Entry tags:
Fic: Divided Destiny. Chapter 22
First chapter & notes here (on LJ), for DW just follow the tags, and Master post of whole 'verse here (also tagged on DW).
Can also be found on AO3.
Last time I somehow forgot to post a link to this vid: Ghost of the Rose. It's old, so the quality isn't great, but it's still incredible, and a pretty perfect encapsulation of Spike's state of mind.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): 4400 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
kathyh
Chapter 22
Angel knew he should let go of Spike, but instead he tightened his hold, Spike seeming to lean into the embrace, rather than straining against it.
‘He’s the only one I have left’, Angel realised. His whole vampire family dust and ashes, their deaths imprinted on his mind, impossible to purge.
Why did Wolfram & Hart always do this? Why did they use his family against him? Why did he have to watch, and remember?
He let his face fall down against Spike’s neck (scent, blood, it called to them both) and felt the other go motionless in his arms.
He could have this. Right here, right now, he knew this was his. A bond deeper than any other, he knew Spike would yield, just like he had yielded to Dru. Knew Spike’s weak points better than his own (knew exactly why Buffy loved him…) Knew that this would be added to their long list of secrets, never spoken of, only theirs.
(We’re all demons underneath. He could feel the tug, the urge to reclaim and reseal their bond, blood calling to blood.)
For the infinity of a non-existent heartbeat he hesitated, a single push enough to send him over the edge — then he stepped back, both literally and metaphorically, feeling more worn out than he had in months.
Spike swayed at having his support removed without warning, then turned, both of them ignoring the ashes blowing in the sunshine; the Key and the ring glinting invitingly at them, but of no importance in this moment…
“Angel-” Spike said, somewhere between a statement and a question, but Angel shook his head.
“Go see Buffy,” he replied curtly, taking another step backwards.
Spike watched him, eyes dark and cheeks moist with tears, then looked away and swallowed, shaking his head.
Why was he so unable to help others, Angel wondered. Why did he only bring destruction? Why was he as helpless in the face of Spike’s grief, as he had been in Dru’s pain? Why was the only comfort he could offer a betrayal of others?
He sighed, wishing he had the right words.
“Spike, listen-”
“Can’t we just go away?” Spike cut in, voice thick with emotion and briefly meeting his eyes. “Go see Venka, see how they’re getting on, just have a – a break? Away from… all this.”
He gestured towards the sunshine and death, and Angel wanted nothing more than to say yes. But he knew what it’d mean. What he’d be running from.
“Not until you’ve seen Buffy.”
A beat, then Spike slumped down against the wall in defeat, seemingly acquiescent. Or at least, no longer argumentative, remaining motionless and silent and staring into nothingness. The listlessness was another worry – Angel had noticed it growing over the past several months, but not known what to do, and still didn’t. He hoped Buffy might be able to break through.
Half an hour later Illyria showed up from goodness knew where. It was a relief to deal with someone so utterly unemotional, her only question being where in the world Buffy was likely to be.
Since Spike had to all intents and purposes gone catatonic, Angel ended up calling Giles. He didn’t want to speak to Buffy, and if he hadn’t been feeling so wretched, he’d probably have appreciated the irony of forcing Spike and Buffy to deal with the heap of issues that had now piled up. Goodness knew what this would do to their relationship, but hiding wouldn’t do any good.
(His own and Spike’s issues… well, they would just have to stay buried. They knew how to live with them. But Buffy deserved better.)
***
Buffy – still jet-lagged from her latest journey – was trying to have an afternoon nap in her small room in the Council Headquarters, when there was a knock at the door.
The room was simple – spartan, even – a bed, an armchair and a wardrobe, the latter filled with a collection of eclectic clothing, as she would switch outfits when stopping by. She kept meaning to add a personal touch, a few pictures or something, but never seemed to have the energy. And it was only a place to crash, her flat in Rome was ‘home’... nevermind the fact that she hadn’t been there in months.
Half-awake, and confused as to who it could be, she called “Come in”, only to see the door slowly open to reveal Spike.
In an instant she stumbled to her feet, wondering if maybe she was dreaming. He’d not called (in so very long) – oh god he was actually back, he was alive, he was–
She had been ready to throw herself into his arms, except something was off.
She stopped halfway across the small space between them, studying him more closely and slowly suppressing the euphoria and the instinct to wrap her arms around him.
Why was he hovering, as if embarrassed or uncertain? Why had he knocked? Why did he look…
Why did he look like that?
Superficially he seemed fine – he’d done his roots, and looked generally clean and his clothes were fresh and not full of months’ worth of accumulated dirt – and yet the look on his face was one she hadn’t seen in years. She carefully took another step forwards, renewed worry shooting through her.
“Spike, what happened?”
And still he didn’t meet her eyes. Where had they been? She’d been scared they’d been lost for good.
After a moment he finally spoke.
“Dru died.”
She took a quick breath, gratitude and relief flooding her.
“Oh thank god.”
He looked up then, his expression as if he’d been slapped.
“God had nothin’ to do with it! She–”
He stopped, pressed his lips together as he looked away, something that might be a sob escaping him.
Slowly it dawned on her that he was upset – grieving – crying over the evil bitch who-
Unbidden, she was transported back to a week ago.
A small Slayer patrol in Latvia – only three of them – had come across Drusilla. They hadn’t known who she was, and had at first thought she was a slightly simple young woman, playing with an old fashioned doll. They soon learned differently…
Lina Jansone had been the first to approach. 16 years old, newly called and kindhearted, she had wanted to warn the pretty lady that she was in a bad neighbourhood.
She hadn’t stood a chance.
The other two had been a credit to their calling and their training, nearly getting the better of Drusilla in what had by all accounts been a vicious fight – until Dru had vanished into thin air.
Buffy had come as soon as she could, had stood by Lina’s body in the morgue only a few days ago; fighting flashbacks to her mother’s death, Kendra’s murder, and her own demise at The Master’s hands. So young. So scared. And darkness closing so very quickly.
She had not been able to find any words to console the parents, except swearing that she would avenge their daughter’s death.
Deep breath, and she was back in the room, searching for words and coming up blank.
She was… thankful for the news of Dru’s death. Every Slayer group had been on high alert, every Wicca and Watcher attempting locator spells, but Dru might as well have vanished off the face off the earth. Somehow that had been more alarming than anything else. Like an evil Jack-in-the-box that could pop out anywhere.
And still she needed to say something.
“I’m sorry, but she murdered one of my girls. If you want sympathy…”
Her voice trailed off, and she lifted her hand in an empty gesture. What the hell now?
She’d thought he might be dead or lost, had missed him so much she’d felt hollow with longing, been carrying the weight of an apocalypse on her shoulders without her best friend, or her lover… It had been three months since she had last seen him – three months that had felt like years.
And now he returned just to cry over his evil bitch ex who had somehow (fortuitously) finally met a dusty end?
No explanation, not even asking how she had been…
He half-opened his mouth, hesitated, then shook his head as he swallowed painfully.
“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”
She shook her head, too disappointed and upset to be polite:
“Why did you?”
She was the very last person to offer him any kind of comfort in this scenario. Why wasn’t he in a bar somewhere drowning his sorrows? That’s what guys did, wasn’t it?
“I don’t know,” he eventually answered. “Angel made me.”
For a moment she was literally lost for words.
“I don’t understand… Anything. Where have you been, why would Angel-”
She took a step back, shaking her head. It was too much.
As if admitting defeat he sank down into the armchair, avoiding her eyes.
“I don’t know. I guess-”
He fell silent, and she took a further step back, sitting down on the bed, waiting. This was not the reunion she had expected.
“I loved her,” he finally said. “Properly loved her. I don’t know – I don’t know what to do with that. I watched her burn, and she-”
He seemed to be speaking to himself, reaching up and cradling the back of his neck, then holding her eyes.
“I let her bite me. Before that. I didn’t know she’d go for a walk in the sunshine, I just- she was-”
He let his hand fall, and for the first time she noticed the fresh bite mark… It was like a kick in the solar plexus, winding her. She knew what that meant.
“I fucked up, love, but the things she said… She saw my future, and- I’m scared.”
She also knew that look in his eyes. Knew the brutal honesty they carried which was borne out by the words that followed:
“Oh, who am I trying to kid. I’m bloody terrified. And she was there. ’S not an excuse, just a fact. She knew about pain, about suffering, about being in hell and never ever getting out… I know you only saw a monster. But she was a young girl, and Angel destroyed her, piece by piece…”
A beat, then he abruptly turned the tables.
“Do you love Angel?”
The question came out of the left field, and before she could answer, he asked a follow-up:
“Did you still love him after he lost his soul?”
“That’s not-”
“It’s exactly the same thing!”
Her jaw dropped.
“Except I didn’t go around and let him bite me out of pity!”
“He was your boyfriend for a few years. She was my life for a century. She made me!”
“I killed him.” Her voice was shaking with emotion, hands balling into fists. “I was seventeen years old and I loved him more than I thought it was possible to love another person – and I ran a sword through his chest, while you skipped out the back door with Dru. Don’t you bloody dare tell me about watching the person you love die…”
There was a moment as they quite simply stared at each other, and she wanted nothing more than to land a good punch, work it all out with fists and violence (and then sex, knowing them; angry, furious sex that could break a building), but 1) they were in the Watcher’s Council and 2) it wouldn’t actually solve anything, would it?
Not that it came to that. Instead he closed his eyes, softly shaking his head.
“Fuck Buffy, I’m such a mess,” he said, with a hopelessness that gave her pause. She hadn’t seen him like this since… Since they’d been fighting The First. “What the hell do you see in me? I had a sex robot made of you, Angel at least just stuck to simple torture and mind-fuckery.”
And suddenly she realised what this was – this was having a relationship with Spike. Complicated, messy, difficult. Angel withdrew, tried to do the right thing no matter the cost. But Spike – as he had once told her – followed his blood. And that led to a whole host of other problems. And they hadn’t had much time… There had been the initial week the previous September, and then that week over Christmas. In between there had been ‘dates’, and random meet-ups, Spike dropping in and out of her life, but none of the day-to-day issues that came with most relationships. And a week for her could easily be a month or two for him.
Instead they had this – the weight of their history, his bloody past sinking its claws into him, the mess of a century plus of murder and dysfunctional relationships that were impossible to untangle. And right now…
“Spike,” she said, aiming for a firmness she didn’t feel. “What happened? From the start.”
This hadn’t come out of nowhere, this was something more than just Drusilla. It had been three months for her, how long had it been for him? Slowly he started speaking, almost emotionless as he relayed returning from seemingly endless travels and finding Dru, bringing her into the hotel, caring for her, and then showing her the Dead Key:
“She saw the future… and she was terrified. I may… not quite have dreamed about the house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, but I thought, y’know, maybe… maybe it’d turn out alright, big shiny prophecy and all that. But she just screamed… I thought she’d never stop. And it’s not like I’m doing this just for a reward, but eternal torment is not really something one looks forward to…”
He wasn’t looking at her anymore, eyes haunted.
“Back when I was first a ghost, I’d… ‘disappear’. No warning, but suddenly the world would fade away and all there’d be was pain. And I never knew if I’d be able to get back. But the worst thing… I was alone. Forever. And the rest of the time I just lived in fear. Could almost feel the flames licking around my feet. I’ve tried to forget it, but…”
His head fell down as he studied his hands, voice now almost a whisper, as if quoting something.
“The soul that blesses you... damns you to suffer… forever.”
Buffy swallowed, unsure what to do or say. She’d wanted to know, but this… At least she now understood why he had never talked about it.
A sudden bittersweet smile then flashed across his face, as he finally caught her eyes again.
“Angel had it right. Told me the prophecy was bull; that he never escaped from hell, all he got was a reprieve. Guess I’ve just been an idiot for hoping otherwise.”
“Spike-”
He shook his head.
“Nothin’ you can do love. I really am going to burn. Just like her.”
What he would have said next she never found out, as there was a soft knock on the door, and Willow apologetically stuck her head in through the narrow opening she had created.
“Hey Buffy, you awake? I heard voices…”
A beat, as she registered Spike’s presence then did an awkward little wave.
“Um, hi Spike. I, um, I’ll just be going, sorry to interrupt…”
She swiftly closed the door, leaving Spike to stare at it dumbly.
“Hang on…”
Turning to Buffy, his eyes were all questions.
“That was Willow. But she was missing, like missing missing. How…?”
She quirked an eyebrow, trying to aim for light hearted, despite wishing to yell. He’d never even asked.
“Not been keeping track? The apocalypse was in November. It’s January now.”
“Oh.”
(‘You missed the apocalypse, Christmas, everything!’ she wanted to say, but this was not the time. The whole Dru and ‘I-am-going-to-burn’ issues were higher on the agenda.)
But he didn’t pick up on what he’d been talking about before, instead seeming to gather himself and actually looking at her for the first time.
“I think we promised to help…”
His voice trailed off, eyes suddenly narrowing: “Huhn. Knew they were up to something, but should have figured it out. As bad as each other, those two.”
“I’m sorry?” she asked, feeling the conversation was disappearing away from her, and he shook his head.
“Nevermind. Glad the world is still here. Was it… bad?”
She shrugged. Bad was relative.
“It all worked out. After a fashion…”
Noticing the way her voice trailed off, he leaned forward.
“Buffy? What happened?”
“Well, there were some mistranslations. And Willow…” She bit her lip, wondering how to explain, then sighed.
“It’s easier if I show you.”
Chapter 23 on LJ
Chapter 23 on DW
Can also be found on AO3.
Last time I somehow forgot to post a link to this vid: Ghost of the Rose. It's old, so the quality isn't great, but it's still incredible, and a pretty perfect encapsulation of Spike's state of mind.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Rating: Teen. (Same warnings as the show basically.)
Characters: Spike, Angel, Illyria, Buffy, Scoobies + cameos from more or less everyone in the 'verse.
Main Ships: Spike/Buffy, Angel/Nina
Feedback: Is bloody ambrosia! (The secret ingredient is otter...)
Word count (this chapter): 4400 words
Setting and Summary: As before. (Post-NFA epic quest thing.)
Beta: The ever wonderful
kathyhAngel knew he should let go of Spike, but instead he tightened his hold, Spike seeming to lean into the embrace, rather than straining against it.
‘He’s the only one I have left’, Angel realised. His whole vampire family dust and ashes, their deaths imprinted on his mind, impossible to purge.
Why did Wolfram & Hart always do this? Why did they use his family against him? Why did he have to watch, and remember?
He let his face fall down against Spike’s neck (scent, blood, it called to them both) and felt the other go motionless in his arms.
He could have this. Right here, right now, he knew this was his. A bond deeper than any other, he knew Spike would yield, just like he had yielded to Dru. Knew Spike’s weak points better than his own (knew exactly why Buffy loved him…) Knew that this would be added to their long list of secrets, never spoken of, only theirs.
(We’re all demons underneath. He could feel the tug, the urge to reclaim and reseal their bond, blood calling to blood.)
For the infinity of a non-existent heartbeat he hesitated, a single push enough to send him over the edge — then he stepped back, both literally and metaphorically, feeling more worn out than he had in months.
Spike swayed at having his support removed without warning, then turned, both of them ignoring the ashes blowing in the sunshine; the Key and the ring glinting invitingly at them, but of no importance in this moment…
“Angel-” Spike said, somewhere between a statement and a question, but Angel shook his head.
“Go see Buffy,” he replied curtly, taking another step backwards.
Spike watched him, eyes dark and cheeks moist with tears, then looked away and swallowed, shaking his head.
Why was he so unable to help others, Angel wondered. Why did he only bring destruction? Why was he as helpless in the face of Spike’s grief, as he had been in Dru’s pain? Why was the only comfort he could offer a betrayal of others?
He sighed, wishing he had the right words.
“Spike, listen-”
“Can’t we just go away?” Spike cut in, voice thick with emotion and briefly meeting his eyes. “Go see Venka, see how they’re getting on, just have a – a break? Away from… all this.”
He gestured towards the sunshine and death, and Angel wanted nothing more than to say yes. But he knew what it’d mean. What he’d be running from.
“Not until you’ve seen Buffy.”
A beat, then Spike slumped down against the wall in defeat, seemingly acquiescent. Or at least, no longer argumentative, remaining motionless and silent and staring into nothingness. The listlessness was another worry – Angel had noticed it growing over the past several months, but not known what to do, and still didn’t. He hoped Buffy might be able to break through.
Half an hour later Illyria showed up from goodness knew where. It was a relief to deal with someone so utterly unemotional, her only question being where in the world Buffy was likely to be.
Since Spike had to all intents and purposes gone catatonic, Angel ended up calling Giles. He didn’t want to speak to Buffy, and if he hadn’t been feeling so wretched, he’d probably have appreciated the irony of forcing Spike and Buffy to deal with the heap of issues that had now piled up. Goodness knew what this would do to their relationship, but hiding wouldn’t do any good.
(His own and Spike’s issues… well, they would just have to stay buried. They knew how to live with them. But Buffy deserved better.)
Buffy – still jet-lagged from her latest journey – was trying to have an afternoon nap in her small room in the Council Headquarters, when there was a knock at the door.
The room was simple – spartan, even – a bed, an armchair and a wardrobe, the latter filled with a collection of eclectic clothing, as she would switch outfits when stopping by. She kept meaning to add a personal touch, a few pictures or something, but never seemed to have the energy. And it was only a place to crash, her flat in Rome was ‘home’... nevermind the fact that she hadn’t been there in months.
Half-awake, and confused as to who it could be, she called “Come in”, only to see the door slowly open to reveal Spike.
In an instant she stumbled to her feet, wondering if maybe she was dreaming. He’d not called (in so very long) – oh god he was actually back, he was alive, he was–
She had been ready to throw herself into his arms, except something was off.
She stopped halfway across the small space between them, studying him more closely and slowly suppressing the euphoria and the instinct to wrap her arms around him.
Why was he hovering, as if embarrassed or uncertain? Why had he knocked? Why did he look…
Why did he look like that?
Superficially he seemed fine – he’d done his roots, and looked generally clean and his clothes were fresh and not full of months’ worth of accumulated dirt – and yet the look on his face was one she hadn’t seen in years. She carefully took another step forwards, renewed worry shooting through her.
“Spike, what happened?”
And still he didn’t meet her eyes. Where had they been? She’d been scared they’d been lost for good.
After a moment he finally spoke.
“Dru died.”
She took a quick breath, gratitude and relief flooding her.
“Oh thank god.”
He looked up then, his expression as if he’d been slapped.
“God had nothin’ to do with it! She–”
He stopped, pressed his lips together as he looked away, something that might be a sob escaping him.
Slowly it dawned on her that he was upset – grieving – crying over the evil bitch who-
Unbidden, she was transported back to a week ago.
A small Slayer patrol in Latvia – only three of them – had come across Drusilla. They hadn’t known who she was, and had at first thought she was a slightly simple young woman, playing with an old fashioned doll. They soon learned differently…
Lina Jansone had been the first to approach. 16 years old, newly called and kindhearted, she had wanted to warn the pretty lady that she was in a bad neighbourhood.
She hadn’t stood a chance.
The other two had been a credit to their calling and their training, nearly getting the better of Drusilla in what had by all accounts been a vicious fight – until Dru had vanished into thin air.
Buffy had come as soon as she could, had stood by Lina’s body in the morgue only a few days ago; fighting flashbacks to her mother’s death, Kendra’s murder, and her own demise at The Master’s hands. So young. So scared. And darkness closing so very quickly.
She had not been able to find any words to console the parents, except swearing that she would avenge their daughter’s death.
Deep breath, and she was back in the room, searching for words and coming up blank.
She was… thankful for the news of Dru’s death. Every Slayer group had been on high alert, every Wicca and Watcher attempting locator spells, but Dru might as well have vanished off the face off the earth. Somehow that had been more alarming than anything else. Like an evil Jack-in-the-box that could pop out anywhere.
And still she needed to say something.
“I’m sorry, but she murdered one of my girls. If you want sympathy…”
Her voice trailed off, and she lifted her hand in an empty gesture. What the hell now?
She’d thought he might be dead or lost, had missed him so much she’d felt hollow with longing, been carrying the weight of an apocalypse on her shoulders without her best friend, or her lover… It had been three months since she had last seen him – three months that had felt like years.
And now he returned just to cry over his evil bitch ex who had somehow (fortuitously) finally met a dusty end?
No explanation, not even asking how she had been…
He half-opened his mouth, hesitated, then shook his head as he swallowed painfully.
“This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”
She shook her head, too disappointed and upset to be polite:
“Why did you?”
She was the very last person to offer him any kind of comfort in this scenario. Why wasn’t he in a bar somewhere drowning his sorrows? That’s what guys did, wasn’t it?
“I don’t know,” he eventually answered. “Angel made me.”
For a moment she was literally lost for words.
“I don’t understand… Anything. Where have you been, why would Angel-”
She took a step back, shaking her head. It was too much.
As if admitting defeat he sank down into the armchair, avoiding her eyes.
“I don’t know. I guess-”
He fell silent, and she took a further step back, sitting down on the bed, waiting. This was not the reunion she had expected.
“I loved her,” he finally said. “Properly loved her. I don’t know – I don’t know what to do with that. I watched her burn, and she-”
He seemed to be speaking to himself, reaching up and cradling the back of his neck, then holding her eyes.
“I let her bite me. Before that. I didn’t know she’d go for a walk in the sunshine, I just- she was-”
He let his hand fall, and for the first time she noticed the fresh bite mark… It was like a kick in the solar plexus, winding her. She knew what that meant.
“I fucked up, love, but the things she said… She saw my future, and- I’m scared.”
She also knew that look in his eyes. Knew the brutal honesty they carried which was borne out by the words that followed:
“Oh, who am I trying to kid. I’m bloody terrified. And she was there. ’S not an excuse, just a fact. She knew about pain, about suffering, about being in hell and never ever getting out… I know you only saw a monster. But she was a young girl, and Angel destroyed her, piece by piece…”
A beat, then he abruptly turned the tables.
“Do you love Angel?”
The question came out of the left field, and before she could answer, he asked a follow-up:
“Did you still love him after he lost his soul?”
“That’s not-”
“It’s exactly the same thing!”
Her jaw dropped.
“Except I didn’t go around and let him bite me out of pity!”
“He was your boyfriend for a few years. She was my life for a century. She made me!”
“I killed him.” Her voice was shaking with emotion, hands balling into fists. “I was seventeen years old and I loved him more than I thought it was possible to love another person – and I ran a sword through his chest, while you skipped out the back door with Dru. Don’t you bloody dare tell me about watching the person you love die…”
There was a moment as they quite simply stared at each other, and she wanted nothing more than to land a good punch, work it all out with fists and violence (and then sex, knowing them; angry, furious sex that could break a building), but 1) they were in the Watcher’s Council and 2) it wouldn’t actually solve anything, would it?
Not that it came to that. Instead he closed his eyes, softly shaking his head.
“Fuck Buffy, I’m such a mess,” he said, with a hopelessness that gave her pause. She hadn’t seen him like this since… Since they’d been fighting The First. “What the hell do you see in me? I had a sex robot made of you, Angel at least just stuck to simple torture and mind-fuckery.”
And suddenly she realised what this was – this was having a relationship with Spike. Complicated, messy, difficult. Angel withdrew, tried to do the right thing no matter the cost. But Spike – as he had once told her – followed his blood. And that led to a whole host of other problems. And they hadn’t had much time… There had been the initial week the previous September, and then that week over Christmas. In between there had been ‘dates’, and random meet-ups, Spike dropping in and out of her life, but none of the day-to-day issues that came with most relationships. And a week for her could easily be a month or two for him.
Instead they had this – the weight of their history, his bloody past sinking its claws into him, the mess of a century plus of murder and dysfunctional relationships that were impossible to untangle. And right now…
“Spike,” she said, aiming for a firmness she didn’t feel. “What happened? From the start.”
This hadn’t come out of nowhere, this was something more than just Drusilla. It had been three months for her, how long had it been for him? Slowly he started speaking, almost emotionless as he relayed returning from seemingly endless travels and finding Dru, bringing her into the hotel, caring for her, and then showing her the Dead Key:
“She saw the future… and she was terrified. I may… not quite have dreamed about the house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, but I thought, y’know, maybe… maybe it’d turn out alright, big shiny prophecy and all that. But she just screamed… I thought she’d never stop. And it’s not like I’m doing this just for a reward, but eternal torment is not really something one looks forward to…”
He wasn’t looking at her anymore, eyes haunted.
“Back when I was first a ghost, I’d… ‘disappear’. No warning, but suddenly the world would fade away and all there’d be was pain. And I never knew if I’d be able to get back. But the worst thing… I was alone. Forever. And the rest of the time I just lived in fear. Could almost feel the flames licking around my feet. I’ve tried to forget it, but…”
His head fell down as he studied his hands, voice now almost a whisper, as if quoting something.
“The soul that blesses you... damns you to suffer… forever.”
Buffy swallowed, unsure what to do or say. She’d wanted to know, but this… At least she now understood why he had never talked about it.
A sudden bittersweet smile then flashed across his face, as he finally caught her eyes again.
“Angel had it right. Told me the prophecy was bull; that he never escaped from hell, all he got was a reprieve. Guess I’ve just been an idiot for hoping otherwise.”
“Spike-”
He shook his head.
“Nothin’ you can do love. I really am going to burn. Just like her.”
What he would have said next she never found out, as there was a soft knock on the door, and Willow apologetically stuck her head in through the narrow opening she had created.
“Hey Buffy, you awake? I heard voices…”
A beat, as she registered Spike’s presence then did an awkward little wave.
“Um, hi Spike. I, um, I’ll just be going, sorry to interrupt…”
She swiftly closed the door, leaving Spike to stare at it dumbly.
“Hang on…”
Turning to Buffy, his eyes were all questions.
“That was Willow. But she was missing, like missing missing. How…?”
She quirked an eyebrow, trying to aim for light hearted, despite wishing to yell. He’d never even asked.
“Not been keeping track? The apocalypse was in November. It’s January now.”
“Oh.”
(‘You missed the apocalypse, Christmas, everything!’ she wanted to say, but this was not the time. The whole Dru and ‘I-am-going-to-burn’ issues were higher on the agenda.)
But he didn’t pick up on what he’d been talking about before, instead seeming to gather himself and actually looking at her for the first time.
“I think we promised to help…”
His voice trailed off, eyes suddenly narrowing: “Huhn. Knew they were up to something, but should have figured it out. As bad as each other, those two.”
“I’m sorry?” she asked, feeling the conversation was disappearing away from her, and he shook his head.
“Nevermind. Glad the world is still here. Was it… bad?”
She shrugged. Bad was relative.
“It all worked out. After a fashion…”
Noticing the way her voice trailed off, he leaned forward.
“Buffy? What happened?”
“Well, there were some mistranslations. And Willow…” She bit her lip, wondering how to explain, then sighed.
“It’s easier if I show you.”
Chapter 23 on LJ
Chapter 23 on DW
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