Adult-FanFiction.org : Buffy

The Violence of Existing	By : Maren Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Het - Male/Female > Angel(us)/Buffy > Angel(us)/Buffy Views: 3496 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own AtS or BtVS. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Email: marenfic@yahoo.com

Live Journal: http://www.livejournal.com/users/marenfic

Summary: This fic takes off after Buffy is
brought back to life in Bargaining (Season 6).
Events of Season 6 BtVS won�t happen, but AtS Season 3 will occur as
they did until Connor is kidnapped. From
there, events diverge a little, although I�ll be retaining some elements. Most importantly, baby Connor never comes
back as angry teen Connor�he is lost to Angel for good. I archived it in Angel because other than
Buffy (who admittedly is the main character) I�ll be working with all Angel
characters.

Disclaimer: I don�t own any of these characters.

Pairings: B/?; references to A/C, will eventually be B/A but you�ll have to work
for it.

Rating: Some parts R
for language, some parts NC-17 for sexual situations

Warning: This fic is
pretty dark. There will be some light
BDSM themes with consensual sex, and there will be character death. Read at your own risk.

Feedback: Please!!!

A/N: Italics
generally indicate direct thoughts of characters unless they indicate
emphasis�it should be easy to tell which is which.

Also, for those of you who are interested, I�m not
abandoning Reprise Revised. I�m going to
work on it this weekend and try to get a another chapter or 3 up for your
reading pleasure or torment, depending on how much you like what I�m doing.

********************************************************************

Hurts.
So bright, so loud, so hard. No,
please. No.

Those were the words that made up the woman�s first coherent
thoughts after her soul was shoved back into her body, after the magic had
repaired and reanimated her rotting flesh, after she frantically dug her way
out of the box that held her trapped under several feet of earth. Those were the first words that entered her
mind after she tried to make out the shifting, hazy forms that swam in her
not-yet-working vision, after she struggled to make sense of the riotous sounds
that were pounding into her newly awakened ears, after she started trying to
breath through her mouth so that she wouldn�t have to breath in the acrid smell
of the burning town. Those were the
first words that invaded her fuzzy consciousness after she mindlessly, almost
effortlessly, fought the demons who had cornered her in the alley.

Those were the first words that shoved their way into the
woman�s head, pounding and unrelenting, as she crouched against the brick wall,
four strangely familiar faces peering at her as though she were some circus
attraction.

With a cry that sounded like that of a wounded animal, the
woman pulled herself up off of the ground and pushed past the people who were
crowding her, suffocating her.

NopleaseNo. Hurts.
Have to run. Have to hide.

Those were the second set of words that were spoken by the
broken, raw voice in her head. An instant
later she was throwing one leg over the seat of a dead demon�s motorcycle and
kicking it into gear. The sound of the
roaring engine and the sensations of the rumbling bike under her were nearly
painful in their intensity, but she preferred the discomfort they offered to
the bracing, harsh reality staring at her from the eyes of those people who
kept calling her �Buffy�.

**********

Three days later, Buffy found herself shivering in the
shadows in an alley across the street from her father�s apartment in L.A. She was cold, tired, and ravenously hungry,
but she couldn�t make herself approach the glass double-doors that would lead
into the warm, safe interior of the building.

Her memories had started coming back two days ago. She had fled the loud, burning town on the
stolen motorcycle without knowing who she was, where she was (other than hell),
or where she was going. She had gotten
about an hour out of town before stopping at the side of the road and pulling
into a small wooded area. It was quieter
there, no people, and she wanted to rest but she couldn�t. No matter how tightly she closed her eyes,
she couldn�t stop the memories from flooding in and they were harsh and painful
and full of blood and death.

Those memories haunted her now as she stood in shoes with
broken heels, her burial dress torn and bloody.
As much as she was in desperate need of food and sleep, she couldn�t
take those final steps. She couldn�t go
to her father in his safe, normal upscale apartment in L.A.
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The Violence of Existing