| Sympathy for the Devil by ComedyofErrors |
| Chapter #20 - Chapter 19 |
| Chapter 19 Buffy knew, as she swam toward consciousness, that she wasn’t in her bed on Revello Drive. The sheets surrounding her had a different texture than her own. Also, the air here was colder than it was in her cozy home. She opened her eyes, blinking to clear her blurry vision. The mattress on which she lay rested on the ground in a dim, dirt-walled room. There was a coffin beside her. This was Spike’s crypt and Spike’s bed. She’d come here last night and woken him from a nightmare, then stayed. The mattress fit two people easily, so she’d crawled in beside him under the covers. She had lain awake for a while, listening to him breath, but no other dreams had troubled him. Instead her eyes explored his sleeping face, admiring those high cheekbones and pale skin. Eventually, she fell asleep. Buffy’s hand reached for the other side of the bed, but failed to encounter the body of the vampire she had comforted. She sat up to gaze around the crypt’s lower level, but didn’t see him. The burned out stubs of the candles she’d lit the previous night lay extinguished on the wooden surfaces of the coffins, replaced by new, tall sticks that flickered periodically. Spike must have lit them. Perhaps he’d gone upstairs. There was a slight difference in the room from her memory of the previous night. On the casket at the foot of the bed, at a safe distance from the candles and the leisurely drip of their wax, was a thin binder. Buffy pushed up onto her knees and edged forward along the bed. She leaned against the coffin foot board and reached for the folder, repositioning it in front of her. It was a battered black photo album with the single word ‘Album’ embossed on the cover in gold script. Buffy bit her lip, debating as to whether or not she should open it, but in the end her curiosity won out over her discretion. Gingerly, she lifted the cover, wincing as the old spine cracked in protest. Buffy carefully flattened the binding against the coffin lid before glancing at the first photo within. Her eyes widened and her hand rose to stifle a gasp that threatened to escape her. What she saw before her was an old, yellowed photograph lovingly preserved on expensive paper. It was a portrait of a family – mother, father, and three children – wearing Victorian garments. The mother held two very young girls in white dresses and caps on her lap. Beside the father stood a boy of about six, wearing a little suit with a lace collar. William. Buffy smiled. Spike had taken care to safeguard this precious, delicate piece of his history, reminding her that as always, his humanity was not far beneath the surface. Buffy searched the faces of the people in the picture. Spike had a loving family, with a gentle mother, adoring sisters…and though Buffy had never seen his father in Spike’s memories, she recalled the tears he and his sisters had shed upon the man’s death. He’d loved his father. Looking at the patriarch in this photo, she could see a similarity between the two men, especially about the eyes. Cautiously, Buffy turned the page. This time she was faced by two close-ups, one each of Spike’s parents. They were younger here, perhaps just recently married. Another page turned brought images of the two sisters he’d lost to influenza. Rachel, the eldest, was about fourteen when the image was taken. Another page brought a picture of William in his early twenties, standing beside his seated mother. It must have been just the two of them at that time. On the opposite page was a document, written lengthwise. Buffy tilted her head to get a better look at it and noted with some surprise that it was a diploma. Spike had not only gone to college, he’d achieved a Master’s degree in English Literature. With a wicked smile, Buffy thought to herself that here was blackmail if she ever needed it. Not that she would do that to Spike, having promised herself to be fair with him from now on. Unless of course he tried something first… The next page produced a family portrait of a very different and much more shocking nature. Before Buffy was an image of the members of Order Aurelius, or at least Spike’s branch. Angelus and Darla sat on a couch holding hands. On the opposite side of Darla sat Dru, looking demure. Behind the sofa stood two male vampires. The shorter one, a stocky man with an arrogant smile, Buffy didn’t recognize, but the second was Spike. He must have been a very young fledgling when the picture was taken. His smile was soft. The pages of the album that followed contained a few more pictures of the vampires Spike called family, interspersed with sketches that looked to Buffy like portraits drawn by Angelus. The later pictures featured only Spike. Well, Spike and Drusilla. Buffy couldn’t help a little jealousy at seeing the evidence of how long the two of them had been together. She focused her attention on Spike as she continued to turn the pages, smiling at how his appearance changed over the decades. Only about three quarters of the album was filled. Turning to the very last picture, Buffy saw that it was the same small photo she’d allowed Spike to keep from the hoard he’d taken from her home. The one she’d laid beside him before she left to speak with her mother. Buffy felt humbled to see her image along with these people that Spike had loved so deeply. Footsteps sounded on the ladder. Buffy looked up in time to see Spike descending, a cardboard drink cozy held in one hand. Quickly, she closed the book and set it back in its original position, though she knew Spike must have seen her looking at it. His words confirmed the fact as he approached the bed. “’S okay. You can look if you want.” “I’m sorry,” Buffy apologized belatedly. She stared at the cover. “I should have asked.” The mattress shifted as Spike sat down heavily beside her, tucking his feet up against the coffin and placing his cardboard drink carton atop the wood. “Was plannin’ on showin’ it to you anyway,” he murmured, with a gesture toward the book. His weary tone made Buffy meet his gaze for the first time that morning. Despite a night’s rest, he still looked worn from his experience the previous day. Quietly, he continued, “You’ve already seen the stuff I was tryin’ to hide, outside and in.” Buffy stared into his eyes, nodding slightly to acknowledge the truth of what he’d said. In his eyes she could see how raw, how exposed he felt before her, and how frightened he was of how she would judge him. Buffy lifted a hand slowly and set it on his arm. She squeezed the muscle beneath her fingers as, in a steady, reassuring voice, she declared, “I’m still here.” “Yeah,” he breathed, as though he barely believed it. “I noticed.” He swallowed nervously, then turned his head to consider the drinks he’d brought with him. Buffy’s hand was dislodged as he reached for one of the ceramic mugs wedged into the too-small holes. “I, uh, made coffee. Figured you’d want some.” Eagerly, Buffy accepted the warm glass. She wrapped her cold hands around it. “Thanks.” She took a sip as he reached for his own cup. It steamed in the cool air of the crypt just like her coffee, but the liquid inside was a deep red. “Hungry?” He gave a shy nod. “Hadn’t had anythin’ since…since before I went under.” “Two days ago,” Buffy supplied, realizing that he didn’t know how long he’d been in the grip of the poison. A frown marred his features. “Felt like longer.” “Did it ever,” she agreed. He glanced at her, curious. “How long were you inside me?” “A few hours,” she told him with a sigh. “But even that seemed like days, what with – well, the memories.” She shook her head. “I can’t imagine what it was like for you, in there.” It took a moment for Spike to respond and when he did it was with a single word. “Bad.” Buffy watched his eyes close around suppressed tears as his jaw clenched. She set her coffee aside and reached for him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders as she slid beside him. They were pressed hip to hip as Buffy’s other hand, warm from the coffee, rose to pet his strained face. Raggedly he breathed, “Keep waitin’ for it to start all over again. Of all the bloody things to hallucinate, I pick that shite.” “Giles said it comes from whatever you were thinking about when you were stung.” She sighed. Gently, she prompted, “Do you remember how you got infected?” “Had a row with Harmony after I left the Bronze, t’ other night. Took her to the bus station, gave her some money, and said goodbye. Walked back through the cemetery, thinkin’ about how hopeless it was. How every time I got to thinkin’ I had a chance at bein’ someone I just got buggered over.” He snorted and opened his eyes. “Figured it might be better to give over and just live with how pathetic I’d always been, instead of keepin’ up hope of somethin’ more.” Neither spoke for some time after that. Buffy waited silently. She kept her hands on him to reassure him that she was there. She felt him calm, felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as his breathing steadied. “That was why I got the pictures out,” he admitted. “To remind myself that it wasn’t all that way. Lot of it was bloody brilliant.” “I’m so sorry,” Buffy blurted out. His face was puzzled as he regarded her. “Told you it was alright to look at the pictures, pet. I don’t mind.” Buffy shook her head. “Not about that. Well, yes about that, but that’s not what I meant.” His eyes stayed with her, encouraging her to speak. Breathing deeply, Buffy confessed, “I’m so sorry for making you feel hopeless. And for saying that you were beneath me.” He shivered at the reminder of that alley and Buffy hastened to add, “You aren’t. God, Spike, I’ve treated you like dirt, like worse than dirt. No one, least of all you, deserves that.” His brow furrowed in surprise at her apology. Buffy knew it wasn’t what he’d expected. Hesitant, he countered, “It wasn’t just about you.” “I know,” she affirmed, now fighting tears of her own. “But I helped. And I’ll always regret that.” “Don’t, luv,” he pleaded. “You have enough to worry about without adding that rot to the mix.” His arm came up to mirror her embrace of him, pulling them tight together. Slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. Buffy sniffed. “You still love me, after everything I’ve done to you,” she marveled. The look he gave her showed just how ridiculous he thought she was being. “’Course. Can’t help it, can I? You're all I bloody think about. Dream about. You’re in my gut ... my throat ... I’m drowning in you, Summers,” he whispered. “So you’re interested in being my boyfriend?” She queried. “I would suffer through this every day for a chance to be yours,” he avowed. The intensity of his eyes as he spoke threatened to overwhelm Buffy, but she forced herself to focus. “It’s not like that for me,” she declared ruefully. “I’m willing. I really, really, really like you. I know that I could love you, Spike. That I will love you if we end up together. But you have so much passion about this. I haven’t felt that strongly about anyone since…” she left Angel’s name unspoken. It wasn’t necessary. “I’m afraid of disappointing you,” she finished apologetically. Spike shook his head. “Slayer,-” “Call me Buffy.” He nodded. “Buffy. The only way you could disappoint me would-” he sighed. “I couldn’t stand it if I thought you were doing this ‘cause you feel sorry for me.” “No, no! I-” Words weren’t her things. She had trouble talking about breakfast, how was she supposed to express her feelings to Spike? Frustrated, she almost yelled, “I want to be with you because I’ve seen who you are on the inside.” That didn’t sound bad. “You laugh at death. You’re selfless with the people you love. You’re loyal.” She smiled. “You wrote me poetry.” He grunted. “You read some of that drivel, did you? I get it. It scarred you for life and now you’re not in your right mind.” Buffy laughed quietly. “I loved it. Nobody ever wrote me poetry before.” “Sure you aren’t a little off?” He asked timidly. “Crazies are the only ones that ever liked my scribbles.” Exasperated, Buffy shook her head. “You’re the second English guy to ask me if I’m crazy since yesterday. What is it with you people?” Spike licked his lips, considering. “You told the watcher ‘bout this?” “He guessed. He’s going to be watching you more than me, now, so make sure you behave.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Behave as much as it is possible for you to behave.” “I’m surprised he didn’t come back here and stake me,” Spike mused. Buffy sighed. “He’s not happy, but he said it was my decision, which it is. Mom said the same thing.” Disbelieving, he asked, “You told Joyce?” She nodded, surprised by his tone. “Is that okay?” “Bloody hell, ‘course it’s okay. It’s just…you’re serious about this, aren’t you?” His tone was full of wonder. Buffy realized that she’d managed to give him back his hope. Throat tight, she replied, “Mm-hmm.” Still unsure, he asked, “What can you possibly see in me? I’m a demon. Unworthy.” “I know you’re a vampire Spike. But that doesn’t mean as much to me as it used to.” She wasn’t sure what else she could say to make him believe her sincerity. A memory of a memory rushed to the forefront of Buffy’s mind and she recalled the moment of William’s turning. Dru’s words were as accurate a description of Spike, then and now, as Buffy had ever heard. “‘A man surrounded by fools who cannot see his strength, his vision, his glory. You walk in worlds the others can’t begin to imagine.’” He sighed, recognizing the lines. “At least you left out the burning baby fishes swimmin’ all around my head.” “That’s because I’m not crazy. But Dru was right. That’s the man you are. I’m not going to ask you to be perfect. Just to be you, William or Spike, but most of all, mine,” Buffy declared. “Please trust me, Spike, like you trusted me to bring you back to the real world. We have a chance at being together. I want to take it.” Eyes moist and voice shaky, he groaned, “God, luv, so do I.” The tears Buffy had been suppressing on and off throughout their conversation burst forth at his tender admission. Spike pulled her over to him so that she was half straddling his lap so that he could wrap both arms around her. He squeezed her tightly, forgetting his strength, but Buffy didn’t care. She buried her face in his shoulder and clung to him with the same ferocity. Time passed and they refused to move, to break the spell. Sometime after her tears had dried, Buffy heard Spike’s voice beside her ear. “Luv? Can I kiss you?” Buffy smiled. “Yes.” “Good.” He leaned her head back with a delicate touch. He licked his lips before tentatively pressing them to her mouth. With ardor she’d thought forgotten, Buffy responded, keeping the pressure between them firm as she slid her hand around to cup the back of his head. They broke apart panting. One of Spike’s hands lifted to trace the side of Buffy’s face. In the barest of whispers, Spike murmured, “Effulgent.” Buffy kissed him back. Fin. ***** Response to Challenge #155. AU after the first scene in Crush. Out on patrol Spike gets stung by a glarghk guhl kashma'nik demon and becomes lost in his memories. In an attempt to find out what's wrong with him, Buffy goes inside his mind and discovers the truth about William the Bloody. Thank you to Kargrif for the Challenge, the Banner, and the Icon. Thank you to my beta Linda for her input and for keeping my head sowed on straight. Thank you to the reviewers. 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