What is Choice?
By Melissa([email protected])
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.
Spoilers: Through Chosen.
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. It's partially inspired by MadRog's great WIP, Memory Redux. So go read it on the Crypt(http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/crypt.htm#redux) if you get a chance.
This story wouldn't exist, in its current form, without the support and hard work of three people: Cindy, Miriam, and Mezzibelle. Cindy and Miriam gave much-needed support along the way, along with great cheerleading, and Mezzibelle whipped it into shape and removed many extraneous commas, among other much-needed changes. So if you like this story, it's due to them in large part. And for that reason, they have my overwhelming thanks.
This story will also be posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html) as I post chapters to various places.
Chapter title from Modern English's song "Melt with You." All of the chapter titles come from songs I listened to as I wrote this story.
Prologue: I'll Stop the World and Melt With You
For months after the day that her old world ended, she didn't think of him. Didn't mention his name or reflect on his loss. Didn't even dream of him.
The person she'd depended on, trusted, and loved the most at the end . . . and his face didn't even appear in her mind's eye.
Later on, after everything that happened, Buffy wondered how it had been possible. It was almost like she had completely forgotten Spike, but not exactly. More like the actions he had taken eclipsed his mere presence. The end result was the same: Angelus was sent to Hell, Glory was defeated, the Hellmouth was closed . . . just any details of his involvement, his very existence, didn't seem to matter.
As she had stared into the giant crater that sucked seven years of material possessions away from her, something else was also removed.
Every thought, every feeling, every memory concerning Spike was delicately and carefully removed. It approached a level of skill that only Dawn's appearance surpassed. The magic, the power, necessary to create such a blank state boggled her mind.
Of course, at the time it happened she didn't realize it. She stood on the edge of the crater and she knew the Hellmouth was closed, and that she was no longer just the Slayer, or one of the Chosen Two. She was one of many, one of thousands of girls endowed with the strength to defeat the forces of darkness.
Buffy stood in the sunlight, filled with hopes and dreams and wishes. And she smiled.
**
In a dimension not dissimilar to ancient Greece, the Three Fates gathered in a shady grove, performing their duties. Of course, the Fates had never been in ancient Greece; they had no care what the construct resembled. Yet they did have links to the mortal world, so the Fates had built their corner of this world to resemble the world of the first people who had any inkling of their existence. So, the Fates were attired in togas, and supped on nectar and ambrosia when they had need of it.
As they had done since the beginning of time, Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured, and Atropos cut. Each had her role to play and each was perfectly suited to it. The Fates performed their tasks calmly, peacefully. They had nearly no investment in the mortal lives they weighed; it was thought best if they remained unknowing of the consequences of the bulk of their decisions.
Very rarely were the Fates surprised. Perhaps once a millennia, an individual's thread acted in an unforeseen way. Yet it wasn't the individuals that a mortal would suspect of being different. The carpenter, or that failed artist, was not unexpected. The Fates knew, to the barest sliver of thread, the exact moment at which to cut.
But every thousand years or so, the Fates were truly surprised. And it happened on May 20, 2003, according to one mortal system of time keeping.
At the first sign of unusualness, the Fates had summoned the Powers that Be and began the usual procedures to resolve the situation. On this particular occasion, the oddity was the sudden dulling of Atropos' razor-sharp shears. She attempted several times to cut the thread at the indicated point, yet she could not. Finally sighing, she called work to a halt and beckoned to her sisters.
"Well, that tears it--metaphorically speaking. Looks like we've got this millennia's oddball."
Lachesis sighed as well. "That one was tough for me to nail down. Guess there's something working behind the scenes to keep the sucker around. Poor soul, it's been through more than its share of grief."
Clotho gazed at her spun handiwork. "It's a delicate-looking thread, but with more strength than you could possibly imagine. I had a feeling when I was spinning, you know, just like last time, with that sweet girl who gave us all that trouble in the eleventh century--remember her?"
Atropos rolled her eyes. "Sweet, she wasn't. Made things a right mess, bouncing back and forth around the known mortal world as she did. Besides, Clotho, if you remembered this feeling, why didn't you give us some kind of warning? But oh, no, it's always got to be Atropos' fault when something goes pear-shaped."
Clotho flushed and started saying, "Now wait a minute . . ." when the Powers made its appearance, moving towards them. Lachesis, like so many middle siblings the peacemaker, stepped towards the Powers. "Report on the soul whose fate is unknown even to us."
Today, the Powers had taken the form of one of their messengers, a slightly built man with dark hair. "Well, darlings," he commented in his Irish accent, "it's not one I would have expected to cause this much trouble. Or, at least, not this kind of trouble."
Atropos, never very patient, spat out, "Cease your riddles, messenger. What is the nature of this soul?"
The messenger raised his hands. "No need to get testy. Catch more flies with honey, if you know what I mean. Anyway," said the Powers, "the soul in question has answered to many names, and has seen much of both good and bad. It has had a long journey, with much suffering, and all because of love. If you want my opinion, I think the Big One is getting romantic in old age, wants to test that 'love conquers all' theory."
Clotho sighed. "How interesting! To think of living your life and suffering, all for love."
Atropos rolled her eyes again. "Well, it's not in the same league as eradicating pestilence or being a source of creative inspiration for the greatest artist ever, but if this is the soul with the contested fate, that's that. What guidance does the Powers give in this matter?"
The Powers scratched his forehead, causing his hat to ride back on his head. "I'm of two minds on this one. Part of me says the privilege of continuing its life should be granted to this soul. But the rest of me says to let the poor bastard get some rest. After the suffering I witnessed, I wouldn't wish a return to that on a dog who'd stolen my last bottle of whiskey."
"A charming image," commented Lachesis dryly. "What guidance does the Great One provide in this matter?"
The Powers grinned. "Old gal wants to send the soul back. Things were finally going all right for the poor lamb; if it hadn't been for the pesky self-sacrifice, the soul would have finally gotten its most-hoped desire: the love of one that it loved. Of course, the soul's currently cooling its jets in Limbo, but it would head on to its respective Valhalla if Grumpy Girl could have made with the click-clack snippety-snip." At that, the messenger doffed his hat to Atropos, who would have retorted with her sharp wit if the messenger hadn't continued.
"This one's a pickle, ladies, and I don't envy you the deciding of it. But I'll leave you with one further word on the matter. The newly requited love of the soul in question? That soul cries for our troublemaker, and is equally deserving of reward. So you've really got two souls, not one, in your hands." And with that, the messenger winked at Atropos and vanished out of their presence.
"I hate that being," grumbled Atropos. "Much too forward."
"I think you hate him because otherwise you'd like him," teased Clotho.
Before this argument could get started--she had seen a similar one that had raged on for a century and a half--Lachesis brought their attention back to the matter at hand. "So, we're being guilt-tripped into sending this soul back, to fulfill the air-quotes Great One's need for a new soap opera. But I object to letting any soul return to suffer, especially when it would go straight to heaven otherwise, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Your thoughts, sisters?"
"Was this soul last in a male or female body? Because if it was a guy, I say send him back. Heaven doesn't need another corner full of Playmates and beer cans," asked Atropos tartly.
"Oh, Atropos, you're getting so bitter. Why can't we let it stay? A heavenly reward would be only fitting."
"And you're getting too sweet, Clotho. Thank goodness we have Lachesis to balance things out," Atropos said.
Lachesis nearly threw up her hands and howled. Why did she get stuck making all the decisions? She never even got the funny lines, either.
"All right, all right. Give me a minute," she told her squabbling sisters. She moved away, to her favorite part of the grove, and stared into the shimmering waters of the small stream that cut through this spot. Lachesis closed her eyes, and concentrated.
And when she opened her eyes, she had the answer.
"I propose a compromise. Send the soul back, but with memories erased but personality intact. The soul will return to a comparable moment in the life it was removed from, but with a different life to inform its choices. We shall have to see if the pull between the two souls is great enough to allow them to re-connect without our intervention. Agreed?"
Atropos nodded, her arms folded across her chest. Clotho clasped her hands in front of her face with a dreamy smile before saying, "Perfect!" And as Lachesis re-measured the disputed thread, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction.
It was the perfect solution.
End, Prologue
By Melissa([email protected])
Rating: PG-13 mostly, with one NC-17 epilogue.
Spoilers: Through Chosen.
Author's Note: Spike/Buffy, but only kinda. This story is a bit odd. It's partially inspired by MadRog's great WIP, Memory Redux. So go read it on the Crypt(http://home.att.net/~lubakmetyk/crypt.htm#redux) if you get a chance.
This story wouldn't exist, in its current form, without the support and hard work of three people: Cindy, Miriam, and Mezzibelle. Cindy and Miriam gave much-needed support along the way, along with great cheerleading, and Mezzibelle whipped it into shape and removed many extraneous commas, among other much-needed changes. So if you like this story, it's due to them in large part. And for that reason, they have my overwhelming thanks.
This story will also be posted on my website(http://lostinwonderland.org/buffy/fanfic.html) as I post chapters to various places.
Chapter title from Modern English's song "Melt with You." All of the chapter titles come from songs I listened to as I wrote this story.
Prologue: I'll Stop the World and Melt With You
For months after the day that her old world ended, she didn't think of him. Didn't mention his name or reflect on his loss. Didn't even dream of him.
The person she'd depended on, trusted, and loved the most at the end . . . and his face didn't even appear in her mind's eye.
Later on, after everything that happened, Buffy wondered how it had been possible. It was almost like she had completely forgotten Spike, but not exactly. More like the actions he had taken eclipsed his mere presence. The end result was the same: Angelus was sent to Hell, Glory was defeated, the Hellmouth was closed . . . just any details of his involvement, his very existence, didn't seem to matter.
As she had stared into the giant crater that sucked seven years of material possessions away from her, something else was also removed.
Every thought, every feeling, every memory concerning Spike was delicately and carefully removed. It approached a level of skill that only Dawn's appearance surpassed. The magic, the power, necessary to create such a blank state boggled her mind.
Of course, at the time it happened she didn't realize it. She stood on the edge of the crater and she knew the Hellmouth was closed, and that she was no longer just the Slayer, or one of the Chosen Two. She was one of many, one of thousands of girls endowed with the strength to defeat the forces of darkness.
Buffy stood in the sunlight, filled with hopes and dreams and wishes. And she smiled.
**
In a dimension not dissimilar to ancient Greece, the Three Fates gathered in a shady grove, performing their duties. Of course, the Fates had never been in ancient Greece; they had no care what the construct resembled. Yet they did have links to the mortal world, so the Fates had built their corner of this world to resemble the world of the first people who had any inkling of their existence. So, the Fates were attired in togas, and supped on nectar and ambrosia when they had need of it.
As they had done since the beginning of time, Clotho spun the thread of life, Lachesis measured, and Atropos cut. Each had her role to play and each was perfectly suited to it. The Fates performed their tasks calmly, peacefully. They had nearly no investment in the mortal lives they weighed; it was thought best if they remained unknowing of the consequences of the bulk of their decisions.
Very rarely were the Fates surprised. Perhaps once a millennia, an individual's thread acted in an unforeseen way. Yet it wasn't the individuals that a mortal would suspect of being different. The carpenter, or that failed artist, was not unexpected. The Fates knew, to the barest sliver of thread, the exact moment at which to cut.
But every thousand years or so, the Fates were truly surprised. And it happened on May 20, 2003, according to one mortal system of time keeping.
At the first sign of unusualness, the Fates had summoned the Powers that Be and began the usual procedures to resolve the situation. On this particular occasion, the oddity was the sudden dulling of Atropos' razor-sharp shears. She attempted several times to cut the thread at the indicated point, yet she could not. Finally sighing, she called work to a halt and beckoned to her sisters.
"Well, that tears it--metaphorically speaking. Looks like we've got this millennia's oddball."
Lachesis sighed as well. "That one was tough for me to nail down. Guess there's something working behind the scenes to keep the sucker around. Poor soul, it's been through more than its share of grief."
Clotho gazed at her spun handiwork. "It's a delicate-looking thread, but with more strength than you could possibly imagine. I had a feeling when I was spinning, you know, just like last time, with that sweet girl who gave us all that trouble in the eleventh century--remember her?"
Atropos rolled her eyes. "Sweet, she wasn't. Made things a right mess, bouncing back and forth around the known mortal world as she did. Besides, Clotho, if you remembered this feeling, why didn't you give us some kind of warning? But oh, no, it's always got to be Atropos' fault when something goes pear-shaped."
Clotho flushed and started saying, "Now wait a minute . . ." when the Powers made its appearance, moving towards them. Lachesis, like so many middle siblings the peacemaker, stepped towards the Powers. "Report on the soul whose fate is unknown even to us."
Today, the Powers had taken the form of one of their messengers, a slightly built man with dark hair. "Well, darlings," he commented in his Irish accent, "it's not one I would have expected to cause this much trouble. Or, at least, not this kind of trouble."
Atropos, never very patient, spat out, "Cease your riddles, messenger. What is the nature of this soul?"
The messenger raised his hands. "No need to get testy. Catch more flies with honey, if you know what I mean. Anyway," said the Powers, "the soul in question has answered to many names, and has seen much of both good and bad. It has had a long journey, with much suffering, and all because of love. If you want my opinion, I think the Big One is getting romantic in old age, wants to test that 'love conquers all' theory."
Clotho sighed. "How interesting! To think of living your life and suffering, all for love."
Atropos rolled her eyes again. "Well, it's not in the same league as eradicating pestilence or being a source of creative inspiration for the greatest artist ever, but if this is the soul with the contested fate, that's that. What guidance does the Powers give in this matter?"
The Powers scratched his forehead, causing his hat to ride back on his head. "I'm of two minds on this one. Part of me says the privilege of continuing its life should be granted to this soul. But the rest of me says to let the poor bastard get some rest. After the suffering I witnessed, I wouldn't wish a return to that on a dog who'd stolen my last bottle of whiskey."
"A charming image," commented Lachesis dryly. "What guidance does the Great One provide in this matter?"
The Powers grinned. "Old gal wants to send the soul back. Things were finally going all right for the poor lamb; if it hadn't been for the pesky self-sacrifice, the soul would have finally gotten its most-hoped desire: the love of one that it loved. Of course, the soul's currently cooling its jets in Limbo, but it would head on to its respective Valhalla if Grumpy Girl could have made with the click-clack snippety-snip." At that, the messenger doffed his hat to Atropos, who would have retorted with her sharp wit if the messenger hadn't continued.
"This one's a pickle, ladies, and I don't envy you the deciding of it. But I'll leave you with one further word on the matter. The newly requited love of the soul in question? That soul cries for our troublemaker, and is equally deserving of reward. So you've really got two souls, not one, in your hands." And with that, the messenger winked at Atropos and vanished out of their presence.
"I hate that being," grumbled Atropos. "Much too forward."
"I think you hate him because otherwise you'd like him," teased Clotho.
Before this argument could get started--she had seen a similar one that had raged on for a century and a half--Lachesis brought their attention back to the matter at hand. "So, we're being guilt-tripped into sending this soul back, to fulfill the air-quotes Great One's need for a new soap opera. But I object to letting any soul return to suffer, especially when it would go straight to heaven otherwise, do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Your thoughts, sisters?"
"Was this soul last in a male or female body? Because if it was a guy, I say send him back. Heaven doesn't need another corner full of Playmates and beer cans," asked Atropos tartly.
"Oh, Atropos, you're getting so bitter. Why can't we let it stay? A heavenly reward would be only fitting."
"And you're getting too sweet, Clotho. Thank goodness we have Lachesis to balance things out," Atropos said.
Lachesis nearly threw up her hands and howled. Why did she get stuck making all the decisions? She never even got the funny lines, either.
"All right, all right. Give me a minute," she told her squabbling sisters. She moved away, to her favorite part of the grove, and stared into the shimmering waters of the small stream that cut through this spot. Lachesis closed her eyes, and concentrated.
And when she opened her eyes, she had the answer.
"I propose a compromise. Send the soul back, but with memories erased but personality intact. The soul will return to a comparable moment in the life it was removed from, but with a different life to inform its choices. We shall have to see if the pull between the two souls is great enough to allow them to re-connect without our intervention. Agreed?"
Atropos nodded, her arms folded across her chest. Clotho clasped her hands in front of her face with a dreamy smile before saying, "Perfect!" And as Lachesis re-measured the disputed thread, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction.
It was the perfect solution.
End, Prologue