| Sympathy for the Devil by ComedyofErrors |
| Chapter #18 - Chapter 17 |
| Chapter 17 Shrine. That was the only word that described the sight revealed as the sheet fluttered to the ground, forgotten. Buffy’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling a shocked cry as hundreds of images of her own face stared back at her. Photos. Sketches. A dummy wearing a wig and what looked like the cashmere sweater she’d accused Dawn of stealing. And then there was the underwear. Thongs. A camisole or two. Socks? Even a pair of shoes that she remembered throwing out because they were too slimed to salvage. The table was littered with clothing, while the pictures had been pinned to an old message board resting against the wall. Intermingled with the images she could see papers that looked suspiciously like poetry. It was overwhelming to see herself displayed like that. The eyes of the dummy followed her as her gaze roved over the spectacle. He’d made it from her things, trying to get close to her in the only way he could. He’d stolen, scavenged, and built a monument to her because he was in love with her and couldn’t have her. God. Spike didn’t love half-way, did he? For him love came with obsession and adoration. When he fell, he fell hard. That’s why his worst memories were of rejection. Cecily, Dru, Buffy. She had to force herself to see this collection in that light. It wasn’t because he wanted to harm her, or was stalking her out of malice. She believed that, truly. But it was going to take time for her to get used to the strength with which Spike felt for her. She wasn’t anywhere near as taken with him. She couldn’t even pretend to make light of his feelings, if this was what he did to stay sane when he couldn’t be with her. Any joking on her part would hurt him. It still disturbed her that Spike would do this; it wasn’t sane human behavior. But that was the point, wasn’t it? The reason Giles was freaking and the reason Riley told Spike he didn’t have a chance with her. Spike was a vampire. Buffy couldn’t expect him to act exactly like a human being. She would either have to learn to deal with Spike’s demon nature or learn to live without him. Being with Spike wasn’t going to be easy. Buffy saw that now with a clarity that her tentative thoughts about a relationship with Spike had lacked when she first formed them. She’d known there would be problems getting acceptance from the others, but she hadn’t thought that she and Spike could be obstacles to each other. She should have, given her dating history. But insight wasn’t usually her thing. Buffy’s hands shook. She was supposed to be finding candles, getting some light for the traumatized vampire. But she couldn’t deal with him while this…altar was behind her. She grabbed the most offensive item, the dummy, and ripped the shirt over its head. She grabbed an empty box and tossed the sweater inside. She tore the pictures and drawings off the backboard, shoving them into the box as well. More clothing, more paper, all of it. She clapped a lid firmly over the top and breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t feel so exposed, now. She found the candles she’d been looking for, set them atop the surprisingly light box of trinkets and paper, and walked back to the bed. She set the box down on a coffin and set the candles up. Next to the melted wax of the previous lights there was a bent book of matches. She struck one, and soon the lower crypt was illuminated by the soft glow of the candles. Kneeling next to the mattress, Buffy noticed that Spike’s tired, hooded eyes were focused on her. She could imagine what his thoughts had been as he listened to her destroying his shrine. Building that was the kind of thing she would have slayed him for yesterday, helpless as he was. Right now, Spike looked as exhausted as Buffy felt, and that impression was strengthened by the obvious worry lining his face. Lips pursed, he spoke in a weary tone. “If you’re gonna yell at me, go ahead. Hit me, if you want.” He seemed resigned to whatever punishment she would devise, obviously too worn to protest. “I’m not going to yell at you. Or hit you.” Buffy sighed. “I’m going to take this stuff back home. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t steal it again.” “I won’t.” He frowned. “Figured you’d be angrier than this, way you were goin’ at the stuff.” His expression penitent, he whispered, “Didn’t mean for you to see it.” Buffy shook her head slowly, trying to put words to her thoughts. “I’m not angry. Weirded out, yeah. But after a few hours watching you from the inside out, I think I understand why you did it.” One slow nod answered her. Eyes unfocused as he stared up into the darkness, searching for the answer to some unknown question, Spike mumbled, “Suppose you remember what I told you when you were knockin’ around in my head, tryin’ to wake me up.” Buffy remembered. She remembered his anguished voice as he half sobbed his love to her. As he agreed to trust her for the very first time. “Um-hmm.” He turned his head on the pillow to meet her eyes. “So you know, then, that I love you.” He said it quietly, without hesitation. Buffy gave him a shy smile. “Yeah, kinda got that.” “Still don’t want to hit me?” he asked uncertainly. It hurt that he had to ask that, though Buffy knew that would have been her response to his heartfelt confession, had she not grown acquainted with the person Spike was beneath the bluster. Through that same new understanding of him, she understood that the fear he felt now was not of being hit, or even dusted, but of being rejected. Of the words ‘beneath me’. So with a shake of her head she said simply, “Nope.” A puzzled expression drifted across his face. Spike licked his lips and asked softly, “Do you…would you, I mean…like to kiss me, then?” He broke off into a sheepish yawn, then watched her with soft, expectant eyes. Buffy smiled as she laid her palm against his cheek, lightly stroking the bone with her thumb. He leaned into her touch, breathing her scent in deeply. “Maybe later. Right now, you need to rest. And I need to run home, then go and convince my watcher than I’m not crazy.” His eyes widened, blue and scared as they had been on that beach long ago when he was a little boy. He swallowed, not quite successful at keeping the anxiety out of his voice as he asked, “You’re leavin’?” Her fingers trailed up over his ear, running through his gelled hair. “I have to. But if you want, I’ll come back after I’m done.” She saw Spike’s hesitation, perhaps because he feared to admit just how unnerved the memories he’d relived had made him. How much he needed to know that he wasn’t alone as he had been in them. In the end, he nodded. Buffy petted his face a moment longer, until he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Then she stood and lifted the cardboard holding the remains of Spike’s idol of Buffy worship. She paused, considering the weight of pictures and drawings inside. With one hand she reached inside and pulled out a random image of herself. She was smiling at the camera, looking much happier than she’d felt in a long time. She closed the box and set the picture on the bed, next to Spike’s hand. As she climbed up the ladder, box under one arm, Buffy saw his fingers curl around the likeness of her. ________________________________________________________________________ “Buffy?” Buffy propped the front door open as she maneuvered her box-o-stuff-taken-by-Spike through. “Yep, it’s me.” Buffy set the box down on the stairway and turned toward the living room and the sound of her mother’s voice. Her mom, dressed in her nightgown and robe, was seated on the sofa beside a pajama-ed Dawn. A bowl of popcorn sat on Dawn’s lap while The Princess Bride played on the T.V., the colors of the oft watched video bleeding together. Buffy walked over and sat beside her mother, receiving a brief hug in greeting. Dawn was watching her with anticipation, no doubt waiting to hear the scoop on Spike. Joyce spoke first. “We were wondering where you’d gotten to.” Her mom’s arm settled around Buffy’s shoulders. “How’s Spike?” Buffy was sure she could think of more difficult questions to answer, but that was a doozy. ‘Fine’ was the first thing that came to mind and the farthest from the truth, but the whole truth was too overwhelming to reveal to a fourteen year old and a recent tumor survivor. So something truthful, but not too honest was the response Buffy needed to deliver. “Awake. He got stung by a demon and the venom put him into a coma. Willow and Tara mixed up the antidote for him.” Dawn smiled in relief. “Great. I knew he’d be okay.” Averting her eyes, Dawn asked nonchalantly, “Did you tell him I’m the one that found him?” Her eyes rolled automatically at her sister’s antics as their mother sighed. “No, I didn’t. I will later, if you want.” Dawn shrugged, eyes on Fezzik. “If you want. Doesn’t matter.” Buffy and her mother both suppressed a few laughs, before Joyce suggested, “Why don’t you come in the kitchen, Buffy. I’ll make you some tea.” Buffy suspected that tea wasn’t the only thing on the menu, but to get away from Dawn’s very wide and very impressionable ears, she said, “Sure,” and followed her mother into the other room. Joyce put some water on to boil and set out some bags of chamomile while Buffy supervised. “Honestly, Buffy, I can make tea without tiring myself out.” A nod from Buffy greeted her statement. “I know. But now you’re going to sit down at the bar while I get the mugs.” “As you wish.” Joyce gave a mock sigh of resignation and seated herself on a stool. “So, Buffy, how is William? Really.” A tired sigh that Buffy couldn’t hold back escaped as she set the fruit patterned china on the cabinet. “He’s doing better than he was.” “What was it you weren’t willing to say in front of Dawn?” Joyce asked, keeping her eyes on Buffy’s down turned face. Her fingers drummed lightly on the counter as Buffy explained. It was a surprisingly quick retelling, what with the omission of all that emotion and pain on Spike’s part and the guilt on Buffy’s. She didn’t pretend to believe that her mom didn’t know Buffy was editing the story. Moms were good at that. “…so Dru’s gone, Spike’s better, and I have to go and talk with Giles then get back to Spike.” The tea pot whistled, and as Buffy poured out the heated water, her mother queried quietly, “Get back to Spike?” Buffy’s hands shook a little as she carried the mugs to the bar. With a nonchalance that reminded her of Dawn’s behavior in the living room Buffy hedged, “Yep. He didn’t want to be alone.” Oh, that was smooth, Buffy. Sounds like you’re going back there for clandestine activities of the naughty kind. Her mom didn’t comment on the phrasing, though. “I didn’t realize you were on such good terms with William that you’d do him that kind of favor.” Buffy cradled her mug in her hands, staring at the little bubbles around the tea bag. “He’s not so bad, once you get to know him.” “Well, being in someone’s mind is a better way to get to know him than walking in his shoes.” Joyce sipped her tea. “And if you and William become better friends, I think that’s a good thing.” Her mouth twitched as Buffy asked, “What if, say, we got to be more than friends?” A sigh from Joyce made Buffy look up. She never failed to be amazed at how many expressions her mother could wear simultaneously. There was acceptance, and whimsy, and love, and concern, all at once. Spike could do that, Buffy thought to herself. Joyce took another sip from her glass. “If the two of you become more than friends, then I suppose I could get used to the idea. But promise me you’ll be careful. As much as I like him and believe in him, he’s still a bit unpredictable. The two of you are destined for some pretty fierce arguments.” Buffy’s brow furrowed. “Mom…I don’t mean to pry, okay, maybe I do, but…was it worth it? All the arguing with Dad and the affairs and the divorce?” Her mother’s hand settled on Buffy’s wrist, warm from the tea mug and firm. “I wouldn’t change anything about my life, Buffy, except the way I treated you back then. You deserved my support, and I didn’t often give it. I won’t lie to you. Splitting up with your father was the most painful thing I’ve ever done. I loved him, and that just slowly went away. “But I can still remember the good days. They were worth it. And my daughters will always be worth it. If you’re asking me if the chance of getting hurt outweighs the benefits of being with someone…well, I’d say you know as much as I do.” Joyce stared at the counter. “I know that you and Riley were never as close as that. But I seem to recall another vampire you liked. You never told me too much about Angel. But I got the impression you were in love with him.” Buffy nodded. “I was. Very much.” Joyce pressed gently, “And was it worth it? Loving him?” “Yeah.” “Then there’s your answer,” Joyce removed her hand from Buffy’s wrist. Buffy stared at her mother for a moment, before coming forward quickly and giving her tight hug. Not slayer tight, but tight. “Thank you, Mom,” she said with a quiet sob. Joyce kissed her daughter’s hair. “That’s what moms are for, sweetie. Now go upstairs, get fixed up, and go talk to Mr. Giles. Dawn and I will see you tomorrow.” ***** Please let me know what you think! Thanks as always to my beta, Linda. |