All About Spike - Plain Version
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Journeys
By Mary
Part of Journeys Series
Chapter Thirteen
Perhaps he just shouldn’t
patrol with Spike, Giles thought. Being subjected on a regular basis to the
wild and reckless behavior the vampire seemed to so frequently display, could
not possibly be doing anything to benefit his long term physical, mental or
emotional well being.
Tonight had been no
exception. First, there’d been that leap into the center of a group of five
angry vampires. And then, on their way back to the Magic Box, there had been
that somewhat bizarre attack by the apparently drug crazed human. He’d had a
dangerously broken bottle in his hand, and the exceedingly poor luck to try out
his mugging skills on a chipped, but always game for a fight anyway, vampire.
Giles sighed.
Spike was proving remarkably
successful at keeping the demon population of Sunnydale in check. Over the
long, sad months of summer and into autumn, the vampire had taken on a good
chunk of the physical role of the Slayer. He was a fierce fighter, and he
worked out tirelessly to be just that much faster, that much stronger. Though
he’d never again witnessed an explosion of deadly power that could quite match
what they’d seen Spike unleash against the dragons a couple of months ago,
Giles was quite pleased with his increasingly effective style. He was also impressed
by the blond’s determination to become even more adept in the use of different
fighting techniques, and the use of a growing variety of weaponry.
One could quite easily call
the vampire’s determination an obsession.
Certainly he took training a
lot more seriously than Buffy had been inclined to. And even though his
knowledge of the subject seemed to be already quite vast, Spike studied
demonology as well, something Buffy had always tried to avoid at all costs.
Giles smiled a little at his musings, even as he sighed. It hurt. It would
always hurt. It had been nearly five months now, and sometimes, not often, but
every once in a while, he could think of his beloved girl without pain, but
instead with fond remembrance. In memory, her stubbornness, her unique fire,
even her faults and quirks, all seemed equally endearing.
As it often does, time was
beginning to heal him, and most of the others as well.
The other day, Dawn had told
a funny story about a disastrous hair color experiment Buffy had tried when
they still lived in L.A. It didn’t matter that the memories were implanted.
They were real to Dawn, and so seemed just as real to the others. They had all
laughed. Dawn’s mimicry of Buffy’s horrified expression had really been quite
accurate and humorous. He’d chuckled himself.
When Xander began a story
from his own memories, Spike had slipped almost unnoticed out the back, and
Giles had realized that he often slipped away when Buffy’s name came up. He
tried to remember if he’d ever really heard Spike speak of Buffy, other than
the time he’d told him about the dreams and visions he’d been having. He
couldn’t remember for sure, but if he had, it had been a very rare occurrence.
For some reason, after just a minute or two, Giles had followed him. Spike had
been standing in the alley, leaning back against the wall, the ever-present
cigarette in his hand.
“Everything alright,
Spike?” he asked.
Spike’s expression was
remote, and he didn’t respond immediately. Instead he took a long pull on his
cigarette.
“Thought I sensed a group
hug coming on,” he said coolly. “Decided I’d best duck out before the bit
sucked me into it.”
“It’s good to hear her
talking about Buffy and remembering happier times, don’t you think?”
Spike pressed the back of
his head against the aged bricks behind him, and his eyes closed briefly,
before opening to meet his. Giles watched the muscles move in his throat.
“She needs to laugh,” The
blond said at last. “Deserves it.” He took another drag of his cigarette. “I
heard something about a nest of vamps down near the docks. Thought I’d go check
it out. Tell Dawn I’ll stop by the house later, will you?”
Giles hadn’t pressed him.
“I’ll do that. Goodnight, Spike.”
But he’d already gone,
leaving a flash of black leather, and the arching glow of a discarded cigarette
in his wake.
Even in the dim light of
the alley, Giles’ eyes picked up the gleam of something wet running down the
wall from a spot of slightly askew bricks.
He hadn’t asked Spike
about his bloodied hands.
He hadn’t needed to.
Giles pulled his mind back
to the present, rubbing the back of his neck. Grief still plagued all of them,
and he no longer tried to deny, in any way, that Spike’s grief was as genuine
as his own. He’d seen too much over the
slow summer months. Too much pain, too much sorrow. Indeed, he had no doubt
whatsoever that that vampire had loved his slayer with great depth and passion.
A love, that, had she lived, may have transformed the soulless being into
something new. Even with her gone, his love for the dead girl was acting on the
vampire in ways Giles had been taught were simply not possible.
Not for the first time,
Giles wondered if the research performed and provided by the Council of
Watchers on vampiric predestination might be flawed or perhaps incomplete. On
the other hand, perhaps Spike was just a completely unique representative of
his kind, an aberration of a sort. Giles had always rather disliked that
particular word – aberration. It too often seemed to be a polite substitute for
‘freak’.
He also mused occasionally
on just what it might have been about Buffy that had caused not just one,
but two, such notorious vampires to fall so deeply in love with her.
For them to love someone who should be their most mortal enemy, and to love her
to the point of being willing to die for her, seemed so very, very strange, so unlikely...
Giles sighed. In light of everything he had ever been taught, had ever learned
or believed, it made no sense.
He should know by now, Giles
thought, that life was always full of interesting little turns in the road.
Certainly a lot of those turns could be, should be, in how one viewed
things, how one thought, in what one believed. If one’s opinions never changed
at all from the first opinion one formed, what would be the purpose of living
and observing life? It would imply one was incapable of learning, and Giles
hoped that that could never be said of him, that he would remain a willing
student throughout his life.
Though he may be fighting
like a slayer, Spike never in any way attempted to take over Buffy’s leadership
role within the Scoobies. Giles was aware that any step the vampire might take
in that direction would not be met with acceptance by Willow or Xander, so he
thought it something of a blessing that Spike showed no interest in directing the
others. When asked, he would patrol with one or more of them, or even,
reluctantly, with the bot, but Giles knew the vampire would have preferred to
work alone.
As he always did when
continuing his unsuccessful search for Doc. He never spoke of it, but Giles
knew Spike was deeply angered by his inability to locate the little demon, and
frustrated that that piece of unfinished business remained just that –
unfinished.
As far as working with the
others, though, Spike bowed to Giles leadership, and even went along with
Willow’s growing role as demon hunting coordinator. Except when he, er, didn’t,
Giles thought. Which was, in Willow’s words, whenever he damn well felt like
ignoring them and going off in his own direction. Willow was becoming
increasingly frustrated by him, and was voicing that frustration more and more
frequently, and with greater vigor.
He really needed to make a
more concerted effort to spend time with Willow, Giles prodded himself. Now
that Dawn was back in school, and things felt, to his mind, a bit more
‘settled’, he wanted to start working in depth with Buffy’s friend on her
magical studies. They’d spoken of getting together several times over the
summer, but something always seemed to come up to prevent it.
He was growing rather concerned
for her. She’d seemed very short tempered recently, and he wondered if she was
handling Buffy’s loss as well as she’d claimed to be earlier in the summer.
When he’d tried to ask, though, she’d insisted she was fine. No problem.
Period. End of discussion.
But she’d been rather snippy
with Dawn a good many times, and she’d made several very snide comments about
Spike’s continuing presence in the workout room at the Magic Box. When he had
tried to calmly explain that he felt Spike had changed, at least to some
extent, and that they really did need his contributions, Willow had muttered
something quite unpleasant. He must say, he’d been a tad put off by her
attitude, which seemed quite unWillowlike.
And that changed attitude,
that hardness, only served to increase his concern. Willow had gone
through periods of moodiness in the past, he reminded himself. Perhaps his –
wariness – for lack of a better word, was unfounded.
If he was aware of Willow’s
complaints, Spike didn’t comment on them. The vampire remained unnaturally
quiet around the others, rarely speaking at all. While they all seemed able to
work well enough together for the most part, Spike continued to hold himself
aloof.
He could only really be said
to have a relationship of any kind with Dawn.
And, surprisingly, with
himself.
Giles unlocked the door to
the Magic Box, and, ever the gentleman, held it open for Spike to enter before
him.
Over the past few months,
the two Englishmen had developed an increasingly comfortable familiarity with
one another. It was an odd relationship. There were elements of friendship and
camaraderie, mingling with a mentor/student relationship. Though the
relationship was very young, and, at times, still rather tentative, they seemed
to recognize a need and fill a void in one another’s lives.
Giles sometimes felt that
working with Spike, trying to understand the vampire, had given his life
something of a purpose since Buffy’s loss. Certainly it had occupied his mind
in a good many ways, and Giles felt that that, in turn, had helped him to climb
out of the depression he had been slipping deeply into in the first weeks after
her – death.
Sometimes he could think the
word now, even though speaking it still seemed beyond him.
Giles found the entire
situation with Spike – the vampire himself, his actions, his own long building
intrigue with the blond – really quite surprising. He may have initiated the
relationship, at least in part, because he needed Spike’s strength and desired
his knowledge of vampiric habits and general demonology, but those were not the
only reasons it continued.
It had begun, he supposed,
when the vampire was living with him right after the Initiative chip had been
implanted in his unwilling brain. He remembered being quite shocked at the time
to discover that, aside from Spike’s appalling musical taste, and his
distressing, but oddly contagious, fascination with that strange soap opera,
Passions, the two of them shared many others. Spike didn’t often let a lot of
details about his human life slip, but it was obvious he was very well
educated. He possessed a keen intelligence, and was blessedly well read. After
a good many years of having Xander as his primary source of male companionship,
that had certainly been a welcome breath of fresh air.
There was something
about him. Giles had never quite been
able to put his finger on it, but he had long noted it. He’d tried to talk to
Spike about it a few times shortly after the chip had so drastically altered
his, er, life. But Spike had had no interest in discussing his future, or much
of anything, really, at that time. Giles had shelved the idea, thinking to
approach Spike again after he’d had a few months to adjust to his new –
circumstances.
But then something else had
happened. Something unexpected. And after that, Giles had honestly felt it was
best to keep Spike away from the others. More specifically, he had felt it was
best to keep him as far away from Buffy as possible.
Spells can be funny things.
Results were sometimes not what the caster intended, which had quite frequently
been the case with Willow. When she had cast her ‘my will be done’ spell,
affecting most of them, the effects on Buffy and Spike had been by far the most
interesting. Certainly, at the time, he had found them the most distressing. Willow’s
wish had been for them to get married, not to fall in love. Why, then, hadn’t
they treated it like a forced, arranged marriage, or a business maneuver? Those
were types of marriage too. But they hadn’t. They’d been all over each other
with obvious passion. Even back then he’d wondered how much of that may have
been brought about by the spell, and how much may have been simmering under the
surface, spell or no spell. He was still quite grateful he hadn’t been forced
to watch them. Listening to them had been more than enough, thank you very
much. They’d been teasing each other, laughing, bickering over wedding details
like many engaged couples. Under it all, there had been a tenderness that even
he could feel. To his further surprise, Spike had gone over all protective,
both of Buffy, and, even more to his consternation, of himself – Buffy’s
surrogate father. When they’d discovered the existence of the spell, even
though the two felt they weren’t being affected by it, Spike had seemed anxious
to use his knowledge to help Giles. The spell certainly hadn’t been cast to
change their personalities. So where had that – that tenderness and
concern from Spike – come from?
Giles had often wondered
what it was in the make up of the two of them that had caused the spell to
affect them that way. And he worried about it enough that he felt it was in
Buffy’s best interests, indeed, in all their best interests, to keep Spike as
far outside their little circle as possible. Bringing him in, accepting him as
part of the group, even when Giles began to realize how advantageous it would
be to have Spike’s knowledge and strength on their side – well, there were
dangers in that course of action. Dangers that had been demonstrated in Buffy’s
relationship with Angel. And even though the circumstances were different,
Giles had felt that there were enough similarities that doing everything
possible to avoid any – situations – was best for everyone involved.
Now, though, with Buffy no
longer with them, Giles felt more comfortable having Spike around. And the
whole issue of the words Buffy had spoken to Spike in his dream – the same
words Tara, in what they had at the time, interpreted to be the de facto voice
of the first slayer, had spoken to Buffy in a dream after the defeat of Adam –
unveiled a wealth of possibilities about Spike, his purpose, and what might lie
in his future.
And if it came right down
to it, he would probably have to admit he rather liked the vampire, even
enjoyed his company. Foolishly, Giles glanced around the room, which was, of
course, empty except for the two of them, as though someone might have read his
thoughts and be about to demand an explanation.
“So I thought I’d start
training her,” Spike was saying as they began cleaning and placing their
weaponry in its’ proper places. “Bit’s gonna stay here, be livin’ on the
Hellmouth, it’s best she know how to take care of herself. Least a little. I
don’t want her thinkin’ she can start patrollin’ with us, but basic self
defense, some practice stakin’ and such – it’d be good for her.”
Hank Summers had yet to be
heard from. Or, for that matter, any of the girls’ other relatives.
Wankers, Giles thought, and had to smile at the word that come
to mind.
“I agree,” he said. “I trust
you’ll take it slow. She’s just a child,” Giles went on, trying to ignore the
fact that Dawn was the same age that Buffy had been when she was called. It
seemed impossible.
“’Course I will,” Spike
assured him. His tone suggested that anything else was out of the question.
“She’s very fond of you,”
Giles began. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“Yeah?” Spike finished
polishing the blade of his favorite axe and placed it almost reverently in its
place on the wall.
Giles chose his words
carefully. “I had hoped I could use Dawn’s affection for you to try to persuade
you to act with a little more – care, shall we say? A little more caution?”
Spike went still, and then
he straightened up slowly, his eyes narrowing. “In what way, Watcher, am I not
acting with care?” the vampire asked tightly.
Giles’ brows went up. Spike
sounded insulted, and his voice had taken on that very distinct upper class
inflection that Giles had noticed several times before. He frowned, perplexed.
“Tonight, for instance,” he
began again, and Spike looked puzzled. “Jumping directly into the midst of all
those vamps. It was careless. You very effectively surrounded yourself.”
Spike’s face smoothed out.
“Caution in battle can be deadly,” Spike was calm now, his indignant tone
totally gone. “Hesitation can kill.”
“I think we can be fairly
certain that will never be a problem for you,” Giles said with some humor. What
had Spike thought he was talking about? Then he replayed the conversation in
his mind, and almost – well, almost chuckled. Spike had thought he was going to
make some sort of accusation of improper behavior with Dawn! For some reason,
it struck him as amusing.
And that struck him
as very odd. Trusting a vampire – any
vampire – should be almost impossible for him to do. He asked himself the same
question he’d asked so often these past months – why did it not seem
impossible in this case?
Why did he trust Spike?
Giles frowned. Good… Evil...
Spike fit in there
somewhere, but Giles was no longer quite sure where. Sometimes, he actually
wanted to mutter ‘Oh, damn and blast!’ and tug on his hair in frustration as the all questions he had
concerning Spike swirled endlessly in his brain. He smiled inwardly in
amusement. His hair was not thinning, he assured himself. Not at all.
Still, tugging on it was probably not advisable.
Besides, hair tugging was a
trifle beneath his dignity.
“I understand that
hesitation can be dangerous in battle, though I would argue that caution
can save lives. I see them as very different things. I’m only asking that you
try to exercise a bit more care, to act with a little less recklessness. I
mentioned Dawn. That girl loves you, Spike. And I have no wish to be the one to
have to tell her that you’ve been killed during patrol. How do you think she
would take that?”
Spike began to pace. He lit
a cigarette – what else was new? – and frowned as he moved about the room.
Spike may not have a death
wish, exactly, Giles thought. But the reckless disregard for his own safety
that he continued to display suggested to Giles that while Spike may have no
intention of deliberately seeking death, he really wouldn’t mind if it were to
find him. His whole attitude while fighting screamed that he didn’t much care
if he lived or died. Once before Giles had tried to use the vampire’s
protectiveness toward Dawn to get him to change a behavior. Since he saw no
real evidence that Spike was sleeping more, he didn’t think it had been
particularly effective. But it was the only lure he felt he had. Perhaps this
time it would prove more successful.
“I gave my word, Watcher, to
protect her.” Spike said at last. “I won’t break it, and I intend to do
everything necessary to keep it.”
“I don’t think you have any
intention of breaking your word. I hope I didn’t imply that. But you do take
chances that you needn’t take. You had no business jumping in front of me
tonight when that drugged up young ruffian attacked us. What were you thinking?
You can’t fight with humans. And contrary to what you might believe, I do have
some ability to protect myself.” The words were serious, but Giles attempted to
keep his tone light. He didn’t wish to say anything more that Spike would take
the wrong way.
However, he was unprepared
for Spike’s reaction.
“She
loved you. She’da wanted me to protect you.” Spike’s voice was raw, and his
hands moved emphatically. “’m not gonna fail her again.”
“Fail?”
Giles asked, puzzled. Then understanding dawned, and with it a kind of
sympathetic horror. He removed his glasses, cleaning them carefully as he
spoke. “Spike you must let this go. We all feel a certain amount of
responsibility for what happened to Buffy. It’s natural. We were all there, and
it’s inevitable that we’ll all feel there may have been more we could have done
to change the outcome of that night.” He replaced his glasses, and kept his
tone firm and soothing. “I should have spoken to you about this earlier, when I
spoke with the others.”
“The
soddin’ Scoobies weren’t up there, were they?” Spike demanded furiously, and
Giles blinked, taking a step back. The rage in the vampire’s voice was terrible
to hear, and even though he knew it was self-directed, it unnerved him a bit.
“I was. I know what happened.
“I
didn’t stop that sonofabitch from cutting my girl, did I?”
“But
Spike –”
“Didn’t
stop the portal from opening, did I?”
“You
were –”
“Didn’t s-stop –” his voice broke, and he paused before
finishing quietly, “Didn’t stop anything, did I?”
Giles stared. He could hear
it in the vampire’s voice. He’d seen it in his face, in his actions, all
summer, and he had failed to recognize it. To recognize the depth of the
feeling. Had he been completely blind? he wondered now. This wasn’t a
simple/complicated case of, ‘If only I...” – the kind of guilt that they were
all suffering from to some extent. This was a deep seeded certainty that his
actions alone, and those actions he hadn’t been able to successfully carry out,
were directly and solely responsible for Buffy’s death.
For the death of the
young woman the vampire had loved.
“I cannot allow you to blame
yourself for Buffy’s death,” Giles said, forcing out the ‘D’ word. “I wasn’t up
on the tower with you, but I was there. I saw what happened. Moreover, I knew
Buffy – knew her as well as anyone. She wouldn’t have wanted you to blame
yourself. Spike, you almost died for
Dawn, for Buffy. You would have died for them. You put your life on the line, and you
think you failed them? Failed Buffy? You’re wrong. So completely
wrong.”
The look of shock on Spike’s
face in reaction to his words made Giles frown in puzzlement. The vampire
dropped his burning cigarette to the floor and pushed his hands into his hair,
squeezing his head between his palms. His
vivid blue eyes were burning with anguish, screaming unvoiced questions at the
Watcher, and he took a couple of heaving breaths before he was able to speak.
“I’m
gonna go clean up,” the blond said abruptly. He wiped his face clean of any
emotion, and whirled away, disappearing in the direction of the bathroom.
Giles walked over to step
out the glowing embers of the cigarette, and let him go.
~*~
When Spike returned, Giles
didn’t introduce the subject again directly.
For the most part, English
reserve was alive and well in Sunnydale.
“How about a game of chess?”
Giles asked instead, his eyes going with some longing to the chessboard. He had to acknowledge that the
vampire was a reckless but innovative opponent. Not that Spike could beat him.
Well, not often, anyway.
He could often get Spike to
talk over chess, and Giles could plainly see that Spike needed to talk. But the
vampire declined, glancing at the clock.
He didn’t say anything, but Giles knew he was planning to head over to Revello
Drive. It was nearly midnight, and that, it seemed, was the regularly scheduled
time for Spike to begin his vigil on the roof of the Summers’ home, just
outside Dawn’s window.
“You do remember that Dawn
is staying with friends tonight, right?” he said with a weak attempt at
subtlety, and Spike’s expression told him that the vampire had temporarily
forgotten.
Even so, Spike tried to
bluster his way out of getting caught in guardian mode, trying to pretend the
girl’s whereabouts had nothing to do with his stated need to leave. “So?”
Giles shook his head. There
was no reason to press the issue. If Spike wanted to pretend that every move
the girl made was not of utmost importance to him, Giles could let him attempt
to foster the untruth. He didn’t need to point out that in the event of an
emergency, they all knew perfectly well where Spike could be found during the
approximate hours of midnight to four a.m.
The men left the store, and
Spike paused, lighting another cigarette as Giles turned to lock the door.
“Goodnight,” he offered, and
Spike inclined his head.
“Oh, and Spike?” Giles spoke
before Spike could start down the street.
“Yeah?”
“Your devotion to and caring
for Dawn are things you should be proud of.”
“What?” Spike looked
astounded by the compliment. Astounded and slightly appalled.
Giles met Spike’s eyes squarely and spoke with
soft deliberation, letting all the shades of meaning in the quote sink in.
“Pray that your loneliness may spur you into finding something to live for,
great enough to die for.”
“Hammarskjold,” Spike
spouted, sounding, for a moment, remarkably like a prized pupil.
“I think you’ve done that,
with Dawn. And I wanted you to know that I recognize and appreciate it. And
that Buffy would have, too.”
Spike stared at Giles in
silence for several long moments, his face a study in changing, and sometimes
conflicting, emotions. Then his body relaxed and he took the easy way out,
commenting on one part of the quote. “I don’t pray, Watcher.” He gestured
vaguely to himself, “Demon.”
Giles hesitated, then let
things go by saying quietly, “I don’t pray a lot myself. But most of us pray at
one time or another, Spike. Even, I think, you.”
Spike just stared at him
for a moment without speaking before he turned away and melted into the night.
~*~
Show me. Show me how to
go on without her.
Spike closed his eyes as he
moved silently through the dark streets over the Hellmouth, remembering the
desperation that had led him to cry out those words. Had that been a prayer? He
didn’t know.
Didn’t think so.
No.
Demons don’t pray.
Spike squared his
shoulders, shrugging off the disturbing Watcher-induced introspection.
Time to find something to
kill.
~*~
Giles watched him go. He’d
told them all earlier this week that he was headed to England the day after
tomorrow. He’d implied he was merely taking a little vacation, visiting family.
And he would visit some family. But he planned to spend most of his time
doing some research. The Council had been their usual less than helpful selves
when he’d tied to elicit information from them over the phone, and his letters
had gone unanswered. Giles felt this was important, important enough that he
was going to England himself to try to find out more about it.
Spike… You think you
know, what you are, what’s to come… You haven’t even begun.
They came in a slightly
different order than they’d come when spoken to Buffy in her dream, but Giles
felt they were close enough.
Yes, he thought those words
might be very important, indeed.
~*~
He
stopped about a dozen feet from her headstone. He always felt this compulsion,
this need, to hang back for a moment before moving closer, almost as though he
was awaiting permission. Or courage. He paused, head down, before approaching,
then moved directly to the piece of granite her Watcher and friends had chosen,
engraved with the words Dawn had carefully decided on, and hunkered down beside
it.
He
never talked to her the way he and Dawn sometimes did to Joyce, rarely even
uttering a sound while here. But sometimes he touched the marker, let his rough
fingers trace over the engraved letters of her name. Sometimes he would bring
her something, a flower left out for him behind Emily’s shop, a seashell, even
something as simple as a stone or a leaf with an interesting shape or texture.
Emily
had left him something beautiful and exotic tonight. It was a deep red, looking
almost black in the moonlight, and its’ color matched the blood drying on his
hands from another fight, another brick wall. He didn’t know what kind of
flower it was, but he liked the shape and color of it, the faint but spicy
scent. He brushed it under his nose before he laid it carefully on the grass at
the base of the headstone next to the shriveled remains of the jonquil he’d
brought the night before.
Spike
dropped to his knees, then sat back on his heels, head bowed.
Time
slipped by, ignored by the silent vampire.
He
stretched out full length on Buffy’s grave, staring up at the stars overhead
for a brief flicker of time. Other skies, other worlds. Did she still
exist somewhere out there, in some other dimension, or on some other plane? If
she did, he hoped she was – done. She’d struggled so much with her duty the
last several months of her life. He hadn’t been her confidant, but he’d seen
the strain and pain in her eyes intensify almost daily.
<<
Be happy, love. At peace. >>
He
rolled onto his stomach, spreading his arms out on the ground – reaching,
surrounding. His elbows bent, and he drew his hands in nearer to his head and
turned his cheek to the ground.
His right hand clutched at
the turf, his fingers digging through the blanket of grass and into the dirt
below. The hand closed around the grass and dirt. Held tight. Tighter.
Only inches from his face,
his left hand clenched fiercely into a hard knuckled fist which caused the
blood to flow anew from his injuries, then flexed. Did his blood find its way
down to her? he wondered, watching it drip from his hand and seep into the
ground beneath him.
< Your blood, my blood,
our blood. It flows in you. Makes you strong. >
<< I’m not strong,
love. I’m barely holding on. >>
< Sometimes that is
being strong. Just holding on. One day at a time. When that’s too hard, you
hold on one hour at a time. Or just minute by minute. But you do it, you hold
on. And you’re there for the people who need you. Like you are, for Dawn. >
Spike closed his eyes,
pretending he couldn’t see her sitting next to him. Pretending he couldn’t hear
her voice, with its’ now familiar whispering darkness, so clearly in his mind.
Pretending he couldn’t feel her fingers stroking over his bloodied knuckles.
< It might sound
clichéd, Will, but it’s still true. You’re strong, and I know I can count on
you. >
She’d dead. She’s not
here.
She’ll never be here.
Never.
He was immortal. Eternity
stretched out in front of him. But without her, all it offered was an endless,
and cripplingly lonely, emptiness.
Buffy. Buffy.
His left hand clenched more
tightly.
Then flexed.
His eyes, dark blue and as
empty as his future, opened again, and focused on his hand.
Clench.
Flex.
No other movement.
Clench.
Flex.
Clench.
Flex.
Hours later, when the first scents of sunrise reached him, he rolled slowly,
stiffly, onto his back, and looked up into the lightening sky.
God, how he longed for it.
To feel the first rays of the sun touch him, warm him, dust him.
There was no fear of the
‘final death.’ The fires of hell, the twin flames of guilt and grief, had been
licking through his veins for months, devouring everything inside him, ravaging
his mind. How could the actual reality of hell be worse? Hadn’t Buffy’s death,
and his responsibility for it, already created, for him, hell right here on
earth? The blessed nothingness he’d experienced for too few days right after
the tower, was long gone, too easy a way out for a demon like him. By giving
him Buffy’s blood, Dawn had ensured his continued existence, but she’d stolen
that welcome escape from him.
He knew Dawn thought he was
doing better, coming to terms with Buffy’s loss. He’d done everything he could
over the last month or so to foster that belief in her. Didn’t need his girl
worryin’ about him, did he? And he had to admit to himself that their still
deepening friendship had helped him get through the summer. He hoped it had helped
her too, maybe helped her start recovering from the horrors of the last year of
her life. The Watcher seemed to think it had.
The time spent alone,
though, when he wasn’t with Dawn, or when he wasn’t fighting or killing – well,
that was a different matter. It was a part of him now. The undiminished
despair, the still raw pain, the longing, and the never-ending mind-destroying
guilt. It hadn’t gone away, hadn’t even eased as the months passed. For the
most part, and on almost every occasion, he’d learned to control the
desire to roar his rage at fate into the night. But beyond that, he didn’t feel
much different than he had the night he’d gone to the morgue and mourned over
his dead Slayer’s body.
Buffy’s death had changed
him in some fundamental way. Had it killed something in him, or caused
something buried deep inside to come alive? He wasn’t sure. He just knew it was
– he was – different.
Fate. Control. The Powers
That Be. Destiny. Strings being pulled, buttons being pushed. Punishment and
penance. Guilt and pain, and ghosts whispering words in his mind that sent the
Watcher into full-on research mode. And now the Watcher was repeating words
Buffy had said to him in a dream or vision of some sort. What the hell had
that been anyway, that night in her room, in her body? Other than bleedin’
perfect, that is?
Spike groaned softly.
Contemplating his sanity, or lack of it – well, he was workin’ hard to stop
doing that altogether. Too afraid of the conclusions he’d reach, Spike figured,
snorting inwardly. But even without that in the mix, his mind raced endlessly.
Like the pain, it never let up, and he was getting bloody sick of it. Always
had to be churning away, tryin’ to suss out some bigger than unlife issue.
Soddin’ life, the universe, and everything. Spike pushed his hands into his
hair, and pressed them against his skull momentarily, wishing he could just
squeeze some of the less desirable contemplations out.
God, he longed for simpler
times.
Fight. Bite. Feed.
Yeah, that’d been the
ticket.
Spike rolled to his knees.
He knew what Dawn thought, what he wanted her to think, but his girl was
wrong. He still wanted the final death. Longed for it. Craved it more than he
craved blood. He gazed at his Slayer’s headstone. The desire to stay grabbed at
him, twisted inside him, and he closed his eyes against the temptation. God, to
let the sun send his remains into the earth that blanketed her body, to become
a part of that earth!
Ashes to ashes, dust to
dust.
It was the closest to her he
could ever be, his only chance to spend eternity anywhere near her.
Someday, he promised
himself, when he was – finished…
With an effort, Spike forced
himself to rise and return to his crypt.
He had to.
For Dawn.
Because he loved her...
...and because he’d made a
promise to a lady.
~*~
MEMORIES are all we
really own.
–
Elias Lieberman
~*~
Author’s Notes
This story will be continued in Part Two – Journeys:
Awakenings. Chapters should begin appearing soon. Very soon. Really.
In
response to requests, I’ve also put together an e-mail list to let readers know
when new chapters have been sent to the sites that are kindly hosting the
story. Please note that chapters may NOT appear at all listed sites on the day
I send notification, because the site owners are busy people, and will be
getting new chapters up as soon as they bloody well can. (**grin**) If you’ve
ever sent me any feedback, I’ve already placed your name on the notification
list. If you’re not sure that includes you, or if you’d like to be added to the
list, just let me know at MKStatz@aol.com.
I’ll add you forthwith.
I’ve
decided to stop posting the chapters themselves to the Yahoo Groups. I hate how
the formatting doesn’t transfer, and having to take the time to ‘fix’ things a
little before posting there, which can take longer than you might think. I will
send notification to the groups though, and provide links.
In
the author’s notes preceding Chapter One, I stated that feedback would not make
the chapters appear any faster, but that it would still be lovely to receive.
I’d like to revise that. I honestly do think it inspires me. Otherwise, you’re
working your tail off, and have no knowledge if anyone is actually reading. In
other words: As far as feedback goes, I flippin’ love it. Please send.
‘Journeys’ continues to grow daily, and will be passing
the 500 page mark in the next couple of days – and that’s in a 8.5 font, too!
(Oh. My. God. It’s a monster.) The story covers about a year and a half, give
or take an epilogue or two, in the lives of the gang. I had thought the story
could not possibly become longer than 500 pages, but SURPISE! I was wrong. (I
know, it shocked my kids, too, since they’d never experienced that before!)
‘Journeys’ began in my head as a sort of long piece of erotica, but then this
whole plot idea clobbered me over the head, and forced me to work it into the
sex scenes. The nerve! And before anyone says ‘If you have 500 pages written,
can we get chapter updates a little faster?’ (**snerk** Hi, Brandi!), the
answer is ‘no’. And I have a good and valid reason. The pages written are not
the first 500 pages! Part Two, Awakenings, has been bugger all for me to
write, causing far more problems than any other part of the story. It continues
to irk me in many ways, but I’m working on it. Slaving away. So, I hope you’ll
all be patient, and hang in there. I’ll continue to post at a sedate pace, but
once I’ve actually finished writing the story, I promise I will post remaining
chapters much more quickly.
I’m also taking this opportunity to send heartfelt
apologies to subscribers at The Crypt Door, my Yahoo Group, which I have
woefully neglected in order to work on this story. I’ve read a grand total of
two Buffy stories since August. Believe me, I am going into severe withdrawal.
(I’m beginning to think of all the wonderful stories I’ll get to read once
‘Journeys’ is finished as my reward.) I do promise I have not abandoned The
Crypt Door, and, as soon as I’m reading again, I’ll be back to recommending
great stories.
And
for those who have asked, and others who may be wondering, yes,
‘Journeys’ is a Buffy/Spike story. Start to finish. Buffy/Spike.
The Spike-centric/redemption nature of the story means that Spike might have to
deal with important relationships from his past, and that he will be forming
important new relationships with People. Who. Are. Not. Buffy. But the story
remains Buffy/Spike. Trust me. I know. I’ve read the ending.
Happy
New Year, everyone. Celebrate safely, and please accept my wishes for a new year
filled with good health and happiness.
Thanks
for reading.
Mary
December 29, 2002
~*~