Fanfiction: Requiem
REQUIEM: REMEMBRANCE
What is the driving force behind a human being’s will to live? Is it lust? Hatred? A simple desire for self-preservation? None of the above. Subconsciously, we all desire the same thing: companionship. The company of someone we consider to be a true equal. Male or female, it doesn’t really matter; it’s somehow comforting just to know that no matter who you are, what you like to do, who you hate or love, there will undoubtedly be at least one other person who shares the same opinions, hobbies, and tastes. Odds are that you will never meet a person that fits such discriminating criteria, and yet…we still believe, and we still keep looking, searching our entire lives for true acceptance and recognition in a world full of spite and scorn. It’s why we go through the emotional turmoil time and time again, though we should know better. We should know not to be so naïve this time, know not to let our feelings take advantage of us that time. But imagine for a moment that you had found such a person: someone who could finish your sentences, understand your innermost feelings without saying a word, and always be there despite the unfavorable circumstances. Imagine that after all the previous failures in the search, the regrets, and the broken-hearted nights, that you were finally…happy. Complete. When that person came around, you could forget yourself, even if only for a few precious minutes. Now imagine that that person, your one true love, your one match in the entire world, died fighting for your personal cause. Worse than putting him or her in the path of danger, your quest to right the wrongs of the world cost a life that could never be duplicated, no matter how long and hard you searched afterwards. How would you feel? Sick? Sad? Anything and everything, a maelstrom of feelings with no outlet? You’d be hollow inside, missing the other half of yourself that made you whole. You’d question yourself incessantly, unable to escape the feeling that somehow, someway, your partner would be fine if only you’d done something differently. You’d know that every time your mind started to wander, it would remember.
Memories.
To control the flow of the mind’s recollections requires a strength and focus of will that few possess. Some can shut out the bad times, repressing the past defeats and agonies while somehow managing to cling to the better days, as if their entire lives consist of one never ending moment of happiness. However, those able to fully repress unwanted memories constitute a relatively small portion of the population, continuing on without notice of their churning subconscious thoughts while the rest of humanity struggles to forget the ghosts of the mind.
Buffy Anne Summers was part of the latter category.
Her life had been a story of loss, and though she shouldn’t have been surprised when things turned out poorly once more, she couldn’t seem to alleviate the pain that kept washing over her. Physical pain could be dealt with; emotional pain was something else entirely, a creature that couldn’t be easily controlled or drowned out. It was driving her insane. She knew that feeling this way was somewhat selfish, especially since so many others had been lost in the final battle against The First Evil. But Spike was…different. Spike could have prevented his own demise, and yet he had chosen to sacrifice himself to save Buffy and everyone else.
I want to see how it ends
Who would have known that William the Bloody, one of the most feared vampires of the last two centuries, nicknamed “Spike” for torturing his victims with railroad spikes, would ultimately journey to a different dimension to retrieve his own soul and then eventually find absolution in martyrdom? A vampire sacrificing himself in order to spare those whom he had previously despised. Like a fairytale, a story told to children to teach the lesson that people could change if only they possessed the desire to be different. To be better. To selflessly put their own safety behind that of those they cared for.
For me, Buffy thought. She sat alone in her hotel room, not having the motivation to do anything else but sit and contemplate what could have been…and what could now never be. So much had changed over the course of that single day. Looking back, it seemed more like a dream than an actual event: screams of girls getting torn to shreds by an entire undead army of Ubervamps, Anya killed while trying to protect Andrew, Spike’s sacrifice and the subsequent destruction of the entire town of Sunnydale, now just a crater in the ground, an unremarkable landmark that did little to suggest the important events that had occurred there over the past seven years. Loves, losses, high school, college, uncountable violent struggles against evils that had finally been put to rest, buried under millions of tons of rubble and dirt.
I love you
No, you don’t. But thanks for sayin’ it.
Did Buffy love Spike? Yes, though she had a hard time admitting it to herself before and even after the battle. Did Spike know it? Probably. But even in his final moment, he downplayed that which was most important to him for the sake of appearing calm and collected, not wanting to waste the short time he had left by giving himself over to his emotions. A small part of Buffy recognized this and silently thanked Spike. However, a larger part still felt empty, as if Spike had constituted a part of her physical self, a place in her heart without which she turned lifeless, a husk of who she used to be.
“Hey,” Willow quietly said, as she opened the door and walked into the room, closing it behind her. Since things had changed, Buffy treasured her best friend more than ever. If one person had steadfastly stuck by Buffy through all the struggles, fights, and heartaches, it was Willow. And now here she was, Willow, hair red as ever, clothed a simple, somber ensemble of dark hues. Hey eyes took on a concerned look. “Are you feeling any better?”
“A little,” Buffy replied as Willow sat down next to her on the bed. She just stared at the ground, playing absently with her hands in her lap. “I mean, I want to feel better. I just…I just need some time to think things through, you know? So much is different now.”
“You’re telling me,” said Willow, her voice becoming slightly more animated as she tried her best to cheer the Slayer up. “All the potential Slayers now have the same strength as you and Faith, the Hellmouth is closed, no more Sunnydale, we’re living in a hotel, we have-“
“Information overload, Will. I know what’s different.” Buffy finally brought her head up and met her friend’s gaze. “At first it seemed like things would be simpler, but I’m beginning to think that things have become more complicated. My mind just can’t wrap itself around the fact that…that Spike’s gone for good.”
“He did it for you, Buffy,” the Wicca responded. “That’s what he wanted in the end: to save you.”
“Am I worth it?”
“What?”
“Do you think that I’m more deserving of life than Spike? Did he make the right choice?” Buffy asked, shaking her head. “I feel like maybe he could’ve done more good in the future than I will. That he wasted himself.”
Willow moved closer, until she was right beside Buffy. “I think you’re missing the point,” she said. Buffy’s eyes flashed for a moment, but Willow wasn’t phased. “The point isn’t whether or you or Spike would do more good in the future, and it isn’t whether he made the right choice. It’s that he made his choice. It’s that he thought you were worth saving. And that’s all that matters, right?” Buffy didn’t respond. She had reverted to staring at the ground, so Willow asked again. “Right?” When Buffy looked up this time, her eyes were glistening with tears. She tried to blink them away, but they spilled down her cheeks instead, causing her to start sobbing. Willow wrapped her arms around her best friend.
She continued talking, trying to soothe Buffy as she continued to hold her. “You shouldn’t feel guilty, Buffy. It’s not a question of who’s more worthy, or of right and wrong. Spike’s last choice was to sacrifice himself so you, and us, could escape. Feeling like that choice wasn’t correct only cheapens what he did.”
“I know, I know,” Buffy mumbled, crying into Willow’s shoulder, shaking with repressed sadness. She shook as her words came out in ragged gasps. “But it’s not fair! I wasn’t ready for this!”
“You’ll always have good memories of the time you two spent together,” Willow answered, breaking the embrace and wiping Buffy’s tears away with the back of her hand. “Whenever you feel like it’s too much, like you can’t take it anymore, when you lose hope in yourself, just remember Spike.” Buffy sniffled, but didn’t allow any more tears to fall from her red-rimmed eyes. “His funny accent, the stupid things he did…just remember him, and you’ll pull through. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known, and I think that Spike felt the same way I do.”
Buffy appeared as though she were about to speak, but then she just leaned over and hugged Willow instead.
“Xander, it’s your turn.”
No answer.
“Xander…the Empire won’t wait forever, you know.”
“What? Oh, sorry.”
In the room across the hall, Xander and Andrew were engaged in a not-so-rousing game of Star Wars: The Collectible Card Game. Seated at the small table, each player faced a dazzling array of starships, droids, dark and light Force users, and infantry. Xander glanced at his cards, a motley collection of worthless items: a landspeeder, a single Rebel soldier, and one R2 droid. Andrew had laid down his cards already: a Star Destroyer, the highly-prized Darth Vader, and a newly-released card that added power to all units. Xander sighed and tossed his cards on the table.
“I give, Andrew,” he said, not really caring how the game had turned out. Other things were on his mind. “You win.”
Andrew summoned his most evil laugh. “The Empire and the dark side triumph again! Do you hear the lamentations of the women? Do you?” When he noticed that Xander was blankly turned towards the window, Andrew dropped the voice. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Xander said, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. “Good game.”
Not one to give up so easily, Andrew scooted his chair closer to Xander’s so he could look out the window, too. “I don’t need the Force to figure out that something’s bothering you. Sometimes?I’ve heard that sometimes it’s better to talk it out.”
“Sometimes,” Xander responded, still only paying marginal attention to Andrew, who noted this and moved his chair once more, so that he was now sitting directly in front of the window, blocking Xander’s view of the outside world. “You’re in front of the window. Clever.”
“Just pay attention for a sec, okay?” Andrew asked, the late afternoon sun silhouetting him against the window. “I know I’m not the most obvious choice for your trust, but I want to help, if you let me. Bottling up emotions doesn’t do anything but make the downward spiral steeper.”
“So Confucius says,” said Xander, sighing and giving in to Andrew’s request. “I was thinking about Anya again-and from the look on your face, I guess you knew that-but Anya’s been such a constant in my life, you know? Something to rely upon, even if relying on her wasn’t always the smartest of choices. I remember this one time, I wanted her to come to a Halloween party with me, and she showed up in that ridiculous bunny suit. You’ve seen it. It’s atrocious. But that’s just the way she was: full of good intentions, even if they came out a little skewed sometimes. And I loved her for being like that. Now I don’t know if I’ll ever have that again, and it scares me, Andrew.”
“Being alone is never easy,” Andrew began, “but everyone goes through it. Comfort in companionship isn’t guaranteed, and it isn’t even likely from what I’ve seen. It might not occur to most people, but what defines you is how you deal with those periods where you have no one but yourself. When everything else is stripped away, what’s left? You. It’s like the Jedi credo: no family, no marriage, no children. No emotion. Surviving day by day simply by using your own talents; relying on yourself instead of depending on others. So what will you do when you’re all you’ve got, Xander Harris?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know if I can answer that yet.” Xander was a whirl of feelings, and most of them just made him more depressed. Anya had died saving Andrew’s life. That was her last act. And Andrew was actually starting to make sense, something that was almost as worrying as losing Anya. The Empire’s greatest advocate continued onward with his train of thought.
“Just the fact that you can admit that is a start. I can understand why you feel down. Not like you lost an entire planet like Alderaan or anything, but still, from the little time I spent with her, Anya really seemed like a special girl. And I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. Loss is just…a part of life. And like I said, it’s how you deal with loss and loneliness that makes you who you are. I think you can pull through this. I think Anya would’ve wanted you to pull through this.”
Xander met Andrew’s unflinchingly sincere eyes and knew that he spoke the truth. True, Anya was gone, and she held a place in Xander’s heart that could never be touched. But feeling sorry for himself would only make his situation worse. At least he could say that he had had the opportunity to be Anya’s best friend for nearly four years, four years filled with memories that no one could ever take away. The tangible could be stolen, as Anya was. But he would always be able to remember her, and through that, she would be kept alive. In his mind. In his heart. A flame that could never be extinguished.
“Andrew,” Xander said, standing up and extending his hand, “thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”
Andrew took Xander’s hand in his own and shook it. “No problem,” he said, releasing Xander’s hand and looking back towards the card game, lying disheveled on the table. “You up for a rematch, Rebel scum?”
Xander smiled, and then his smile broke into a laugh.
“You’re on, Sith spawn!”