The Open Halls of the Soul, chapter 3
TITLE: The Open Halls of the Soul
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: R for now
SPOILERS: post-NFA
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Spike, Buffy, Spike/Buffy, others
WARNINGS: Character death, violence, disturbing post-Apocalypse-type imagery
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
SUMMARY: Spike always said it would take the end of the world to keep him away from Buffy. And he was right.
A/N: thanks always to kellyhk for her continued support and mad beta skillz
Previous parts can be found here.
He must have been farther east than he thought when he started out, as he's managed to make it to what he figures is just outside Barstow before day breaks. He hasn't run into any demons, but he sensed something out there a time or two. Keeping to the back roads means a lesser chance of running into demons, as well as shelter or food. But then he sees it, and thinks maybe his luck is changing. The small house sits by itself, front porch listing to one side, steps rotted through. But there's a car parked outside. He could use a car. But he could use food, more. He's running on fumes, now, in that foggy place that exists beyond hunger, beyond pain. But he's not sure how long he'll be able to keep it up before just keeling over. Or worse.
Spike approaches the house, and listens. Two distinct, human heart beats. And another: fainter, faster. He inhales deeply, and thinks yeah, things are definitely on the upswing. Though granted, he couldn't go much further down. Careful not to make noise, he tries the front door. It's open and there's no barrier, so whoever belongs to Firebird outside is not the homeowner. This house was abandoned long before the apocalypse. He can hear the heavy breathing of drunken sleep upstairs, and there are beer bottles strewn around the room, which reeks of marijuana, beer, and sweat. Apocalypse party, he supposes. People can be so stupid.
A brindled mutt, lies at the bottom of the stairs as if guarding them, but he puts his ears back and wags his tail in greeting when Spike walks in.
"Some watch dog you are." Spike kneels down next to him awkwardly, his busted leg sticking out to the side, and pets the dog. It rolls over, offering its belly, which Spike dutifully scratches. "Yes, you're a good boy. A real good boy. Life saver, as a matter of fact." He pulls the dog across his lap and scratches him behind the ears before sinking his fangs in. The dog yelps, its paws scrambling for purchase, but he quiets soon enough. Spike eases him back down to the floor after draining him dry. "Sorry, Fido. Had to be done."
"Hey! You killed my fucking dog!"
A bloke in his early twenties stands at the top of the stairs. He's wearing an "Everything That Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas" t-shirt and three day's growth of beard. Spike stands slowly, hoping the kid's too drunk to notice the splint, but sober enough to take in the fangs.
"Was either you or him," Spike says. Slowly, deliberately, he wipes the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. "Don't make me regret my decision."
"Oh my God! Oh my...fuck! Jimmy! Jimmy!"
Jimmy comes stumbling out of one of the rooms upstairs, pulling on his jeans. "What the fuck are you yelling about?"
"It's one of them! Look!"
Jimmy stares at Spike, wide-eyed and blinking. "Fuck."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm one of them. Big, bad monster, I am. Now get the hell outta here before I eat you, too."
The two of them rush down the stairs, past him, and out the door. Spike moves to the window and pushes a tattered curtain aside gingerly - sun's up now. All that's left of them is a cloud of dust. He glances back at the dead dog and sighs. "They don't know how close they came, mate." He drags Fido to a back room before heading back to the sofa.
Sweeping the debris away, Spike lies down and removes his splint. His leg should start healing soon. His belly is full. And he can finally sleep. Instead, he begins to sob. All he can see is her face. He doesn't even know what happened to her. He wonders if that would make it better, or worse? He always knew she'd go first, but it's too soon. It's way too soon.
"Penny for your thoughts, love."
They were sharing a chaise lounge on the balcony off their bedroom. There were two chairs there, side by side, but it seemed like only one ever got any use. It was a clear night, but cool for this late in May. Hundreds of stars glittered brightly against their black velvet backdrop. Buffy shivered and he wrapped his arms a little tighter around her.
"I was thinking about Olivia, and how she's alone now."
"Well, so much for idle chit chat."
She craned her neck to give him a look. "You asked."
"That I did."
She took his hand and laced their fingers together. Giles' funeral had been earlier today, and Buffy was more fragile than he'd seen her in a long time. "Any of us could go at any time. And it doesn't even have to be demon related. I mean, look at my mom. And who thought that Giles would die of cancer, of all things?"
Certainly not Giles. He'd been rather pissed off about it, actually, and Spike was pretty sure he would have found a way to go out fighting if it hadn't been for Olivia. He‘d stuck it out as long as he could for her. Spike had to respect that.
He kissed the top of her head. "Life's precious, pet. Even I get that. Have to make the most of every moment. Think we do a fair job of that, don't you?"
She turned sideways in the chair to better look at him, hanging her legs over the arm. Spike noticed how tired she looked. She'd been so strong for everyone else this week, but her red-rimmed eyes told a different tale.
"We do." She laid her palm against his cheek. "But I worry about you. I'd want you to find someone else to love after I was gone. I'd want you to be happy. Wouldn't you want that for me?"
He really didn't like the direction this conversation was going in. "No. I'd want you to pine away for me forever. Die a lonely spinster with my name on your lips."
She laughed. A Buffy laugh was a good sound, if a bit scarce of late. "I probably would, you know."
"Doubtful. You'd have your pick now, wouldn't you? Any number of eligible men lined up at your door. Just put your order in, love."
He'd said something wrong, he could tell that straight away. Her expression immediately darkened. "That's not funny. You...you still think...." Her bottom lip began to tremble, and she turned her face away.
He grabbed her chin gently and turned her back toward him. "I still think what?"
"You still think I don't need you or something! Or at least not as much as you need me. But I do! And I'm just as scared that something will happen to you as you are that something will happen to me." She was really crying hard now. "Please don't leave me! Please, Spike. Don't ever leave me."
He gathered her close, stroking her hair and kissing her face, tasting the salt of her tears, feeling equal parts guilt and gratitude as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "Won't ever leave you, Buffy. Not ever,” he said, rocking her in his arms. “Would take the end of the bloody world to keep me away from you."
He's still pretty damn sure she was wrong back then, that if she'd been the one to live through this, she'd be a hell of a lot stronger than him. Because all he's living for at this point is to get back there. Back to the place they'd lived and loved and found a way to be happy. Back to the place she'd died. Most likely he'll never find out exactly what's happened to her, or which demon had done it. Most likely he won't even survive the trip. But if he plays his cards right, he might be able to do some serious damage on his way out. And that's all he has to look forward to right now. Having no tears left, he finally falls asleep. And for once his sleep is without dreams. At least, none that he can remember.
***
Her dreams are disturbing. Confusing. Images she doesn't comprehend. People she doesn't recognize who speak to her like they know her.
And then there is the monster. A beautiful monster doing things no monster should be allowed. Doing things to her. She doesn't understand how she could permit such things, even in her dreams. Not only permit them, but want them. He invades her body with fangs and cock, and she welcomes it. What kind of devilish magic has he worked on her? She craves it. Needs it. Needs him.
She awakens shaken and ashamed, with tears on her face and a warmth between her legs. But worst of all is this feeling of loss and loneliness that baffles her. She shouldn't need anyone, least of all this thing that she should want to destroy.
She fears nothing, but she is beginning to dread sleep. A rage begins to fill her, and she is glad. She scoots to the edge of the mattress, pressing her back up against the wall, and waits for the sun to descend. There will be no more sleep for her today. At sundown she will go to work, and try to chase these images from her mind. They are a distraction she cannot afford. It is a terrible world, and there are many demons left to kill. And she alone stands against the forces of darkness, but that is as it should be. It is her duty. She is the chosen one.
She is the Slayer.
Chapter 4
AUTHOR: Cindy
RATING: R for now
SPOILERS: post-NFA
PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Spike, Buffy, Spike/Buffy, others
WARNINGS: Character death, violence, disturbing post-Apocalypse-type imagery
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, but Joss said I could play with them.
SUMMARY: Spike always said it would take the end of the world to keep him away from Buffy. And he was right.
A/N: thanks always to kellyhk for her continued support and mad beta skillz
Previous parts can be found here.
He must have been farther east than he thought when he started out, as he's managed to make it to what he figures is just outside Barstow before day breaks. He hasn't run into any demons, but he sensed something out there a time or two. Keeping to the back roads means a lesser chance of running into demons, as well as shelter or food. But then he sees it, and thinks maybe his luck is changing. The small house sits by itself, front porch listing to one side, steps rotted through. But there's a car parked outside. He could use a car. But he could use food, more. He's running on fumes, now, in that foggy place that exists beyond hunger, beyond pain. But he's not sure how long he'll be able to keep it up before just keeling over. Or worse.
Spike approaches the house, and listens. Two distinct, human heart beats. And another: fainter, faster. He inhales deeply, and thinks yeah, things are definitely on the upswing. Though granted, he couldn't go much further down. Careful not to make noise, he tries the front door. It's open and there's no barrier, so whoever belongs to Firebird outside is not the homeowner. This house was abandoned long before the apocalypse. He can hear the heavy breathing of drunken sleep upstairs, and there are beer bottles strewn around the room, which reeks of marijuana, beer, and sweat. Apocalypse party, he supposes. People can be so stupid.
A brindled mutt, lies at the bottom of the stairs as if guarding them, but he puts his ears back and wags his tail in greeting when Spike walks in.
"Some watch dog you are." Spike kneels down next to him awkwardly, his busted leg sticking out to the side, and pets the dog. It rolls over, offering its belly, which Spike dutifully scratches. "Yes, you're a good boy. A real good boy. Life saver, as a matter of fact." He pulls the dog across his lap and scratches him behind the ears before sinking his fangs in. The dog yelps, its paws scrambling for purchase, but he quiets soon enough. Spike eases him back down to the floor after draining him dry. "Sorry, Fido. Had to be done."
"Hey! You killed my fucking dog!"
A bloke in his early twenties stands at the top of the stairs. He's wearing an "Everything That Happens in Vegas Stays in Vegas" t-shirt and three day's growth of beard. Spike stands slowly, hoping the kid's too drunk to notice the splint, but sober enough to take in the fangs.
"Was either you or him," Spike says. Slowly, deliberately, he wipes the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. "Don't make me regret my decision."
"Oh my God! Oh my...fuck! Jimmy! Jimmy!"
Jimmy comes stumbling out of one of the rooms upstairs, pulling on his jeans. "What the fuck are you yelling about?"
"It's one of them! Look!"
Jimmy stares at Spike, wide-eyed and blinking. "Fuck."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm one of them. Big, bad monster, I am. Now get the hell outta here before I eat you, too."
The two of them rush down the stairs, past him, and out the door. Spike moves to the window and pushes a tattered curtain aside gingerly - sun's up now. All that's left of them is a cloud of dust. He glances back at the dead dog and sighs. "They don't know how close they came, mate." He drags Fido to a back room before heading back to the sofa.
Sweeping the debris away, Spike lies down and removes his splint. His leg should start healing soon. His belly is full. And he can finally sleep. Instead, he begins to sob. All he can see is her face. He doesn't even know what happened to her. He wonders if that would make it better, or worse? He always knew she'd go first, but it's too soon. It's way too soon.
"Penny for your thoughts, love."
They were sharing a chaise lounge on the balcony off their bedroom. There were two chairs there, side by side, but it seemed like only one ever got any use. It was a clear night, but cool for this late in May. Hundreds of stars glittered brightly against their black velvet backdrop. Buffy shivered and he wrapped his arms a little tighter around her.
"I was thinking about Olivia, and how she's alone now."
"Well, so much for idle chit chat."
She craned her neck to give him a look. "You asked."
"That I did."
She took his hand and laced their fingers together. Giles' funeral had been earlier today, and Buffy was more fragile than he'd seen her in a long time. "Any of us could go at any time. And it doesn't even have to be demon related. I mean, look at my mom. And who thought that Giles would die of cancer, of all things?"
Certainly not Giles. He'd been rather pissed off about it, actually, and Spike was pretty sure he would have found a way to go out fighting if it hadn't been for Olivia. He‘d stuck it out as long as he could for her. Spike had to respect that.
He kissed the top of her head. "Life's precious, pet. Even I get that. Have to make the most of every moment. Think we do a fair job of that, don't you?"
She turned sideways in the chair to better look at him, hanging her legs over the arm. Spike noticed how tired she looked. She'd been so strong for everyone else this week, but her red-rimmed eyes told a different tale.
"We do." She laid her palm against his cheek. "But I worry about you. I'd want you to find someone else to love after I was gone. I'd want you to be happy. Wouldn't you want that for me?"
He really didn't like the direction this conversation was going in. "No. I'd want you to pine away for me forever. Die a lonely spinster with my name on your lips."
She laughed. A Buffy laugh was a good sound, if a bit scarce of late. "I probably would, you know."
"Doubtful. You'd have your pick now, wouldn't you? Any number of eligible men lined up at your door. Just put your order in, love."
He'd said something wrong, he could tell that straight away. Her expression immediately darkened. "That's not funny. You...you still think...." Her bottom lip began to tremble, and she turned her face away.
He grabbed her chin gently and turned her back toward him. "I still think what?"
"You still think I don't need you or something! Or at least not as much as you need me. But I do! And I'm just as scared that something will happen to you as you are that something will happen to me." She was really crying hard now. "Please don't leave me! Please, Spike. Don't ever leave me."
He gathered her close, stroking her hair and kissing her face, tasting the salt of her tears, feeling equal parts guilt and gratitude as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "Won't ever leave you, Buffy. Not ever,” he said, rocking her in his arms. “Would take the end of the bloody world to keep me away from you."
He's still pretty damn sure she was wrong back then, that if she'd been the one to live through this, she'd be a hell of a lot stronger than him. Because all he's living for at this point is to get back there. Back to the place they'd lived and loved and found a way to be happy. Back to the place she'd died. Most likely he'll never find out exactly what's happened to her, or which demon had done it. Most likely he won't even survive the trip. But if he plays his cards right, he might be able to do some serious damage on his way out. And that's all he has to look forward to right now. Having no tears left, he finally falls asleep. And for once his sleep is without dreams. At least, none that he can remember.
***
Her dreams are disturbing. Confusing. Images she doesn't comprehend. People she doesn't recognize who speak to her like they know her.
And then there is the monster. A beautiful monster doing things no monster should be allowed. Doing things to her. She doesn't understand how she could permit such things, even in her dreams. Not only permit them, but want them. He invades her body with fangs and cock, and she welcomes it. What kind of devilish magic has he worked on her? She craves it. Needs it. Needs him.
She awakens shaken and ashamed, with tears on her face and a warmth between her legs. But worst of all is this feeling of loss and loneliness that baffles her. She shouldn't need anyone, least of all this thing that she should want to destroy.
She fears nothing, but she is beginning to dread sleep. A rage begins to fill her, and she is glad. She scoots to the edge of the mattress, pressing her back up against the wall, and waits for the sun to descend. There will be no more sleep for her today. At sundown she will go to work, and try to chase these images from her mind. They are a distraction she cannot afford. It is a terrible world, and there are many demons left to kill. And she alone stands against the forces of darkness, but that is as it should be. It is her duty. She is the chosen one.
She is the Slayer.
Chapter 4