BLUE SUN ROOM FAN FICTION - ADVENTURE

KHAMBILO

Crossing Over
Saturday, June 6, 2009

Firefly/Buffy Crossover Fic - Set between Seasons 5 and 6 of Buffy, Buffy is given a new charge, and the crew of Serenity gains another member. This is the intro to a series.


CATEGORY: FICTION    TIMES READ: 2660    RATING: 8    SERIES: FIREFLY

“Wake up,” was the first thing I heard. The voice was full and rich, kinda like warm-chocolate-melting rich, but I suppose that makes it sound like it was a ‘70s PSA narrator, so ix-nay on the chocolate metaphor and let it suffice to say that the voice was….full…and rich.

But the first thing I saw was a bit more difficult to explain. You know how the movies show the afterlife as a big white glowing room? Well, that’s not really much of an exaggeration.

And I guess that’s when I put two and two together and realized I was dead.

I was dead. Wow.

Being dead was strangely nothing new to me. After all there was that whole incident with the Master, but I was really only dead for a minute or two, and I suppose that really didn’t qualify me to get a glimpse of the afterlife.

I tried to remember how I got here. I remembered Dawn, Giles, and the others. I remembered the vortex of colliding dimensions.

Glory.

That’s when everything came back to me. I remember what the first Slayer had told me: that “death was my gift,” and wherever I was, was…. what you get for giving gifts.

“Hello Buffy,” the voice said again. That’s when I became aware that I still had a body, not some floating spirit thingy. I was lying on the “floor” of the white room, I guess asleep, since the voice had just told me to wake up.

“Uh, hi,” I finally responded, to no one (well there was no one I could see). Stood and took a good look around: white, 360 degrees.

“I’m dead,” I said after I took in my surroundings. Then came then came the part I was dreading the most. “Am I in heaven,” I asked the voice hesitantly.

The voice chuckled before answering: “No.”

Ouch. A lifetime of slaying vamps and bagging demons, and not of my own choosing isn’t enough….yet this soft white room didn’t feel like hell. If it were hell, I would probably be locked in a room with Principal Snyder while I perpetually took the SATs. Still I was afraid to ask.

“Rest assured you’re not in hell either,” the voice said. I think I might have deflated, the way I had been holding my breath.

My eyes shifted from corner to corner, an attempt to find the source of the voice, “Then where am I?”

“Where is not applicable,” the voice said dismissively. “Buffy Summers, you have been chosen”

“I’ve heard that one before,” I grimaced.

“We require your assistance,” the voice intoned, “on a matter of your particular calling.”

“Don’t you afterlife types have any respect for the phrase ‘rest in peace’,” I asked.

“’Rest in peace’ is also not applicable,” the voice responded quizzically. “It is not your time to ‘rest’ yet.” “Great. Just what I wanted to hear,” I stated. “Let me ask: how many times must I die before I can ‘rest in peace’.”

“We require your assistance, Buffy Summers,” the voice intoned once more. I could see that this was going nowhere fast.

I sighed, “What do you need me to do.”

It was silent for a moment. I felt alone, as if the voice had left me, but as quickly as it left, it returned, speaking with a renewed fervor. “Then you are ready,” it said. “Ready, what am I ‘ready’ for,” I asked. “What’s this big spooky mission?”

The voice softly laughed. “You’ll know. When the time comes, you’ll know.” Oh, the enigma.

“But, until that time comes,” the voice continued, “ you may find your…mind lacking.”

That didn’t sound so good, “Lacking? What the --”

“Goodbye, Buffy Summers,” it cut me off.

At that moment I felt the strangest sensation, like the pinch of a thousand tiny hooks in my gut, pulling me downward. That would be that last I would see of this afterlife. Another whirlwind adventure for Buffy Summers. ***

Malcolm Reynolds would be the first to admit he had good days and bad days, with an overabundance of the latter and a considerable dearth of the former. Today happened to fall into the latter category, as most days did. It began with a set of extra-noisy sirens blaring, waking him from the few hours of sleep he had collected. As it turns out, Serenity seems to go through compression coils like Jayne go through grenades. Luckily, Kaylee had caught it before things got bad, and was able to keep the ship limping. And it just so happened that they were limping past Persephone, dropping them right in Badger’s lap, who subsequently bullied him to an undesirable cargo transport job.

Badger had his men promptly load crates of cargo onto Serenity as soon as they set down at Eavesdown Docks. Mal was not usually keen on the prospect of knowing what he was smuggling; a integral part of being in Mal’s line of work, but Badger had pulled fast ones on him before. The entire crew had gathered around when they saw Mal lugging a crate to the center of the bay and fidgeting with the latch.

“Sure that’s a good idea, sir,” Zoe asked.

“Fairly certain it ain’t,” Mal responded, “but I’m not particularly keen on getting played by Badger…again.”

“Good point,” Wash responded for Zoe, then without skipping a beat he added, “What’s inside?”

“Dunno,” Mal answered.

“Oh this is just like Christmas,” Kaylee chimed excitedly. “Now all’s we need is a tree, some lights, maybe some garland.”

“Mistletoe,” River added vacantly while staring at Simon.

The doors to Inara’s shuttle opened above them all. The companion made her way to the railing immediately. “Bit early for Christmas,” Inara said with a smile, “What’s going on?”

“Cargo,” Jayne grunted.

“Oh. Of the not wobbly-headed geisha doll kind,” Inara responded with an arched eyebrow. “No,” Mal said with smirk, “As it turns out, we’re doing some honest smuggling of the—“

Mal waited a moment to finish that sentence as he kicked the lid of the crate off. Everyone immediately crooned in.

Jayne was the first to speak. “Merry Christmas,” he said, like every last trace of air had been sucked from his lungs.

Inside the crate was a girl. Well a woman: blond hair, shoulder length, and she was naked, curled modestly into a fetal position.

The entire bay was silent, until Wash scratched his head.

“I’m sorry,” He spoke up. “Is anyone else here feeling déjà vu here?”

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