said softly, "I think perhaps I am …"
