Death's Second Self, Part 1 of 3
I'm a day early, but I've been having internet connection problems and figured better early than late. This is my entry for the adecadeofbuffy ficathon. Unusual for me: it has chapters (two are written; eventually, there will be a third) and smut. I have lost my porn-writing virginity, heh. The naughty bits are in Chapter 2. This part's clean.
Not so unusual for me: the plot centres around the events of The Gift. What is it with me and that episode? I have no idea.
::smooches:: to flurblewig and sunnyd_lite for betaing.
Title: Death's Second Self, Part 1 of 3
Setting: BtVS S5, post-The Gift
Word count: 1339 (this part)
Rating: This part PG; R overall
Disclaimer: Joss likes fanfic. He said so.
Chapter 1 of 3
“Spike.”
Buffy. She was calling him. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and out of sleep, and saw her framed in the doorway of his crypt. Limned in the gold of the setting sun, she moved towards him, smiling. Soothing words of reassurance tumbled from her lips. He reached for her, yearning to pull her into his arms. He could feel her warmth, she was alive and unbroken, she was here. The nightmare hadn't happened. She hadn't jumped from the tower. She hadn't died from the plunge. She wasn’t...
“Spike?”
Wait now, something wasn’t right. He squinted; blonde hair turned to red, the figure grew a little taller, and the welcoming smile changed to a troubled expression. Bollocks. He dropped his arms, slumped back down onto the lid of the sarcophagus, and tried to gather up the fading fragments of his dream.
“Spike, are you okay? You didn’t answer my knock and you were… kinda mumbling to yourself when I came in.”
Willow’s voice buzzed around his head like a pestering gnat. Spike gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to swat her away. He didn’t want to be awake and aware in a world without Buffy, wanted to recede into the false comfort that Willow had interrupted. But it was too late-the last vestiges of the warm, happy, living Buffy images were dissolving like wet tissue paper in the rising tide of his consciousness.
She was gone, again.
“Um, Spike?” The tremulous query was followed by a light touch to his shoulder.
He drew a breath through the shroud of numbness that had surrounded him for the past two days. “Course I’m not okay,” he muttered, pulling himself out of reach. “Nothing’s okay. Do you even have to ask?”
“No, I guess not...” She sighed heavily and dropped her hand. “I mean, no. I know. I know it’s not okay.”
Spike turned his head towards her and cracked open an eyelid. He knew he didn’t look so great himself--the sun had come up not long after Buffy had... well, it’d come up and given him a few good scorches on his face and hands that hadn’t yet healed--but Willow looked more than a little worse for wear. There were dark shadows under her scarlet-rimmed eyes, her hair hung lifelessly around her face, and an air of bone-tiredness radiated from her that seemed to sap all of the energy out of the room.
“Not really in the mood for company, Red. What d’ya want?”
Her face took on a pleading expression.
“We... we need help patrolling. Anya’s in a cast, and Giles isn’t walking too well with all those stitches, and Tara’s at home with Dawn, and I’m still pretty tapped out magic-wise, and...”
Spike raised his hand to cut her off, hoping it would put at least one of them out of their misery.
“Please, Spike. We need you.”
The pleading was in danger of turning into wheedling. Oh, to hell with it. It was easier just to get up and do what she wanted than try to put her off. Spike pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the sarcophagus. He gave her a dark look, and growled, “I’m not going anywhere with that... that thing.”
“That thi... oh, the Buffybot? She’s, um... I mean, it’s still broken. It’s just me and Xander. And you. You’ll come--won’t you?”
Spike pointed towards the coat lying over the back of his armchair, and she hurried to pass it to him. He swung it over his shoulders, then made busy work of checking his pockets for stakes and smokes. Gratitude had replaced the pleading look and he couldn’t bear to look at her. She had no reason to be grateful to him--no one did. If he’d done what he was supposed to, Buffy would still be alive. He spun round and strode out the door, leaving her scurrying behind him to catch up.
They met Xander by the Anderson vault and began to make their way deeper into the cemetery. Xander glanced at him once with hollow eyes, then stared vaguely off into the distance. Willow tried to start a conversation once or twice before lapsing into silence. Spike lit a cigarette. An owl hooted in the distance. The only other sound was the rustling of their feet through the dry grass.
“How’s Dawn today, then?” Knowing what the Bit was going through was almost as hard as knowing Buffy was dead. The day after the night at the tower, she’d come to his crypt with eyes so swollen she could scarcely see and brought him some salve for his burns. The thought of her trying to make him feel better after he’d failed her so badly made him want to take a walk in the sun. But as much as he didn’t deserve her attention, he wouldn’t be the one to cause her further grief. She’d lost too many people already.
“She’s... well, not so good.” Willow gave him a look framed with despair. “She spent most of today lying in Buffy’s bed, crying. Tara stayed home tonight to try to get her to eat something. I- I didn’t know someone could lose so much weight in just a couple of days.” Spike’s chest tightened, and he gave a rock in his path a vicious kick. It flew into a nearby headstone and chipped the corner of it. Willow winced at the noise. “Maybe you could come by later and...”
She paused as Spike suddenly held up his hand, shushing her. Xander roused himself from his torpor and readied his stake. Spike cocked his head, listening, and tested the air.
“Vampire. Over there,” he said in a lowered voice. “Fledgling, I’ll wager. Can smell the fresh earth.” He broke into a jog, Willow and Xander at his heels.
The tang of newly turned soil grew stronger as they approached the back of the cemetery. Spike squinted and saw the dim outline of a figure darting between the marble grave markers. His brow furrowed--fledges were usually so focussed on finding their first meal that they wouldn’t have noticed a herd of rhinos behind them, but this one seemed to know it was being followed. And there was something about that scent...
“You and Xander head over there and then cut back towards the Templeman crypt. I’ll circle round this way, flush it towards you, and we’ll have it cornered.”
Willow nodded and pulled a large cross from under her coat, and the pair disappeared into the darkness. Spike moved off in the direction he had indicated, his boots nearly soundless on the packed dirt of the main path.
As he’d expected, the vampire sensed that its pursuers had split up, and it moved to the protection of the towering Templeman monument to consider its next move. In the shadow of a granite angel supplicating the heavens, Spike shook on his game face and drew a stake from his pocket. He crept closer, making sure to stay downwind, and watched the vampire disappear around the monument’s corner to where Willow and Xander should be waiting. Moments later, he heard Willow’s startled shriek and rolled his eyes. He’d told the silly bint his plan--what was she getting so worked up about? Not like she’d never seen a vampire before, for God’s sake. He put on a burst of speed and rounded the bend to find Willow and Xander frozen into place and staring at the snarling creature crouched in front of them.
A sudden gust of wind overpowered his senses with an aroma he never thought he’d experience again. He gasped, and the lithe figure spun round to face him, blonde hair whirling in its wake. The distorted face was at odds with the rest of what he knew beyond doubt to be her, and her lips parted into a fangy grin at the sight of his consternation. His stake fell from limp fingers and clattered to the ground.
“Buffy?”
Part 2 is here.
Not so unusual for me: the plot centres around the events of The Gift. What is it with me and that episode? I have no idea.
::smooches:: to flurblewig and sunnyd_lite for betaing.
Title: Death's Second Self, Part 1 of 3
Setting: BtVS S5, post-The Gift
Word count: 1339 (this part)
Rating: This part PG; R overall
Disclaimer: Joss likes fanfic. He said so.
Chapter 1 of 3
“Spike.”
Buffy. She was calling him. He pushed himself up onto his elbow and out of sleep, and saw her framed in the doorway of his crypt. Limned in the gold of the setting sun, she moved towards him, smiling. Soothing words of reassurance tumbled from her lips. He reached for her, yearning to pull her into his arms. He could feel her warmth, she was alive and unbroken, she was here. The nightmare hadn't happened. She hadn't jumped from the tower. She hadn't died from the plunge. She wasn’t...
“Spike?”
Wait now, something wasn’t right. He squinted; blonde hair turned to red, the figure grew a little taller, and the welcoming smile changed to a troubled expression. Bollocks. He dropped his arms, slumped back down onto the lid of the sarcophagus, and tried to gather up the fading fragments of his dream.
“Spike, are you okay? You didn’t answer my knock and you were… kinda mumbling to yourself when I came in.”
Willow’s voice buzzed around his head like a pestering gnat. Spike gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to swat her away. He didn’t want to be awake and aware in a world without Buffy, wanted to recede into the false comfort that Willow had interrupted. But it was too late-the last vestiges of the warm, happy, living Buffy images were dissolving like wet tissue paper in the rising tide of his consciousness.
She was gone, again.
“Um, Spike?” The tremulous query was followed by a light touch to his shoulder.
He drew a breath through the shroud of numbness that had surrounded him for the past two days. “Course I’m not okay,” he muttered, pulling himself out of reach. “Nothing’s okay. Do you even have to ask?”
“No, I guess not...” She sighed heavily and dropped her hand. “I mean, no. I know. I know it’s not okay.”
Spike turned his head towards her and cracked open an eyelid. He knew he didn’t look so great himself--the sun had come up not long after Buffy had... well, it’d come up and given him a few good scorches on his face and hands that hadn’t yet healed--but Willow looked more than a little worse for wear. There were dark shadows under her scarlet-rimmed eyes, her hair hung lifelessly around her face, and an air of bone-tiredness radiated from her that seemed to sap all of the energy out of the room.
“Not really in the mood for company, Red. What d’ya want?”
Her face took on a pleading expression.
“We... we need help patrolling. Anya’s in a cast, and Giles isn’t walking too well with all those stitches, and Tara’s at home with Dawn, and I’m still pretty tapped out magic-wise, and...”
Spike raised his hand to cut her off, hoping it would put at least one of them out of their misery.
“Please, Spike. We need you.”
The pleading was in danger of turning into wheedling. Oh, to hell with it. It was easier just to get up and do what she wanted than try to put her off. Spike pushed himself into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the sarcophagus. He gave her a dark look, and growled, “I’m not going anywhere with that... that thing.”
“That thi... oh, the Buffybot? She’s, um... I mean, it’s still broken. It’s just me and Xander. And you. You’ll come--won’t you?”
Spike pointed towards the coat lying over the back of his armchair, and she hurried to pass it to him. He swung it over his shoulders, then made busy work of checking his pockets for stakes and smokes. Gratitude had replaced the pleading look and he couldn’t bear to look at her. She had no reason to be grateful to him--no one did. If he’d done what he was supposed to, Buffy would still be alive. He spun round and strode out the door, leaving her scurrying behind him to catch up.
They met Xander by the Anderson vault and began to make their way deeper into the cemetery. Xander glanced at him once with hollow eyes, then stared vaguely off into the distance. Willow tried to start a conversation once or twice before lapsing into silence. Spike lit a cigarette. An owl hooted in the distance. The only other sound was the rustling of their feet through the dry grass.
“How’s Dawn today, then?” Knowing what the Bit was going through was almost as hard as knowing Buffy was dead. The day after the night at the tower, she’d come to his crypt with eyes so swollen she could scarcely see and brought him some salve for his burns. The thought of her trying to make him feel better after he’d failed her so badly made him want to take a walk in the sun. But as much as he didn’t deserve her attention, he wouldn’t be the one to cause her further grief. She’d lost too many people already.
“She’s... well, not so good.” Willow gave him a look framed with despair. “She spent most of today lying in Buffy’s bed, crying. Tara stayed home tonight to try to get her to eat something. I- I didn’t know someone could lose so much weight in just a couple of days.” Spike’s chest tightened, and he gave a rock in his path a vicious kick. It flew into a nearby headstone and chipped the corner of it. Willow winced at the noise. “Maybe you could come by later and...”
She paused as Spike suddenly held up his hand, shushing her. Xander roused himself from his torpor and readied his stake. Spike cocked his head, listening, and tested the air.
“Vampire. Over there,” he said in a lowered voice. “Fledgling, I’ll wager. Can smell the fresh earth.” He broke into a jog, Willow and Xander at his heels.
The tang of newly turned soil grew stronger as they approached the back of the cemetery. Spike squinted and saw the dim outline of a figure darting between the marble grave markers. His brow furrowed--fledges were usually so focussed on finding their first meal that they wouldn’t have noticed a herd of rhinos behind them, but this one seemed to know it was being followed. And there was something about that scent...
“You and Xander head over there and then cut back towards the Templeman crypt. I’ll circle round this way, flush it towards you, and we’ll have it cornered.”
Willow nodded and pulled a large cross from under her coat, and the pair disappeared into the darkness. Spike moved off in the direction he had indicated, his boots nearly soundless on the packed dirt of the main path.
As he’d expected, the vampire sensed that its pursuers had split up, and it moved to the protection of the towering Templeman monument to consider its next move. In the shadow of a granite angel supplicating the heavens, Spike shook on his game face and drew a stake from his pocket. He crept closer, making sure to stay downwind, and watched the vampire disappear around the monument’s corner to where Willow and Xander should be waiting. Moments later, he heard Willow’s startled shriek and rolled his eyes. He’d told the silly bint his plan--what was she getting so worked up about? Not like she’d never seen a vampire before, for God’s sake. He put on a burst of speed and rounded the bend to find Willow and Xander frozen into place and staring at the snarling creature crouched in front of them.
A sudden gust of wind overpowered his senses with an aroma he never thought he’d experience again. He gasped, and the lithe figure spun round to face him, blonde hair whirling in its wake. The distorted face was at odds with the rest of what he knew beyond doubt to be her, and her lips parted into a fangy grin at the sight of his consternation. His stake fell from limp fingers and clattered to the ground.
“Buffy?”
Part 2 is here.