Hesadevil's Spike

Black Hole

2007-10-07T16:01:39Z

Written for open_on_sunday's prompt Space

Title Black Hole
Prompt Space
Setting BtVS Season 7, just before LMPTM.
Rating
G

"Harder, Slayer. You're out of condition. Switch places. And … Do you smell something burning?

"Don't flatter yourself. Like you even got me warm."

Spike flared his nostrils, dropped the punch-bag, and sprinted up the basement stairs.

"It's like the Black Hole of Calcutta in there". Giles slammed the oven door and dispersed smoke with a tea-towel.

"Isn't Calcutta in the Horsehead Nebula? 'Cos that's like millions of light years away from the black hole in question." Andrew removed his singed oven-gloves.

"Space. The final frontier." Xander eyed the charred cake. There should definitely be a retcon on that."

hesadevilspike @ 2007-08-01T12:16:00

2007-08-01T11:12:04Z

Written for: writerconuk’s Bannergrab Challenge for sevendeadlyfun’s banner.

Fic Specifics

Characters: Spike, Angel - check

Rating: Any - PG for language

Season: AtS S5 or post-NFA – Immediately Post NFA,

Can Have: angst, AI Team, Spike/Angel bickering - one large helping of bicker coming up

Can't Have: Buffy angst, character death, torture –I wouldn't call it angst exactly

Word count: 1750

_____________________________________________________________

Take My Hand

“In terms of a plan?”

“We fight.”

“Bit more specific.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Take my hand.”

“What?” Spike wiped the blood-soaked rain from his eyes and squinted upwards.

Angel hung on the edge of what was left of the Hyperion's fire escape by one hand; the other stretched out towards him.

“Bit late for that sort of specific. Not that it’d help.”

"See that?" Angel shouted over the noise of the downpour.

Spike looked towards the horde of demons sweeping relentlessly through the alley. "Yeah. Been outnumbered by the Sheriff and his posse before. Know what we do next? ‘S easy.”

“Jump!” Angel interrupted.

“Die,” Spike continued.

In the no-man’s land between the vampires and the demon horde Wolfram and Hart had unleashed on LA, a fiery chasm belched its poisonous gases into the disintegrating street. It deepened, running across the alley, toppling buildings and demons into its depths. At the junction with the main highway, it stopped.

So did the rain.

“We’re already dead – deader.” Angel nodded towards the end of the alley.

Beyond the shimmering curtain of smoke and water, Spike watched the cars speeding along the road in brilliant sunshine. Then they were gone. The sky cracked. Gigantic mountains appeared. Cliffs of sheer vertigo, pocked with valleys of deep shadow, replaced Los Angeles’ towers of steel and glass.

“Apocalypse Now playing in LA,” said Spike. “Thought it’d be… I dunno – bigger.”

“We’re not in LA,” replied Angel.

Spike glanced down at the remaining stretch of alleyway just as the fissure reached his toecaps.

“Bugger.”

The ground tilted beneath his feet and slid into the widening gap. He jumped and grasped Angel's outstretched hand. “This going to work better than your last plan?”

A great shudder coursed through the Hyperion's walls. Using Spike’s momentum to carry them across the rift, Angel released his grip on the jagged metal and swung them in through an upper window of the hotel.

They crashed to the floor, rolling out of the way of the shattered window. Spike clambered to his feet and stared at the scene visible through the hole in the wall.

“Bloody Hell, Angel. You single-handedly made Armageddon.”

“You helped.”

“Me? I saved a baby. You took down the Black Thorn.”

Angel dusted dragon scales from his coat and rubbed a hand through the singed tips of his hair. “What do you mean ‘better than my last plan’?”

Spike looked at the ceiling. “ ‘10-to-1, we're gone when the smoke clears’, if I recall correctly. I signed up for total annihilation, not a weekend break in …” he glanced round the room “where are we again?”

“Hyperion Hotel. In another dimension.”

“Right. We’re stuck in the Hyperion Hotel in some hell dimension while our luggage has gone only Easyjet knows where.”

“Luggage?”

“Yeah. You forgotten Chuck and Illyria already?”

Angel squinted through the smoke-filled hole. “You’re right about one thing,” he said.

Spike raised a hopeful eyebrow.

“This must be a hell dimension if I have to listen to your incessant babbling much longer.”

"Oh, great. Stuck in a fiery hell with you for all eternity. Someone's really got it in for me." Spike left the room and sped down the stairs. "You'd think dying twice to save the world would count for something. Well bugger this. I'm off to find a cosy crater where I can hang my hat in peace.

“You don't have a hat.” Angel said following him into the hotel’s reception area.

“Coat then,” growled Spike heading for the door.

Angel grabbed the edge of Spike’s duster halting his progress across the lobby. A motionless figure barred their exit; a medieval knight, holding a clipboard in one hand, the other resting on a huge book atop a lectern.

Spike shrugged himself free and crossed the room. “Dro. What’re you doing here? Thought after Angel killed you, you'd be in the other place.”

“Spike…” Angel gestured at Drogyn’s sword propped against the stand.

“Oh, right. Battlebrand. Demonsbane. Immortal.” He grinned at Drogyn. “So, what happened? This some sort of holding dimension…”

“The fat lady has sung…” Drogyn intoned.

Spike and Angel exchanged glances.

"Sounds familiar." Spike tapped the clipboard. “What’s this, Sirk's CliffsNotes?”

“ … the Reckoning can begin,” finished Drogyn.

“Reckoning?” Spike peered at him. A shimmering hummed around Drogyn's head; a fuzzy halo pulsing with light, fading when Spike stared directly at it, brightening as he averted his gaze. Spike swung back towards Angel. “Bloody Hell, Angel, he’s an angel. It is the Apocalypse - the Finale."

“The books were opened and judgement was given,” Drogyn read from the book.

Spike tilted his head and squinted at the elaborate writing on the clipboard. “So. Which way for us then?”

“And I saw from the mouth of the dragon, and the mouth of the beast, unclean spirits. And they go forth to do battle.”

“Unclean spirits? Yeah, right. Fiery hell then?”

Drogyn closed the book and embraced Angel.

“Welcome, brother.”

“Oh,” Spike pouted. “I get unclean spirits and he – the one who just caused the end of the world - gets the Prodigal treatment.”

“Not so. The world continues.” Drogyn released Angel and indicated the glass panel in the door. “The Reckoning will show that which you left unfinished on earth.”

“Unfinished. Pfft.” Spike snorted. “Atonement’s Angel’s gig. Just show me the way out.”

Drogyn again indicated the door.

Through the glass, Spike saw the mountains shift and fade. A pair of dark eyes gazed in at him. “Drusilla,” he breathed, reaching for the door handle. There was none. He pulled his arm back and aimed a fist at the window.

“Hold!” cried Drogyn. “You may not interfere. You may only watch and choose.”

“Hmmm.” The sound of Drusilla’s humming drifted into the lobby. “So sad. And all alone. What Miss Drusilla needs now is ….”

The screaming began. Blood spattered the pane, spots turning to a deluge of red, obscuring Spike’s view of Drusilla, and the screams stopped.

“The surviving member of the Aurelius Clan is creating a new family,” said Drogyn. “You would leave that unchallenged, vampire with a soul?”

Before Spike could reply, the glass cleared, revealing a new scene. Spike recognised the apartment in Rome in which he and Angel had met Andrew.

“Why did no one tell me?” Buffy glared at the figures gathered around her. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

Spike hurled himself at the glass, and rebounded back into the centre of the room, coming to a halt against the circular lobby bench.

“What did you see?” asked Angel holding out his hand.

“Nothin’ of interest to you,” muttered Spike, pulling himself up and ignoring Angel’s offer. “Your turn.”

Angel licked his lips nervously and stood in front of the door. In the street beyond, he saw a hunched figure approaching the hotel; a hat pulled down hiding his face.

“No place left,” sighed Lorne. He stared at Angel with red rimmed eyes. “Why me?”

“You should have let him save the baby, mate,” said Spike. “He never heard it sing.”

Angel swung round and picked Spike up by the lapels of his coat. “Always think you know people best, don’t you Spike? Wait ‘til you’ve had a soul as long as I have before you’re fit to judge.”

Spike flung his arms upward, breaking Angel’s grip, and dropped lightly to the floor. “’S nothing to do with having a soul, you great lummox.”

Drogyn’s great sword sliced the air between them. “Enough,” he said gently. “Angel, there is one more thing you must see.” He grasped Angel by the shoulder and led both vampires back to the entrance door.

The three of them stood silently watching Connor and his family packing their car and locking the house. Connor hugged his parents and picked up his backpack. “I love you guys,” he said smiling.

His mother shook her head. “Then why won’t you come with us?”

“Because I love you.” Connor shouldered his backpack and sprinted away.

“Connor.” Angel reached out and touched the window as the image faded. “The Senior Partners are after him.” He turned to Drogyn. “Because of me.”

“With you gone, he is the natural choice for revenge.” Drogyn picked the clipboard from where he’d dropped it. “The Reckoning is over. Now the Choosing.”

“Um. Did I miss the memo?” interrupted Spike. “Why’s the boy the natural choice for revenge?”

Angel sank into an armchair. “Connor’s my son,” he choked.

Spike put his hands on his hips and looked speechlessly down at Angel’s crumpled form.

“There is no time for explanations,” said Drogyn. “You each must choose whether to go onwards to your reward or back to continue the fight.

“No contest.” Spike’s head snapped up. “I know what’s waiting for me and it’s not the hero’s kind of reward.”

“In that, you are mistaken,” said Drogyn. “For you have rightly earned your place among the champions.”

Angel took his hands from his face and looked anxiously at Drogyn.

“What’re you looking so worried about, Champ?” said Spike. “Seems you’ve earned the Shanshu thingamabob.”

“I don’t want it,” Angel snapped. He rose from the chair. “I want to go back and help Lorne and Connor. How can I do that if…”

“You really are a thickheaded Irishman,” snorted Spike. “Don’t you get it yet? You got the Shanshu…” he rolled his eyes and bounced his head in time to the numbers he mouthed as he calculated. “17 years ago, judging by appearances.”

“17 years?” Angel frowned.

“Connor, you dunderhead!” thundered Spike. “He is the Shanshu. Don’t know how you did it, but you fathered a human.”

Angel’s features relaxed. He grinned and punched Spike on the jaw, sending him reeling against the lectern. The great book tumbled to the floor, disintegrating into dust as it hit the terrazzo.

“What’d you do that for?” asked Spike rubbing his face.

“Calling me a dunderhead.” He offered Spike his hand.

Spike took it and allowed Angel to pull him to his feet. “So. It’s back to fight the good fight together then?

'”You are a good friend,” commented Drogyn opening the door.

"Not bloody likely. I like my friends," chortled Spike. He turned to Angel. "I'll probably never like you."

"I'm family. No-one likes family."

"I did."

"Darla always said you were an idiot."

"Says the Bog-trotter."

"Sassenach."

"Poof."

"Take my hand."

Spike raised an eyebrow and did as he was asked.

They stared into the rift for a moment - and jumped.

Assorted JM icons in need of snark

2007-07-23T23:45:26Z

Comments and suggestions welcome.

Number 09 onwards courtesy of chrisuk of CDS.

001

002

003

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005

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007

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009

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013

Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

All are shareable, textless ones may be used as bases.

hesadevilspike @ 2007-06-25T18:09:00

2007-06-25T17:07:57Z

Setting Post LMPTM (pre-series)
Characters Drusilla, Spike.
Rating Tame.

Written for: open_on_sunday's prompt Birthday

Not one of my best efforts but the blond pest has gone AWAL again.
ETA It's better now, thanks to bit of beta work by speakr2customrs

Mother

“What’s wrong, pretty William?”

“Nothing. It’s… nothing.” He rolled away from her and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Come back to bed.”

“I can’t. Not here.” He bundled Drusilla’s clothes into her outstretched arms. “We’re leaving.”

They dressed in silence. William, with his back to her, stared blankly at the brass bedstead.

Drusilla reached out towards him. “Mummy will kiss it better.”

“Stop treating me like a child. You’re not my mother. Mother once gave birth to me in this room.”

He left the bedroom and gazed down the staircase. “Down there. I killed her. Twice.”

Spiral icons

2007-06-20T21:59:01Z

4 icons from Spiral

All shareable, all may be used as bases.

001

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Created with angelamaria's Icon Table Generator @ Bauble

The ties that bind

2007-06-17T17:21:55Z

Written for open_on_sunday

Prompt: Tie

Rating: Tame (G)

Setting AtS5

The Ties that Bind

Spike kicked the wall, growling softly with frustration as his boot disappeared through the plasterboard and into Wesley’s office. He yanked his foot back and, with it, a chunk of wall.

“You’ll be docked the cost of replacing that,” warned Angel.

“Stupid, gerry-built…. Hang on. You don’t pay me!”

“Because you don’t do anything. Except annoy me.”

“Fine. I’ll leave.”

“You already did that.” Angel folded his arms. “Why’d you come back?”

“It’s the bloody amulet. That’s what it is. “Tying me to this place."

“You’re not Casper anymore.”

“Perhaps there’s something else that’s keeping Spike here?” suggested Wesley.

What's in a name?

2007-06-03T15:52:23Z

Given the mass exodus to journal sites with other names, but similar rules of engagement, as 'backup', I offer this for the prompt at open_on_sunday.

PromptStrike.
Rating G

What's in a name

"You're not even trying, Spike."

"Told you - it's poofy."

"It is not poofy. How many times… Oh for goodness sake. Just do your best. You're our last hope."

"Really?" Spike threw out his chest. "So what Wes said about 'scraping the barrel with me was…"

"Spike! Concentrate."

Spike squared his shoulders and faced the enemy, his hand gripping the polished wood.

Angel closed his eyes against the sight of the missile curving through the air.

"Strike three. You're out!" cried Fred hugging Willow.

"Told you Rounders was a girly game. Bloke doesn't stand a chance against 'em," grumbled Spike.

I ate a decorator once challenge entry

2007-04-19T17:38:06Z

Posting my entry now because it is likely that I will be 'casting off' early next week, weather permitting.

Title: Recurring Nightmare

Author: Hesadevil

Setting Pre-Series and BtVS Season 4.

Category Short Fic.

Recurring Nightmare
________________________________________________________________

London 1859

He is four years old, clinging to his mother's hand as she helps him climb the wooden steps. Papa is already leaning over the railings, Isabelle on his shoulders, watching the outstretched pole with the bun skewered to its tip.

A brown blur lashes at the pole. The man holding it lurches sideways, catching at his father, toppling Isabelle. Hands reach desperately, impotently, towards the falling child.

His mother pulls him close, enveloping him in her skirts, covering his ears against the commotion, the ferocious growls. His screams echo with those of his sister at the bottom of the bear-pit.

______________________________________________________________

New York 1949

She is four years old, cowering in the coal-bin while monsters rampage throughout the house.

Mommy had pushed her in, a bloodied finger placed to her lips, shushing her. "Stay there. Don't make a sound."

In the dark, she can hear the crashing and bashing. Then all is quiet.

"Mommy?"

Light floods in as the door is ripped from its hinges. A hand yanks at her arm. She screams and grips Teddy tighter. A snarl turns to a yelp. The pale young man holding her recoils at the sight of the blood-spattered toy.

Her adoptive parents don't own a coal-bin.

______________________________________________________________

Sunnydale 1999

It's four years since the Slayer moved to this stinking Sunnyhell; three since he’d followed to kill her.

Now here he is; the Slayer of Slayers trussed up like a Thanksgiving Turkey, shot through with arrows by an irate ‘Native American', and not a bloody thing he can do about it.

Worse than that, he's at the mercy of the entirely pathetic Scoobie Gang: impotent, thanks to the soldier boys' little gadget.

It's a bad dream. But the worst is over right?

Wrong!

His oldest nightmare rises up before him.

"A bear! You made a bear! Undo it! Undo it!"

Voting Time

2007-03-19T20:31:27Z

in the
Spark and Burn Awards where Dancing the Night Away is nominated in the Best Romance and Best Future categories. The rules have changed and voters are allowed to skip only three categories so you may have a lot of reading in store if you want to vote.

Dancing the Night Away was one of the Runner's Up at good__evil and look at the pretty banner
- I received.

Fic Update: Soul Searching - The Epilogue

2007-03-06T22:07:21Z

Title: Soul Searching - The Epilogue.
Rating: PG 13
Summary: In which we learn what happens next - to Fred, Illyria and Wesley; Drogyn; Lorne; Angel and Connor; Buffy and Willow; and last, but by no means least, Spike.

My thanks, as ever, to my betas bogwitch and myfeetshowit

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banner by myfeetshowit
Soul Searching: Epilogue
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“You got everything you need?” Willow gestured at Feigenbaum perched on top of a small suitcase, waiting alongside the mirror.

“I think so. I mean I packed for every….” Fred turned to Drogyn “What’s the weather like in the Old One’s Domain? You think three jumpers will be enough?”

Drogyn notched his sword belt tighter, picked up his shield and stepped towards the gates. “Until you locate the Oracle who holds the true name of your combined spirits, you will have no need of the protection of human garb. Illyria will assume whatever form is necessary.”

“And when we have it?” Wesley picked up his bag and hoisted it onto his shoulder. “What then?”

“You must find a way to return.” Drogyn placed a hand on the centre of the portal; it opened at his touch. “I cannot accompany you. I must resume my duties as Keeper of the Gate.” He motioned at the open gateway. “Your way lies through there. I follow another path.”

“I wish I could come with.” Willow kissed Fred lightly on the cheek. “But what with Giles’ frantic phone call for help last night…” She grimaced apologetically.

“And me,” Connor said shyly. He gave Fred a quick peck on the opposite cheek. “Also with the sorry.”

“Me too.“ Buffy embraced Fred. “With the sorry bit, not the frantic part.”

Fred bent to pick up her bag. “Well. This is it then. Bye y’all.” She waved to Lorne.

“So soon?” Lorne threw his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. “We only just got used to having you back Freddles.” He released her, studied her at arms’ length for a second and narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re in there somewhere, Lyri. You be good to our girl.”

“As she is to me.” Fred’s eyes flashed icily and Illyria shrugged herself free from his grasp. “There is much we may provide one for the other while we remain together in this vessel.”

She closed her eyes and fastened her hand in a vice-like grip on Lorne’s arm, drew him close and hugged him again.

“If it hadn’t been for you and Spike, I wouldn’t ever have come back,” said Fred. Where is Spike?” she asked looking around the lobby.

“Avoiding me,” replied Buffy.

Fred picked up her case. “Well then, I guess I’m finally ready.”

Wesley took her arm, turned and looked at Angel for a long moment, then stepped into the portal.

“Take good care of her Wes,” said Angel.

A blur of black leather raced towards the mirror.

“Where are you going?” Angel caught the sleeve of Spike’s duster and swung him round.

“Why are you going?” asked Buffy, her voice wavering.

“Nothin’ here for me.” Spike yanked his arm from Angel’s grip, pulled his coat closer and dropped his eyes from Buffy’s. “Not with Dru gone.”

“You still have family.” Angel licked his lips nervously. “You still have me.”

“And you have Connor. Father and son tag-team.” Spike shrugged. “LA doesn’t need me anymore. He jerked his head towards Wesley’s disappearing figure. “But I reckon Wes ’n Illyria’ll need a bit of muscle on their way back from the Old One’s gaff. Thought I’d tag along for a while. Bring a spot of civilisation to the natives.” He turned towards the portal.

Buffy caught his hand. “Spike. Ever thought I might need you?”

Spike shook his head and pulled his hand free. “Face it, love. Happy-ever-after’s not for the likes of you and me. Is it?”

She stared into his eyes. “No,” she replied her own brimming with tears. “I guess it isn’t.”

His face softened. “You’re like me, Buffy. Still all about the fight,” he murmured caressing her cheek. He bit his lower lip and took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his hand from her face and turned away. “And you got a great gig waitin’ for you in Cleveland, what with Giles wantin’ you as lead with the Slayerettes.”

“Oh, don’t mention gigs for at least the next decade or five,” said Lorne. “If I never hear Psychedelic Folk again, it’ll be too soon.” He picked a tumbler from the check-in desk and threw back its contents. “I still have ‘acid’ taste in my mouth.

Spike sprinted towards the gates as they started to close. From within the smoky interior, a shadowy form loomed; a slavering demon blocked his entrance. “Now that’s more like it!” he cried, flinging himself forward.

The gates closed behind him with a clang and sank into the swirling whirlpool of mist. The mirror folded in on itself, disappearing with a gentle gurgle as it followed the gates.

“Do you think the Old Ones are ready for him?” asked Lorne.

“Doubt it,” replied Buffy. She faced Angel, her face streaked with tears.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “He’ll be back. Spike always comes back.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

That's all folks! Thanks for reading.

Fic Update: Soul Searching - Chapter 18 Part 2. (Part 19/20)

2007-03-06T09:33:29Z

Title: Chapter 18: Part Two I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul
Rating PG 13 Warning for readers of a delicate disposition - graphic violence ahead.

Summary: Spike summed up the plan so eloquently, I thought I’d let him remind us. “You mean do we know what all that mumbo jumbo about numbers and kabbals, dark matter and mathematical transfiguration formulae means?” Spike shook his head. "Not a jot." He picked up a sword and strode to the position marked as his on Willow's diagram. "Does it matter?"

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Author's Note I've divided this final chapter into two parts as it is otherwise overly long. My thanks, as ever, to my betas bogwtich and myfeetshowit, without whom the sequel to Family: Blood Calls to Blood would never have been finished. It forms the second part of the L.A. Times Series which has just been nominated in the SDFA awards in the Angelic, Best Series and Endurance categories.
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Chapter 18: Part Two. I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul.
---------------------------------------------------

Willow returned to the small folding table outside the perimeter of the outer binding circle. A pewter offering bowl dominated the center: the embossed tree of life swaying across its surface in the eerie shadows cast by the lamplight. Celtic knots encircled the rim; gold and silver reflections battled in the highly polished interior. “Spike, I’ll need your watch,” she said placing a small wooden card box beside the bowl. She lit the adjacent incense cone and began the conjoining spell.

“As is the human body so is the Cosmic body. As is the human mind so is the Cosmic mind. As is the microcosm so is the Macrocosm. And as is the atom so is the Universe.”* She took the incantation cards from their sandalwood box and beckoned Wesley, Drogyn and Lorne to join her. They formed a circle around the table and held hands while Willow continued the spell.

“Grant us thy domain of primal strength, accept us and the powers we possess.
Mind and heart and spirit join, let the hand encompass us all.”

She turned a card and walked towards the pentagram.

“Spiritus... spirit,” she said handing the card to the first pair, Connor and Angel.

“Animus... heart.” The second she gave to Spike and Buffy. Spike unfastened his broken watch and passed it to her.

She pocketed the timepiece and turned the third card. “Sophus... mind,” she said smiling at Fred.

“Manus… hand.” Willow paused, waited for Fred to morph into Illyria’s form, then offered her the final card.

At Willow’s nodded signal, the five warriors of the pentagram spoke in unison as they moved to their allotted places. “We enjoin that we may bind one with the other. We implore thee. Admit us.“

The conjoining spell finished, Willow lit a second incense cone, took the bowl and a votive candle from the table and moved to the center of the pentangle.

One by one, the others lit a candle.

“Air,” said Angel.

“Water.” Connor’s hand shook slightly.

“Fire.” Spike shot Buffy a reassuring grin.

“Earth.” Buffy lit the fourth candle.

“Elements gather in this sacred place, around the fifth that has no face,” said Illyria lighting the last one.

Willow lay Spike’s watch with the offering bowl beside the mirror. She lit the small candle and placed it in front of the glass, then poured water from jug to bowl as she performed the scrying ritual.

“Fire burn and water run. Neath the moon and ‘neath the sun. Seeking, searching, bear to find. In the heart and through the mind.”

A faint rumbling shook the mirror. Pinpoints of light sparkled in the dancing liquid; they bounced from side to side, following the inner curvature of the offering bowl. Faster and faster they flew in time with the percussive beat, until they formed a continuous boundary of light. The rumbling stopped. The liquid cleared, became still as glass; an image formed, faint at first then clarifying, solidifying into the image of Wolfgang Hartram.

"By air and earth, by water and fire, so be you bound, as I desire. By three and nine, Your power I bind."

Willow hurried to the safety of the outer binding circle. Her hair began to glow, lost its coppery sheen and turned white. Radiance suffused her; blue-white waves flickered towards Drogyn. She reached for his shield, bathing it in luminescence as he stepped forward to begin the summoning.

“By the power of the circle of Ismene... By the power of the circle of Ismene, I command you Hyle. Come! I command you Hyle. Come! I command you Hyle. Come!” demanded Drogyn, circling the pentagram. The shield trailed silver streams of light, orbitting the outer ring, binding it beneath Willow's powerful protection.

A contorted figure materialised in the centre of the star; the wolf’s head thrashed, twisted, and howled with rage. “Who dares summon Hyle?” Hartram’s voice growled from the depths of the beast’s jaws. He looked into the mirror, touched its tarnished surface and smiled as his human face took form; the feral grin stopped at his eyes. “I am that which was before all things were given form. Before the Word. Before the Big Bang. Where Chaos was, there was I. Yet you….”

“What is it with you evil types and the long-winded speechifying?” Spike raised the sword and swept a high breaking traverse cut to the right side of Hartram’s neck. “All mouth and no trousers I reckon.”

Hartram stepped into the swing with crossed arms. He grasped the sword along its blunt edge, extending his arms as he followed through. He wrenched the sword from Spike's grip and flung him into a marble pillar.

“You cannot destroy us. We are immortal. We are invincible. We are….”

“A Royal pain in the ass?” cried Buffy. She swung the axe. The blade sang as it whirred through the empty space where Hartram had been.

He struck her with the pommel of Spike’s sword. The force slammed her into Connor, sending them both reeling to the ground.

Angel charged. He swept his sabre upward to block the sword. Hartram’s fist punched him from the circle where he landed beside Spike.

"Time for a re-think of the tactics, Old Man," quipped Spike. "Lorne. A weapon. It's time for a little Butch and Sundance."

"We already did that," Angel grunted, rubbing his bleeding jaw.

"Action replay." Spike laughed delightedly as he caught the sword hilt tumbling towards his outstretched hand.

The two vampires launched themselves back into the fight, morphing into vampface, fangs descending, blades sparking as they passed through the power shield.

"One-way door. Neat." Spike grinned.

Before either of them could strike, Connor heaved Buffy aside and plunged the Dao up into Hartram’s groin.

Hartram crumpled, his blood staining the turquoise ripples of terrazzo.

“Wow!” Connor beamed at Angel. “I could get used this. Didn’t think it was gonna be that easy. I…"

A savage blow felled him from behind. He staggered to his knees, blood streaming from the gash in his head.

Angel winced at the sight of Connor’s injury. “It isn’t.” He dragged Connor to one side. “Lorne, take care of him.”

Hartram pulled the blade out from his groin and flung it away. “As I was saying…” He strode out of the inner binding circle, past an immobile Illyria, and ripped Connor from Lorne’s grasp.

“You cannot destroy us, miracle boy. We are Legion. We are more than three in one.”

Angel, Buffy and Spike rushed Hartram from the left and he spun Connor through 90 degrees to slam into them. The force tumbled them in a heap, scattering the bowl and smashing the jug.

Beyond the outer circle's perimeter, Wesley and Willow faced one another and held hands. Lorne retrieved the spinning scrying bowl, seated himself on the floor between them, held the bowl with the tree of life against his chest, and began to sing.

#"The natural cards revolve ever changing..."#

“The Green Man,” Hartram mocked. " Small earth magic cannot prevail against us." He turned to the mirror and pointed at the glass. "The Gates of Pulon Odoß. Open and let the darkness return." The shuddering began again, as the gates materialised and inched apart.

#"May the long time sun shine upon you, all love surround you.”

Lorne sang on, clutching the card and swaying to an inner rhythm.

#" And the pure light within you, guide you all the way on."#

Willow and Wesley joined him, their voices steady. They followed his lead through the intricate melody.

“We are three plus one. Unalterable, indivisible, the perfect Supreme Being.” Hartram approached the seated couple, frowning in frustration when the power shield halted his progress.

“As once was I.” Illyria advanced, a blue whirlwind spiraling chaotically around him, knives slashing. ”Things change. Now - I am more.”

Connor staggered back up, joining her as she attacked, striking low where she struck high. He swept his knife across the hamstring of Hartram’s leading leg, bringing him down at their feet.

As Hartram fell, Illyria plunged the stiletto into his heart.

Connor sliced upward. “Three plus one is indivisible huh?” he snarled. “Someone flunked math.” He followed the curvature of the knife blade and drove it higher.

Hartram screamed, an inhuman bellow vomiting from his mouth as the guts spilled from his torso. The noise took shape, growing, writhing; a huge horned creature filled the room with darkness. It flailed impotently against the walls, roared its frustration, faded, then dissolved.

Illyria tilted her head curiously. “This Dark Matter is but a chimera,” she observed.

“Only for a given definition of chimera.” Fred’s brown eyes replaced the Illyrian blue. “Phantom energy, hypothetically speaking, is a form of dark energy with the equation of state w is greater than minus 1. It could easily cause the expansion of the universe to accelerate so quickly that the Big Rip would occur.”

“We’d better set about our own big rip then,” said Spike. He offered Buffy the axe. “This one’s for you to do.”

She averted her eyes from the viscera spilling from Hartram’s body, swung the weapon down, and severed the head with one blow.

Willow slumped as the power left her, glad that her head thrummed with effort. She wasn't eager to hear Angel and Fred finish the dismemberment.

----------------------------------------------------------------

"Is that it?" asked Buffy, leaning against the pillar. "Have we won?"

"Not quite." Wesley released Willow's hands. "There's the little matter of returning the Senior Partners to their proper place." He picked the three books from the ground and approached Hartram's dismembered corpse, stepping between patches of gore and entrails. He grimaced at the grim scene beneath his feet.

Drogyn lay his shield aside and joined Wesley. He waited as Wesley opened each book in turn and placed them beside the relevant body part.

"The Wolf – intellect – the head." Wesley opened the first book beside Hartram's severed head.

"The Ram – instinct and passions – the testicles." He tore a strip from the bottom of his shirt, wiped the blood from the floor and lay the second in place.

"The Hart - emotion and sentiment – the heart." Wesley lowered the third and nodded to Drogyn.

"Hold fast to the Law of the last cold tome. Where the earth of the truth lies thick on the page," Drogyn intoned solemnly.

"The Wolf. The Ram. The Hart." Wesley closed each book in turn.

Willow held a lighted candle and stood beside Drogyn.

"Candle's flame burning bright, by your flame on this night, trap all evil, seal it well. In each tome, may it remain, never to be loosed again."

Drogyn picked the books from the ground and together they walked towards the mirror.

"Do not ask to know my name. Go yea back from whence you came." Drogyn placed the books in front of the mirror, struck it three times with his sword and watched them disappear between the closing gates.

"Have we done enough?" asked Buffy. She looked round at her battered and bloody comrades.

"Sending the Senior Partners to another dimension is merely a return to how things were," replied Wesley. "Will it stop The First? I doubt it. So long as there are human beings to be corrupted, there will always be evil in this world."

"And we'll continue to fight it," said Angel, his arm around Connor's shoulder. "For one soul at a time."

* from Hellbound
-------------------------------------

Epilogue follows.

Fic Update: Soul Searching - Chapter 18 Part 1

2007-03-05T11:51:58Z

TitlePart One “Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.
Rating PG 13
Summary In the lull before the storm, our heroes work on the details of the battle plan.

Author's Note I've divided this final chapter into two parts as it is otherwise overly long. My thanks, as ever, to my betas bogwtich and myfeetshowit, without whom the sequel to Family: Blood Calls to Blood would never have been finished. It forms the second part of the L.A. Times Series which has just been nominated in the SDFA awards in the Best Series and Endurance categories.

Chapter 18: Part One “Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing.” (Shakespeare)

Three pools of light lit the entrance lobby of the Hyperion Hotel. At the check-in desk, beneath the glare of the lamp, the shadowed figures of Wesley, Lorne and Drogyn hunched over the open Watcher’s Diary, their voices hushed.

“So each of our warriors represents one of the five elements,” Wesley concluded. “The four of matter; earth, air, fire, and water - by Buffy, Angel, Spike, and Connor. The fifth, the quintessential spirit, by…” Wesley flinched.

“By the name Spike so quaintly coined ‘Frillyria,“ Lorne finished. “That about sums it up, yes.”

“Just as knowing the true name of that which calls itself Wolfgang Hartram gives us power to summon him into our presence and banish him from this dimension…” Drogyn looked up from the Watcher’s Diary. “So when we shall find her true name it shall ensure the permanence of Winifred’s soul in this earthly form.” He turned his gaze towards the main staircase.

Beneath the stairwell, Willow and Fred shared floor-space with a large sheet of paper, a standard lamp, and Willow’s laptop, their girlish voices rising and falling at each new calculation and discovery.

"Illyria's a god born of chaos. Determined to bring a new order and all." Fred clutched Feigenbaum tighter.

"Right," Willow said. "Isn't it strange? It's always the gods of destruction that are loved the most in every culture."

"Feared the most, you mean."

"Well, that too."

Fred peered more closely at the screen. "Time can only exist because of the second law, the displacement of order…"

"When Illyria walks in time and dimensions, then at some point she is always you," Willow concluded placing her hand on Fred's shoulder.

Fred’s irises turned blue. “When I so choose. ” Illyria removed Fred’s spectacles.

“There is no choice. You can’t ride roughshod over the laws of physics,” Willow countered. “It’s all in the math.” She studied the diagram on the floor between them.

“Or…” She added the final letter to Connor’s name. “A combination of kabbalah-math and magic.”

“Magic incantations are merely consonant representations of mathematical transfiguration formulae,” said Fred pushing her spectacles back into place. “At least, that’s my theory.”

“This power of magic and science combined is what The Senior Partners sought to forestall by having Angel kill me.” Drogyn left Wesley’s side and joined Angel in the middle of the lobby. “They endeavoured to conceal the truth about Fred’s soul.”

Five candles flickered at the faintly marked points of the old pentagram. At its centre stood the mirror Illyria had rescued from City Hall. On the circular lobby bench beside the topmost point of the star, Angel watched Connor working his way down a pile of sandwiches on the table in front of them.

“You gonna leave some of those for the others?” Angel asked Connor.

“Hmmm?” Connor replied swallowing. “Oh, Sorry. I thought these were for me.”

“They are,” Buffy called over her shoulder from the other side of the seating. She got up, stepping over Spike who was stretched out on the floor, his eyes closed. “Are you sure about pairing Spike with me?” she asked lowering her voice. “”What with that chunk of missing memory, he’s…”

“He’s right here,” said Spike gruffly. “Hearing department in full vampire working order.” He rose to his feet and lit a cigarette from the candle flame at the lower right hand point of the pentangle. “In fact, back to full working order in every department.” He tapped his temple. “Firing on all cylinders.”

“You got your memory back?” Angel joined him beside the guttering candle.

“The second Frilly returned.” Spike exhaled in Angel’s face. “Yeah, ya big poof. I’m back. And itchin’ to kick some demon arse… No offence,” he grinned at Lorne.

“Spike…” Buffy left her seat and moved towards him.

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Now’s not the time,” he said evenly as she reached for his hand. “Got a job to do. Second chance at putting things to rights thanks to Drogyn and Lorne.” He stubbed the cigarette out on the candleholder and snuffed the flame between finger and thumb with his other hand. “Right. Candles mark the spot. What’s next?”

“Choose your weapons,” said Lorne leaving Wesley’s side and moving towards the circle. “Then it’s lights, camera, action!”

“Now?” Angel glanced anxiously at Connor. “So soon? I thought I’d have more time…” He paused and appealed to Drogyn, his face crumpling. “I’m not happy with the whole ‘son fighting alongside the father’ thing. He never wanted… He has another life now. He never wanted any of this.”

“It’s OK, Dad.” Connor placed a hand on Angel’s arm. “Where else could I go? The Senior Partners gave me a family and took it away again. You’re my family and they tried to take that away too.” He picked a hunting knife from the collection Lorne had deposited on the table. “It’s payback time.”

“It is more than that, young one,” said Drogyn. “The Senior Partners spent much trouble trying to rid this world of you. They fear that you might do what Angel had tried and failed.” He took the knife from Connor’s hand and replaced it carefully in its sheath. “Destroy them.”

“Or at least return them to another dimension in a form from which there is no easy escape,” said Wesley placing three books beside the mirror.

“Who’da thought the Pilean laws governing physical properties would ever come in handy here?” Willow said brightly. “Just goes to show….” She stared at the faint outline on the floor. “You drew this to try to open a portal to Qu’or Toth? No wonder it didn’t work. It’s all wonky.” She glared at Angel. “And I bet you drew it in the wrong order. Did you even use a sword for an athame?”

“Athame?” Angel studied the floor. “It’s not that wonky.”

“It’ll have to be done again - accurately.” Fred joined Willow. “Wesley, would you go through the plan one more time while Willow and I prepare a new summoning pentagram and binding circle.”

------------------------------------------------------------

“Don’t you just love Suppes’ argument that hylomorphism offers a better conceptual framework than atomism for the Standard Model of elementary particles,” Fred asked excitedly handing Willow a jug. “One vessel. Fresh rainwater.”

“Both theories try to determine what exactly remains unchanged,” replied Willow looking round at the uncomprehending faces of her audience. She placed the jug beside the mirror and removed the old candles from their holders. “If nothing remained unchanged, then one would have no order at all because the change would be 100 percent chaotic.”

“Does everyone understand?” asked Wesley as he deposited the pile of weapons on the small table beside the lobby bench.

“You mean do we know what all that mumbo jumbo about numbers and kabbals, dark matter, and mathematical transfiguration formulae means?” Spike shook his head. "Not a jot." He picked up a sword and strode to the position marked as his on Willow's diagram. "Does it matter?"

"No." Willow grinned at him and indicated to Buffy where she should stand.

"Now the part about dicing, slicing and dismembering. That I get." Spike took the sword from its scabbard. "Just tell me what’s my target."

“You’ve got the brain,” replied Wesley.

“That’s debatable,” muttered Buffy sulkily.

“And Buffy, you’re his backup,” reminded Willow, passing her the axe. “Instinct versus reason.”

“Fred, you take out the heart.” Wesley handed her two blades, a stiletto for her right hand, a scalpel for the left, without looking at her. “Reason and power striking at the seat of sentiment.” He turned away from her before adding, “I believe it would be wise for you to assume Illyria’s form.”

“Angel, You take the balls…”

Spike snorted.

“And act as back up for Connor,” finished Wesley, placing the hilt of a Chinese Dao in Connor’s hand. “Heart and emotion combating instinct.”

"Will it work?" Angel asked picking up a sabre and taking his place at the top left-hand point of the pentangle.

“You mean can we destroy the indestructible combination of the Senior Partners and The First intent on bringing about Armageddon, trapping the former in here and banishing the latter?” Wesley opened each of the three books, revealing their empty pages. “If Willow and I can hold the pairs together, we’ve got a fighting chance.”

“Better odds than your Dad’s suicide mission against ‘em, at any rate.” Spike grinned at Connor. “Never thought Mr It-takes-pure-artistry would throw caution to the wind and fling himself into a fight he knew he couldn’t win.”

“Maybe I learned a little from you after all.” Angel squared his shoulders, hoisting the sabre high as Willow began the summoning spell. “Not that I’d ever admit it.”

“Places everyone,” said Lorne shakily. “Don’t forget your cues. It’s showtime!”

hesadevilspike @ 2007-03-02T21:19:00

2007-03-02T21:37:16Z

Title: Chapter 17 - Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat.
Rating: PG13
Summary Now that they have the Stone of Time and Drogyn on their side, what will our heroes do next?
Acknowledgments My thanks, as always, to my two wonderful, and totally different, betas bogwitch and myfeetshowit.

Noble souls, through dust and heat, rise from disaster and defeat

Spike scooped the remains of Willow's summoning pentangle into the dustpan and binned it with the spent candles. "Kill me own Sire, save the whelp and what happens? Nothing," he complained. "Angel tops the one bloke who might've been of some use to us and what does he get? Thanked by the very man he murdered."

Buffy handed him an overflowing ashtray, wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale tobacco. "Those Knightly types are weird. I thought we were through with freaky religious guys some apocalypses back." She grabbed the broom from Spike's hand. "Feet!" she said scowling at Lorne, who was swiping leisurely with a feather duster from the depths of an armchair.

Oblivious to her glare, Lorne lifted his legs and, spotting a crystal at his feet as he did so, he picked it up and waved it at Willow. She didn't notice, but Illyria took it from his hand and passed it on, without dropping her gaze from the bedroom door.

"Drogyn never was forthcomin' with information. Seems Angel killing him's clinched a promotion to a new job." Spike cocked an ear in the direction of the bedroom. "How long's he been holed up in there with Percy and the Ponce?"

"Take it easy, Slim Jim," said Lorne. "They'll fill us in when they're ready. Drogyn's bringing Wesley up to speed with all the latest and Angel…" he trailed off and shot a worried glance at Connor sleeping on the sofa.

"I guess they have a lot to catch up on. What with being fellow brothers in the battle against the forces of darkness an' all." Willow smiled weakly. "Doing the brotherly catch-up stuff. You know. Like brothers do."

"My jailer has entered this realm for more significant reasons," Illyria spat, her tone one of uncharacteristic passion.

Spike stiffened. "And that would be?"

"The return of Winifred Burkle to this weak and flimsy shell."

"It's not what you think." Wesley emerged from the bedroom clutching the Orlon Window.

"What care have you of what I think?" Illyria faced the two men who followed him. "Or any of you? Your petty squabbles blind you to the threat that would be your downfall. You would risk all in the name of love." She fixed Wesley with a frosty stare. "I thought to avow you as my guide to this world. Instead you prove false and play the traitor."

"Old One." Drogyn stepped between Illyria and Wesley. "We seek a way to help you find your place, not destroy you."

Wesley nodded his agreement. "The time is long past when I wished you gone." He held up the Window. "With this, we can recall Fred's memories. Restore them to her … to your mind. With her help we can replace her soul. The two of you can co-exist…”

"To hear her thoughts? Feel her feelings? This is not acceptable" Illyria straightened to her full height. "I wish to hear what is the alternative. From the Truthsayer."

"I will escort you into the Old One's dimension," said Drogyn moving toward the mirror.

"And Winifred Burkle will truly die?"

"Yes."

"No!" yelled Wesley reaching for Illyria as she followed Drogyn.

"Wes!" Angel pulled him back.

"I wish to be as I once was." Illyria looked up at the massive gates. "Yet there is nothing in the Old One's realm for me as I am now. My powers diminished. My grace confined within this graceless form."

"Much time has passed since the Old Ones fled this world. There is peace there now," said Drogyn taking up his sword.

Illyria swung to face him. "My place lies not with peace. I have need of a purpose, a reason to be." She looked at Wesley's stricken face. "It lies here. In the fight to rid this dimension of those who have no right to it." She stepped down from the mirror's rim.

Wesley closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said quietly. He released the Orlon Window and watched it fall to the floor. The delicate glass splintered, slivers showering the carpet, forming the pentangle outline where they settled.

"Wesley? Angel? What are y'all doing?" asked Illyria in Fred's unmistakable Texan drawl. She clutched her head and looked wildly round the room. "Where is this?" She stopped when her eyes found the mirror. The portal was gone; replaced by the reflection of the room and its occupants.

Fred reached towards the reflected self staring out at her from glacial eyes. "I'm dead aren't I?" Tears pooled, turning the icy blue orbs to earthen brown. "Oh Wesley. You died in my arms." She swung back to face him, her liquid eyes solidifying in sapphire crystals.

"Such is my greatness that I allow myself to be infected with the memories of Winifred Burkle." Illyria's emotionless tones signalled her return.

"Our identity is forged in the experiences we remember, " said Drogyn gravely. He slapped Wesley on the shoulder. "The Powers gave you great honour in trusting you would accept the necessity for Illyria to chose for herself, brother Watcher."

"Fred didn't get a choice," said Spike gruffly.

"Without Illyria's consent, Fred wouldn't stand a chance." Wesley turned to Angel. "We're agreed then. Everyone back to the Hyperion, prime the weapon and let battle commence."

Buffy folded her arms. "Is anyone going to let us in on what went on in the 'Dead Like Me - boys only!' meeting? Because I distinctly remember saying I'm tired of fighting blind."

"I wasn't invited," grumbled Spike placing the dustpan beside the bin. "And I'm dead. And a boy, last time I checked."

"No time for all that." Wesley paused. "Time. Time. Time is the key and of the essence. Time and number. Yes. Time and number. All there in Fred's room." He hurried back into the bedroom, retrieved a small hammer and chisel from a bag and dashed into the kitchen area.

Lorne gripped the sides of the armchair. "Is anyone else worried that Wes has flipped into homicidal maniac mode again? I know I got distinct whiff of Mad Max as he passed."

"I don't think putting him through that pantomime with Illyria helped." Spike's eyes narrowed. He studied Angel's face. "You had no problems with that?"

"It's a Watcher thing," replied Angel. "Dro…" He licked his lips nervously. "Dro talked. I listened."

"That has to be a first... For both of you," said Spike settling into the remaining armchair.

"Willow would you hand me the nautilus?” Wesley seated himself at the small kitchen table. “You can fill everyone in about the weapon on the way to the hotel." He beamed at everyone. "It's remarkably clever and exquisite in design. Quite beautiful really."

“Willow took the stone from her bag. “Are you sure you should be doing this here… and now?” she asked Wesley anxiously. “We don’t know what’s inside and, even if we did, I don’t think…”

“Your attempt at summoning Winifred Burkle’s essence was doomed to failure without it,” Drogyn interrupted.

“Oh.” Disappointment resonated in Willow’s response.

“As Keeper of the Gate and former Keeper of the Deeper Well, I alone possess knowledge of the passage between dimensions and through time where Illyria is concerned.” Drogyn faced Willow, his features softening. " I came to guide not admonish." He glanced at Angel and then at Connor who was stirring from his sleep. “And to inform what once I could only surmise about the Shanshu and now know to be true.”

Willow smiled gratefully at him and placed the nautilus on the table.

“Some of Illyria’s power over time remains inside. It's what's causing the leak between dimensions,” Wesley explained. He positioned the tip of the chisel on the outer spiral and tapped it lightly with the hammer. “From what Drogyn has told me, once it is released Illyria will be able to cross to the parallel universe and bring Fred’s soul back.”

“That’s if she comes back,” cried Spike leaping from his seat.

At Spike’s words, all eyes turned to the mirror. For a brief instant, the place where Illyria had been standing was empty.

“I fought shoulder to shoulder with you in the alley. Yet still you doubt me.” Illyria strode towards him. “You big Ninny,” she said pulling him into a hug.

“Fred!” Spike swung her off her feet and twirled her round before setting her down again.

“You presume too much,” said Illyria flinging him across the room.

“What the bloody hell?” Spike spluttered his face contorting in confusion.

“Ah.” Wesley packed his equipment back into the bag. “I think we need some input into finding the right balance.”

“For that, you need look no further than he who made all this possible,” said Drogyn turning to Lorne. “The Green Man. The one whom the Powers chose as the vessel for their visions because he holds balance dear.”

“Whoa. Hey, hey, hey.” Lorne rose from his seat. “They Powers gave me the visions. They didn’t throw in the driver’s handbook.”

“No, they didn’t. But they gave me the Watcher’s Diary. I think you’ll find we have everything we need in that, ” said Wesley picking up his bag and heading for the door. “Will the Mercedes carry seven plus armour?” he asked as he made his way up the stairs.

Previously on Soul Searching

Fic Update: Soul Searching - chapter 16

2007-02-24T19:22:26Z

It's been a long time a-comin' and for that I apologise. I'm writing the final chapter (18) at the moment and decided now would be a good time to start posting the previous two.

Title: Chapter 16 - On my soul, I'll speak but truth.
Rating: PG13
Acknowledgements My thanks, as always, to my two wonderful, and totally different, betas bogwitch and myfeetshowit.

Summary: Spike has sacrificed his memories of loving Buffy for the chance of finding Fred's soul. The newly corporealised Wolfram and Hart/The First combination inhabiting Hamilton's corpse, recruited Drusilla to take Angel's Shanshu from him by turning Connor into a vampire. Spike, Angel and Buffy teamed up to save Connor and Spike made sure Drusilla would no longer be a threat to anyone by killing her. Meanwhile, a resurrected Wesley is working with Willow on finding a weapon to destroy the invincible Wolfgang Hartram, a method of crossing between time lines and other dimensions, and a way of contacting Drogyn.

The team has regrouped and when last we saw, were on their way to the Natural History Museum in search of the Stone of Time.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 16 - On my soul, I'll speak but truth. (Shakespeare Henry VIII)
___________________________________________________________

Pebbles in a jar; shiny, round, smoothed by aeons of waves, and sand, and weather; little specks of infinity crowded together, compressed against the sides of the glass. Shells arranged on counter tops; flinty-sharp, delicate as china; ocean colours; greens, and blues, and foamy white. More rocks beside the shells, labelled and tagged; waiting for their allotted places in the drawers below.

Spike turned over a large stone, feeling its roughened edge, tracing its curves. He ran a finger along a groove and stared at the curled imprint of a long-extinct creature, finely outlined yet unmistakable in its complex beauty. “A tiny time machine,” he murmured. He lifted the jar to the light, took off the lid and turned it upside down releasing its contents onto the workbench. “What was it we’re supposed to be looking for? A stone you say?” He fingered the pile then opened his arms wide and turned a full circle. “Like looking for a bloody needle in a haystack. The room’s chock-a-block with ‘em.”

“Not a stone,” Willow explained patiently. “A fossil. Like this.” She opened Wesley’s notebook and displayed the sketch he’d made of the nautilus.

“Well there’s tons of them as well,” grumbled Spike. “What’s so important ‘bout this one?”

Wesley lifted his head from a display case. “Willow needs it… to find Fred.”

“You thinkin’ of bringing Fred back with magic now? Thought you were working on that weapon thing?”

“We were. We are,” replied Willow. She glanced at Illyria. “It's why we have to find Fred.”

Spike shrugged. “Makes about as much sense as me twirlin’ backwards from being crispy-fried and re-hydrating from that amulet I suppose.” He crouched down and resumed the search through the trays lining the drawers of a large storage unit. “Uh, and what exactly is it about Fred that you need?” He swivelled on his heels, gesturing towards Illyria. “Seems she’s been here all along, taggin’ Blue.”

“Parts of her memories have,” said Wesley through clenched teeth. “We need rather more of her than that.”

"But we saw her," Connor interrupted, glaring at Illyria.

Illyria returned his stare impassively. "Just as the lights in the night sky are but memories of long dead stars…. " She stopped, doubling over and clutching her stomach. "The signature of the North Star is 680 light years from Earth. It is 680 years older when we see it…. but it is not dead."

"Fred?" Wesley rushed to Illyria's side and supported her sagging form.

"The Shell's memories are strong."

"Don't call her that!" yelled Connor.

"I am Illyria. I have no need of her presence. Nor the emotions that assail her."

"But we do." Willow scooped the pebbles back into the jar. “We’ll explain everything when we get back. We have an orb of Thesulah and other stuff, but the spell won’t work without something that Fred touched before…”

“Before she was murdered.” Connor sneered.

Illyria pushed herself out of Wesley's arms. “They know that to be a falsehood, vampire spawn.”

“Dad,” Connor appealed to Angel. “Tell them.”

“Is there something I should know?” asked Wesley. “Something more you’re keeping from us?” He squared up to Angel, eyes narrowing.

Buffy stepped between the two men. “There hasn’t been time.”

“We know where Fred’s soul is, Wes.” Angel licked his lips nervously. “Here. With Illyria.”

“Then I suppose we won’t be needin’ this after all?” Spike held up a large fossil for Willow’s inspection.

The sound of splintering wood, followed by the explosion of the heavy laboratory door, drowned Willow’s squeal of recognition. She grabbed the stone from Spike’s outstretched hands and thrust it into her shoulder bag, removing a small pouch from its depths as she scuttled for shelter from the falling debris.

“Everyone out. Now!” yelled Angel, throwing himself at the bulky form of Wolfgang Hartram.

“Oh no you don’t Peaches,” shouted Spike. “Not keepin’ me from a good fight.”

“Me neither,” added Buffy.

The two of them joined Angel’s attack but Hartram flicked all three away, swatting them to opposite corners of the room with ease.

“Willow, Wes, get Connor to the car.” Angel grunted as he hit the wall.

“You think you can hide from us? We are no longer limited to the confines of Wolfram and Hart.” Hartram gave a feral smile. “The power of The First is remarkably liberating. You’d know all about that, vampire,” he said to Spike's crumpled form. He grabbed Illyria by the throat, lifting her high, and dashing her head on the counter. “We’ll have to see what we can do to bring an end to your roaming, Old One. Where is the mirror?”

Willow threw the contents of the pouch over Hartram’s head, clapping her hands as the final grains drifted to the floor. “Discede!”

Hartram exploded into a miriad of particles and disappeared.

“Great shot, Will,” said Spike. “Not that we didn’t have it covered.” He rubbed the back of his head with one hand and held out the other to Buffy. “Right Slayer?”

“Covered in the sense we were all about to die?” Buffy grasped the proffered hand. “Oh yeah.”

“Willow, I thought I told you to leave.” Angel pulled himself to his feet.

“Just practising for the real thing,” Willow replied, glaring. “And you’re welcome.”
__________________________________________________________

Water trickled from the misnamed 'power shower' in uneven rivulets, hardly moving the suds from Spike's hair and shoulders. He smashed his fist repeatedly into the lime-stained tiles surrounding the showerhead, grinding his jaw, allowing the tears to mingle with the scummy stream running into the soap-streaked tray.

"I get that you're angry. "A green hand pushed the curtain aside. "Taking it out on the less-than-secure plumbing arrangements is not the way to go."

Spike shut off the water, pulled a towel from the rail and rubbed his hair vigorously. He wrapped a second towel around his waist and took the proffered glass from Lorne's outstretched hand. "Knew you were a barkeep. Accounts for correct-guessing my preferred poison," he said, tossing down the amber liquid. "Not gonna sing for you though."

"No need," replied Lorne re-filling the tumbler. "It rolled over me like a Tsunami as soon as you hit the back seat of the limo." He jerked his head towards the living space. "You figured the Big Guy passed his responsibility to you."

"Not just that." Spike pulled on his jeans and T-shirt and ran a hand through his damp hair. "There was a lot more goin' on between Angel and … everyone on that limo ride.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What did you think you were doing?" Angel continued haranguing Willow as the Mercedes squealed away from the Museum.

"Um - saving your unlife, along with Spike and Buffy's?"

"At incredible risk!"

"Lighten up, Peaches. You sound like Giles on one of his less pompous days. The Witch scored. Hit the bad guy out for a six." Spike rubbed the side of his face, which was blooming with purple weals along the length of the jawline.

"The bad guy who just happens to be The First…" Lorne paused, checking for traffic before swinging the limo into Exposition Boulevard, "stroke Senior Partners combo? That's pretty impressive."

"Lucky shot," replied Angel.

"It wasn't a lucky shot," said Buffy brusquely. "Will did the same to a Hell God once. Though there was some headachy fallout from that one."

"Lorne, where're you heading?" Angel asked, ignoring her as the car turned left on Sepulveda Boulevard.

"Back to the hotel, Big Fella. Wesley said we should head back tout suite."

"Has everyone gone crazy? We are not going back to the hotel." Angel gripped the back of the driver's seat and leaned close to Lorne's ear. "Since when did you take orders from Wesley?" he hissed. "Turn the car around and take us to Spike's place."

"Calm down, Angel" Wesley soothed. "It's not a question of giving or taking orders any more."

Angel turned and stared at him. "I nearly lost my son," he grated. "I just want to make sure he's safe."

"I'm OK Dad." Connor sank into the plump leather-cushioned headrest and closed his eyes.

"I guess a detour to tuck you up in bed won't take too long," said Buffy smiling at him. "And we could all do with a break and regroup before we decide what to do next.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Spike grabbed the bottle from Lorne's hand and emptied the remaining contents into the glass. "And he's still at it," he growled. "Still trying to be the big boss. Can't stand it when anyone challenges his authority. Never could."

The sound of a subdued argument filtered through the flimsy partition.

"Angel, we can't do the summoning here. We need the pentangle at the hotel." Wesley kept his voice low, fearing to wake Connor who'd fallen into a deep sleep as soon as his head hit the pillows on Spike's narrow bed.

"You don't know that drawing one here wouldn't work."

"Well no, that's true. But the hotel's where Fred's room…"

"The device which showed the room has a power over time such as I have not encountered," Illyria commented gazing intently into the mirror she'd salvaged from City Hall. "It returns to an earlier time on command. Or even halts its progression altogether."

"What we saw in that video never happened. It's all lies," said Angel.

"The camera never lies, Angelcake," Lorne called from the shower compartment. "Why d'ya think Nip/Tuck's so popular?"

"Fred moved from that room when we took over Wolfram and Hart," replied Angel. "It can't be true."

"Only one bloke to be trusted with the truth," said Spike emerging from the shower area, "and you killed him."

"Not like I had much choice," Angel mumbled.

"Like you ever give anyone much of that," snorted Spike. "Too busy barking orders. 'We are not going back to the hotel," he mocked in tones remarkably like Angel's.

"It's too dangerous."

"What Angel means," said Spike turning to the others, "is now his boy's all safe and sound, he's not much bothered 'bout what the rest of us want."

"He's my son!"

"And Dru was my Sire!" Spike snarled.

"The Senior Partners required but little effort to find my jailer here while we played pointless games and were deemed safe." Illyria paused in the inspection of the mirror.

"And so we all stay together … here," Angel replied. "Willow does the summoning while I figure out what we do next."

"Why d'you think the Senior Partners sounded the retreat in that alley? Because Willow was doing some major mojo? said Buffy. "She bought you some time that was all." She jerked her head in Spike's direction. "Someone else paid a high price to find a way out of the mess you'd gotten yourself into. What we do next is find Fred."

" Neither of you really got the hang of the whole 'working together as a team' thing, did you? Spike picked his duster off the sofa and rifled the pockets. "'Scuse me while I go have a fag in my own home."

"Angel's right about one thing, " said Willow as Spike stomped into the kitchen area. "It couldn’t hurt to try the summoning here." She smiled, appealing wide-eyed at Wesley who shook his head in frustration.

"Willow, without reference to the Watcher's Diary I'm not sure…"

"I memorised it," she whispered. She cleared a space on the floor and swiftly drew a pentangle, sprinkling the white sand from a pouch with a steady hand. On each of the five points, she placed a white candle, and in the centre, the fossil Spike had found in the Museum; beside it, she carefully placed the Orb of Thesulah. "I'm ready," she said standing. I need all of you to form a circle and hold hands.

Spike stubbed his cigarette in the sink. "You want me to light those first?" He gestured at the candles.

"Please." Willow nodded her thanks.

After the fifth candle was lit, Buffy took Spike's hand in hers and walked him to the waiting circle. Illyria stood apart, still watching the mirror intently. Buffy grasped Angel's hand with her free one and the five waited for Willow to begin the ritual.

"I call upon the guardian of souls, the keeper of the passage. Let our breath flow from what is to what was. Bless us with the presence of the lost. Grant us communion with the world beyond our reach. I beseech you. Open your gates. Restore to us the one that is lost."*

"Not to worry, Red. Can't win 'em all," said Spike after a few minutes of silence.

"At least nothing went kerblooey." Willow laughed nervously.

"Maybe it's because Fred's soul isn't in this dimension and we need a proper portal." Wesley released Lorne's hand. "Is there anything left in that bottle?" he asked gesturing at the one Spike had placed on the table.

"Run that past me again. About Fred's soul being here and yet … not." Spike opened a cupboard, took out a fresh bottle and handed it to Wesley.

"It's quite simple. What we see are images that are sometimes thousands of years old. The light has taken thousands of years to reach us. By the time it does, the star may be long dead. What we are really seeing is the distinctive spectral signature…."

"In English, you git," said Spike. "Not all of us here speak gobbledegook."

"Then think of it as Fred's radiance that stayed with Illyria when she crossed back into our time-line while Fred remained in the other one." Willow picked up the nautilus. "And that radiance, or radiation, has a resonance that's linked to both through The Stone of Time that brought us back."

"You mean it's still connected across time lines. So there's something getting through the barrier. Like a leak?" asked Spike.

"Sort of," said Willow.

"And this watch?"

"You don't wear a watch." Wesley inspected the broken timepiece on Spike's wrist.

"Where did you get…?"

"Same leaky place, I reckon. Illyria retrieved it from your office at Wolfram and Hart, along with that video and Fred's rabbit."

"So this alternate universe/time/dimension - whatever - is leaking because?" Buffy raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Because the Stone of Time was used there to summon Illyria and somehow got returned here." Willow frowned. "So why isn't it working?"

"Speaking of leaks," Lorne pointed at the mirror. "Notice anything else springing one?"

In the hazy surface of the glass, the huge gates solidified once again, a faint rumbling emanating from somewhere behind their massive bulk. Chunks of verdigris and rotting vegetation cascaded from the top as the gap between them widened. They shuddered and groaned, inching their way open in fitful jerks, the machinery grinding, rusty metal grating and screeching, finally coming to a halt, revealing a ghostly figure in the steaming misty void.

“Knew they’d shriek,” Spike muttered to himself, squinting at the apparition stepping through the gaseous surface of the mirror.

The hazy form solidified, revealing a mediaeval knight, armed with both broadsword and shield. The helmeted head moved slowly from left to right, the eyes beneath the visor sweeping the room, stopping only when they found Angel. The Knight moved towards him, raising the sword.

“Haven’t you heard. Evil Inc’s gone all high-techie and 21st century,” cried Buffy launching herself at him. She swung at his sword arm, falling against the mirror as he neatly side-stepped her attack.

“This is scant welcome to one who comes to serve your cause.”

“Buffy, this is Drogyn, Truthsayer, Battlebrand, former Keeper of the Deeper Well,” said Angel. "The one we were looking for."

Drogyn removed his helmet "It is good to see you again, Angel. "The two men embraced briefly. "I once held Angel as my brother warrior against the forces of darkness."

“You got on well then? Back in the day?" Buffy scrambled to her feet . "Which one of you headed the glowery gang?”

Drogyn turned slowly and fixed her with an unwavering stare. “Do not,” he said slowly, "make light of things beyond your ken.”

“Oh I never had a Ken,” Buffy quipped. “I had a Barbie once. Her head came off.”

“This is the one on whom the world now relies in the fight against the darkness?” Drogyn appealed to Angel. “It truly is doomed.”

“Would’ve agreed with you once, mate,” said Spike. “But she’s not the only One. There’s hundreds more of ‘em. Mind you, not one of ‘em can hold a candle to Blondie here…” He stopped, frowning at Drogyn.“ Didn’t Angel kill you?”

"Yes," replied Drogyn. "Thankfully, he did."

* From Hellbound

Previously on Soul Searching

One Day

2007-02-18T18:36:48Z

Prompt China
Title One Day
Setting Pre-Series
Rating G

My dear William,

I trust you are well and keeping up with your studies. Enclosed in your Mama’s package, you will find the present I promised to send you. I hope one day, when you are older, that you will accompany me on one of my voyages to this most wondrous of lands to see the original upon which this figurine was modelled.

My ship leaves for home soon. Until then, be a brave boy and take care of your dear Mama in my absence.

Your loving Papa.

William turned the jade dragon over in his hands. “One day, Papa.”

hesadevilspike @ 2007-01-28T21:24:00

2007-01-28T21:26:15Z

Originally written for open_onsunday

Prompt Mea Culpa

Confessional

The sound of weeping drifted through the open door, up the stairs towards the woman huddled in the corner of the darkened bedroom.

“I’m sorry, Father. I tried to make it stop, truly.” Drusilla rocked rhythmically against the headboard, clutching her rosary tighter, slipping each blood-slicked bead through fumbling fingers as she prayed. “Through my fault.”

In the drawing room below, her mother held the body of another daughter close, sheltering her from further onslaught from the beast that had ripped out her throat. The child was torn from her arms, tossed aside. Tears turned to screams.

“Mea máxima culpa.”

Pimping - new fanfic community - gen fic.

2007-01-26T13:00:51Z

Graphics by the talented ruuger, Layout and Board Momma - shinodabear

This is the result of a conversation on woman_of_'s LJ which began with a question about feedback and developed into a realisation of the need for a genfic archive. It's fitting that the first ficlet to be archived is a new one from woman_of_.

Now go forth and pimp all who complained there was no central place you could go to find gen fic.

Soul Searching

2007-01-08T21:52:38Z

Whinging to bogwitch over lunch last week, I complained that I'd never won an award from a 'judged' award site, only at one where readers can vote. Then hot on the heels of the nomination for Dancing the Night Away, this

popped into my mailbox, yesterday.

Thank you whoever nominated me at SDA and thank you the judges for awarding me Judges Choice - Dream

In celebration of both nominations and award, I am using one of the banners kathyh made for 'Dancing' as my LJ layout this month.
__________________________________________________

On finishing Soul Searching

After the last chapter (15), I made a decision not to post any more chapters until the fic is completed and has been beta-ed by bogwitch and myfeetshowit. There are about 3 more chapters (possibly 4) to go and they are all drafted out.

Twelfth Night

2007-01-04T10:50:04Z

I wish you all a magical Twelfth Night - I intend to raise a glass or two (or three, or more) of champagne to celebrate the fact that lillianmorgan is slowly making her way back to LJ land and

for 'Dancing the Night Away in the Best Romance, Best Future, and Best Author categories.

Festive Fic Recs - Day Twenty Seven

2006-12-27T10:18:53Z

A look at Fred's last Christmas with the gang in Twelve Days by Cass, the Devil, and the Witch calove, hesadevil and bogwitch
_______________________________________________
And from me, a final Christmas gift for those who missed it earlier.

Written for writerconuk's Winter Solstice challenge.
Prompt: The longest night.
Setting Post 'Not Fade Away
Rating: PG.
Pairing S/B
Dedicated to jamalov29 and all the Spuffyists on my Flist. Couldn't have written this without you all.

Special thanks to fredsmith518 for her beta work, and elemmire for help with all things Italian.

Dancing the Night Away: Prologue
Prologue: Dancing Alone

The sound of music drifted on the chilly night air, the melody of ‘Tu scendi dalle stelle’ rising and falling as the musicians wove their way through the crowded market place. The small band of Zampognari, wearing traditional criss-crossed leather leggings, short bulky trousers buckled below the knee, velvet jackets and peaked caps, disappeared into the mist as the last notes of their pipes died away. From the distance, a new tune called the two travellers onward towards the heart of the square.

The piazza was alive with movement and noise, the carousel at its centre a blur of colour, brass poles glowing beneath a myriad of festive lights. Sixty-eight horses whirled in unison, four rows of ‘gallopers’ rising and falling to the rhythm of ‘Applesauce’ belting out from the Wurlitzer. Around the perimeter, gaudily decorated stalls creaked beneath jars of preserves, pots of poinsettias, bunches of holly, trinkets and sparkling baubles. From the food booths came cries of "Il miglior torrone di Roma!" and the aromas of spun sugar, roasting nuts, and porcetta.

On the edge of the toy-stall canopy a life-sized puppet of La Befana dangled her legs over the side, resting her bare feet on the head of an enormous stuffed bear. Children tugged at their parents’ sleeves, pleading for another addition to their growing piles of purchases. A market trader came out from behind the mountain of chocolate-covered nougat, pressing small pieces of confectionery into the children’s hands. He motioned to his assistant to guard the takings, studied the two strangers for a second from under heavily hooded lids, and approached them cautiously.

The leather-clad male picked a wooden Angel from a stall peddling Nativity scenes and examined the gilded halo and hand-painted robes, tracing its ornately carved wings with his fingers. “Reckon a pair of these would have come in handy with that dragon,” he told the statue, placing it back with the other crib figurines. “Not sure ‘bout the dress.”

“Still don’t get why you brought me here to look for him, Blue.” Spike called to his companion, shaking his head and waving the approaching street vendor away with a glare. “Or, how you pulled off the teleportation trick if it comes to that,” he muttered, scanning the upper windows of the apartment block.

“Someone has interfered in that which belongs to the gods.” Illyria turned and strode away from the stall, following the route the musicians had taken out of the square.

“And that matters because?” Spike hurried after her, his gaze still fixed on the lights emanating from the third floor. “Hang on a minute, does this have something to do with…..umph!” he grunted as he collided with a pedestrian laden with parcels. “Buffy!”

“Spike? Is that really you?” Buffy dropped her shopping and reached out a gloved hand to his face. “Andrew told me. But I didn’t dare believe...” She gazed into his eyes, her own filling with tears. “And then Giles told me what happened in LA.” She gulped, forcing back a sob. “And I couldn’t bear the thought I’d lost both of you. And then Ambrogio told me... And now he’s gone and...”

“Hey. Slow down, Slayer, you’re making me dizzy with all the telling.” Spike caught her arms and steadied her, narrowing his eyes, searching over her shoulder for a glimpse of Illyria, then snapping them wide. “Who’s Ambrogio?”
_____________________________________________________________

Follow the fake cuts to the rest of the story.

Chapter 1:Dancing in the Moonlight
Chapter 2: Dancing in My Dreams
Chapter 3: Dancing in the Dark
Chapter 4: Dance of Death
Chapter 5: Dance into the Light
Epilogue: Dancing to the Rhythm

Festive Fic recs - Day Twenty Six

2006-12-26T10:14:27Z

It's the Second Day of Christmas and Illyria is keen to see the two turtle doves.
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Festive Fic recs - Day Twenty Five

2006-12-25T09:42:43Z

Happy Christmas Everyone

We go back in time to celebrate Christmas Victorian style in Twelve Days

And as an extra Christmas Day treat there's a very different celebration in Still the Night from the_royal_anna

Festive fic recs - Day twenty Four

2006-12-24T10:28:10Z

Who's Afraid of the Red White and Blue is a multi-parter for a real Christmas Eve Treat.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

It's the Christmas after the battle and Illyria and Spike are on the run.

Festive Fic Recs - Day Twenty Three

2006-12-23T10:03:32Z

What's a newly re-corporealised vampire to do at Evil Inc.? Spike has a heart-to-heart talk with Lorne.

Glory is Ben and Ben is Glory Shone Around Part Two concludes And Glory Shone Around from speakr2custmrs.

Festive Fic recs -Day Twenty Two

2006-12-22T09:34:07Z

The big day is almost here but there's a few things need sorting at Wolfram and Hart but the mailman's proving unreliable

There's Christmas Truce in Sunnydale - a tale told as only speakr2customrs can do.