AtS Fic: In Search of Valhalla
Jan. 25th, 2005 11:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
out_thereTitle: In Search of Valhalla
Fandom: Angel the Series
Pairing: Spike/Angel (if you squint)
Summary: "I think I've been sent to the wrong heaven."
Spoilers: Contextual spoilers for the series finale.
Disclaimer: They're both Whedon's.
Notes: Written just after the last episode screened, because I needed a pseudo-happy ending. Beta'd and encouraged by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
oxoniensis.
***
In Search of Valhalla
It looks like it's going to be another long day, except here there are no days. There are no nights. There is no sunshine. There is only that warm, buttery light that seems to come from everywhere, that leaves no shadows behind it.
There is time, but only in the way that time never seems to pass. It feels like treacle, all slow, sweet moments that blur into the next. No hunger, no thirst, no tiredness. There's nothing to weigh against the pure contentment, to define the overwhelming peace. Here the happiness comes without any jagged corners or ripped edges. It's smooth and constantly moving around him.
Angel is surrounded by crowds: crowds of people walking and talking and laughing, shimmering like some half-forgotten memory. Over there, there's the shine of Cordelia's smile. And there, the glint of Doyle's mischievous eyes. Behind him, he hears the burbling of Fred's laughter, the deeper ripples of Wesley's chuckles. The low rumble of Gunn's voice.
But it's the sudden curse that really catches Angel's attention.
"Bugger!"
Apparently, in Heaven, you can swear. And nobody minds.
"Bloody hell!"
Angel tracks the sound to its peroxided source, and finds Spike. Everyone else here seems to glimmer in the light. Spike gleams, like the edge of a well-sharpened blade. Really, Angel should have expected that. "Spike?"
"Angel!" Spike calls back with a grin, and quickly dives between the moving throng. He reappears in front of Angel, looking manically cheerful as he grabs Angel by both shoulders. "I've never been so pleased to see you in my entire life."
Angel raises an eyebrow.
"Or death. Or afterlife," Spike adds quickly. "Or whatever the bloody hell this place is."
Angel looks around at the smiling faces, the pure, champagne-colored light. There are no angels or wings or harps, but the crowd's moving too fast for him to be certain. "I think this is Heaven."
Spike sighs and his lips twist up into a sneer. "Never thought heaven would be like this."
Blinking, Angel looks around. "You were expecting more angels, too?"
"One of you's already too much."
Angel ignores the snide comment. "Really, I was expecting the whole thing to have more angels."
"Harps and holy choirs?" Spike asks with only a slight tinge of sarcasm. "I think religion's responsible for a lot of false advertising."
"It's a bit..." Angel trails off, as someone who looks surprisingly like Lindsey walks by. He turns around, trying to see if it was Lindsey, but he's lost amongst the masses. "Unexpected."
"Bloody boring if you ask me, mate." Spike leans back, or somehow gives the impression of leaning back without having anything around him to lean on. "No fags, no booze, no women..."
A tall redhead walks by and Angel watches Spike's head turn. "You know what I mean," Spike amends, looking like he wants to search his pockets for a packet of cigarettes.
Angel nods, because he does know. "No Buffy."
"Yeah," Spike breathes out in a sigh. "No Buffy, no fighting, no alcohol. What type of Heaven feels like the inside of a mall?"
"Buffy's Heaven?"
"Which would be fine if Buffy was here, but she's *not*," Spike says decisively and starts walking.
Angel tags along just because... there is no time here and there's nothing else to do. He has eternity to spend with his loved ones, so he can afford to spend a little time mocking Spike. "Where are you going?"
Spike's pace doesn't slow, and somehow, even without wind, even without air, Spike manages to flutter his leather coat as he goes. "I'm going to find out who runs this joint."
Angel feels his mouth twitch up into a grin. "Why?"
"Put in a formal complaint. I think I've been sent to the wrong heaven."
Spike's strides are comfortably long for Angel, a good brisk walk. "The wrong heaven?"
"I want a transfer." Spike nods to himself. "I want Valhalla. Violence, sex and lots of booze. Bring on the Valkyries."
"Spike, you're not Norse. You don't believe in Odin," Angel points out, matching Spike step for step. "You can't just decide to go to Valhalla."
Spike stops short. "This is heaven, right?" he demands, stepping closer to Angel. "Isn't it supposed to be... you know, the ideal? Perfect happiness? All that rubbish?"
"I think so."
"But the best thing about *this* place is seeing you," Spike grumbles.
"Aw, Spike," Angel says sweetly, "you haven't said that since that time in Budapest."
Spike's eyes narrow. "That was *one* time, Angel, and I hadn't seen Dru in six months. Desperate times call for desperate measures."
"I'll agree that you were desperate," Angel says with a smirk.
"Yeah," Spike hastily agrees, and then frowns. "Or no. Whichever one doesn't insult me." Angel snickers, something he hasn't done in too long.
"Anyway, that wasn't what I meant," Spike asserts crankily, more like a moody teenager than a vampire over a century old. Or an ex-vampire. Angel isn't sure what they are any more. "I meant that spending an eternity with you would eventually lead to at least one good fight."
"Do you even know who's in charge?"
"No, but I've got eternity, right?" Spike asks and Angel nods. Spike points randomly ahead of them. "I figure, I just pick a direction and keep walking. Eventually, I'll find someone who knows something."
Ensoulled or demon, on earth or in heaven, Spike's ability to plan obviously hasn't improved. It's the same persona: quick tempered, lusting for sensation, and overflowing with bravado. Or full of hot air, as Doyle once accurately described him. "That could be a long walk."
Spike shrugs, his leather jacket rustling with his shoulders. "Wanna come for a stroll?"
Angel looks around at the passing crowds, at all the people he has a million lifetimes to get to know. "Might as well." Spike grins and starts walking again. Walking beside him, Angel says, "It's a good way to see the sights."
The End
Fandom: Angel the Series
Pairing: Spike/Angel (if you squint)
Summary: "I think I've been sent to the wrong heaven."
Spoilers: Contextual spoilers for the series finale.
Disclaimer: They're both Whedon's.
Notes: Written just after the last episode screened, because I needed a pseudo-happy ending. Beta'd and encouraged by
oxoniensis.***
In Search of Valhalla
It looks like it's going to be another long day, except here there are no days. There are no nights. There is no sunshine. There is only that warm, buttery light that seems to come from everywhere, that leaves no shadows behind it.
There is time, but only in the way that time never seems to pass. It feels like treacle, all slow, sweet moments that blur into the next. No hunger, no thirst, no tiredness. There's nothing to weigh against the pure contentment, to define the overwhelming peace. Here the happiness comes without any jagged corners or ripped edges. It's smooth and constantly moving around him.
Angel is surrounded by crowds: crowds of people walking and talking and laughing, shimmering like some half-forgotten memory. Over there, there's the shine of Cordelia's smile. And there, the glint of Doyle's mischievous eyes. Behind him, he hears the burbling of Fred's laughter, the deeper ripples of Wesley's chuckles. The low rumble of Gunn's voice.
But it's the sudden curse that really catches Angel's attention.
"Bugger!"
Apparently, in Heaven, you can swear. And nobody minds.
"Bloody hell!"
Angel tracks the sound to its peroxided source, and finds Spike. Everyone else here seems to glimmer in the light. Spike gleams, like the edge of a well-sharpened blade. Really, Angel should have expected that. "Spike?"
"Angel!" Spike calls back with a grin, and quickly dives between the moving throng. He reappears in front of Angel, looking manically cheerful as he grabs Angel by both shoulders. "I've never been so pleased to see you in my entire life."
Angel raises an eyebrow.
"Or death. Or afterlife," Spike adds quickly. "Or whatever the bloody hell this place is."
Angel looks around at the smiling faces, the pure, champagne-colored light. There are no angels or wings or harps, but the crowd's moving too fast for him to be certain. "I think this is Heaven."
Spike sighs and his lips twist up into a sneer. "Never thought heaven would be like this."
Blinking, Angel looks around. "You were expecting more angels, too?"
"One of you's already too much."
Angel ignores the snide comment. "Really, I was expecting the whole thing to have more angels."
"Harps and holy choirs?" Spike asks with only a slight tinge of sarcasm. "I think religion's responsible for a lot of false advertising."
"It's a bit..." Angel trails off, as someone who looks surprisingly like Lindsey walks by. He turns around, trying to see if it was Lindsey, but he's lost amongst the masses. "Unexpected."
"Bloody boring if you ask me, mate." Spike leans back, or somehow gives the impression of leaning back without having anything around him to lean on. "No fags, no booze, no women..."
A tall redhead walks by and Angel watches Spike's head turn. "You know what I mean," Spike amends, looking like he wants to search his pockets for a packet of cigarettes.
Angel nods, because he does know. "No Buffy."
"Yeah," Spike breathes out in a sigh. "No Buffy, no fighting, no alcohol. What type of Heaven feels like the inside of a mall?"
"Buffy's Heaven?"
"Which would be fine if Buffy was here, but she's *not*," Spike says decisively and starts walking.
Angel tags along just because... there is no time here and there's nothing else to do. He has eternity to spend with his loved ones, so he can afford to spend a little time mocking Spike. "Where are you going?"
Spike's pace doesn't slow, and somehow, even without wind, even without air, Spike manages to flutter his leather coat as he goes. "I'm going to find out who runs this joint."
Angel feels his mouth twitch up into a grin. "Why?"
"Put in a formal complaint. I think I've been sent to the wrong heaven."
Spike's strides are comfortably long for Angel, a good brisk walk. "The wrong heaven?"
"I want a transfer." Spike nods to himself. "I want Valhalla. Violence, sex and lots of booze. Bring on the Valkyries."
"Spike, you're not Norse. You don't believe in Odin," Angel points out, matching Spike step for step. "You can't just decide to go to Valhalla."
Spike stops short. "This is heaven, right?" he demands, stepping closer to Angel. "Isn't it supposed to be... you know, the ideal? Perfect happiness? All that rubbish?"
"I think so."
"But the best thing about *this* place is seeing you," Spike grumbles.
"Aw, Spike," Angel says sweetly, "you haven't said that since that time in Budapest."
Spike's eyes narrow. "That was *one* time, Angel, and I hadn't seen Dru in six months. Desperate times call for desperate measures."
"I'll agree that you were desperate," Angel says with a smirk.
"Yeah," Spike hastily agrees, and then frowns. "Or no. Whichever one doesn't insult me." Angel snickers, something he hasn't done in too long.
"Anyway, that wasn't what I meant," Spike asserts crankily, more like a moody teenager than a vampire over a century old. Or an ex-vampire. Angel isn't sure what they are any more. "I meant that spending an eternity with you would eventually lead to at least one good fight."
"Do you even know who's in charge?"
"No, but I've got eternity, right?" Spike asks and Angel nods. Spike points randomly ahead of them. "I figure, I just pick a direction and keep walking. Eventually, I'll find someone who knows something."
Ensoulled or demon, on earth or in heaven, Spike's ability to plan obviously hasn't improved. It's the same persona: quick tempered, lusting for sensation, and overflowing with bravado. Or full of hot air, as Doyle once accurately described him. "That could be a long walk."
Spike shrugs, his leather jacket rustling with his shoulders. "Wanna come for a stroll?"
Angel looks around at the passing crowds, at all the people he has a million lifetimes to get to know. "Might as well." Spike grins and starts walking again. Walking beside him, Angel says, "It's a good way to see the sights."
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 01:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 01:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 02:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 02:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 08:33 am (UTC)Oh, I love it. :)
I really enjoyed this. Of course, I like Spike-and-Angel-bickering always, and you've done this well. (And yes, I think Spike would enjoy Valhalla. *g*)
no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 10:45 pm (UTC)He'd have a ball. The only thing he'd end up missing is ManU, since I'm pretty sure that Vikings would already have those little onion-flower things.
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Date: 2007-08-12 11:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-15 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-21 12:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-21 06:23 pm (UTC)