Chapter 13. Pointillism
“Well, darlin’, I’ll leave you to rest,” Spike said, starting to get up from the floor only to stop when Buffy grabbed his arm, large, needful eyes rising to his as she pleaded.
“No, don’t go. Don’t leave me. Please?”
“Love, I don’t think that’s a good id—”
“Please, Spike, stay with me? I-I really don't feel like... like being alone right now.” And she truly didn’t. While she’d tried to keep her fears at bay during their trip back to the manor and their talk, she knew the minute she found herself alone they would come back tenfold. She felt safe with Spike, was safe with him and knew his presence alone would keep the nightmares and the horrible memories away.
It wasn’t as if he could deny her anything, let alone something like this. However secure she might be in his home, she was still shaken after her experience with the overgrown git and he would feel a lot better knowing they were in the same room together.
“Of course I’ll stay, sweetheart. I’ll give you a few minutes so you can get ready for bed.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, wrapping her hands around his neck and leaning her head against his strong chest.
“You don’t need to thank me, love.”
“Yes, I do.” She pulled away from him slightly and nodded to emphasize her point. “If you hadn’t gotten to the room when you did, Riley would’ve…”
“Don’t think about it.”
“I need to say this, Spike. I don’t know what made you return to the hotel and I truly don’t care. Well, perhaps I do care a little bit.” She grinned sheepishly.
She is so adorable, he thought, smiling indulgently.
“The thing is, if it hadn’t been for you, I dread to think what could’ve happened. But you came for me, somehow you knew I needed you and you came. And not only that, you opened the doors of your house to me, a virtual stranger, a-”
“You’re not a stranger, virtual or otherwise, darlin’. I wouldn’t’ve shared all I have with you if I thought that, now would I?” He winked at her. “And you don’t need to thank me for anything. I’m doing this as much for my sake as for yours, perhaps more for myself. I’d hate to think of anything bad happening to you and not being there to stop it. Now, Miss Summers, be a good girl and get ready for bed, I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes,” he said, kissing her lightly on the lips before disentangling himself from her arms and leaving her to her privacy.
*******
Even considering she had to be exhausted after all she’d been through, he expected it would be difficult for her to fall asleep. Nothing farther from what happened though. She’d barely managed to keep her eyes open long enough after Spike joined her in her bed, her head pillowed over his chest and one of her legs nestled between his as he pulled the comforter over them to keep her warm.
He was thankful for the opportunity it gave him though. He remained awake for a long while; too busy savoring the feeling of having her with him like this to want to follow her into slumber.
He still couldn’t believe Buffy was being this accepting of him. She was in his arms, her own locked around him, holding him to her in her sleep. Taking comfort from him as much as giving it. It was perfection, the truest form of bliss he’d ever experienced to have the woman he loved close to him, trusting him enough to accept all of him, both man and demon.
There had been a time when he had reveled in the gore, in the hunt, in the fear he could inspire in those that had gone to great lengths to humiliate him in his mortal days. After being turned, he’d done a thousand things he now regretted; but back then it had been liberating to do whatever he pleased, to allow his demon free rein and let it indulge in creating as much mayhem as he possibly could. He’d lived and done more in those few years than he ever did being human and still… Still he’d retained enough of his humanity, of his soul—even though he was supposed to be nothing more than a soulless being—to know he couldn’t continue that way for all eternity, not without losing that small portion he’d kept of himself in the meantime. And that was something he couldn’t bear to do, to lose no matter what.
Not even for her, for his Sire. Drusilla had been enchanting, beautiful, dark and mysterious and he’d fallen head over heels for her. Not just because she’d made him and showed him there could be life after death or because she was one of the most lovely creatures he’d ever seen but because she had chosen him, William Wellington, to be her Childe.
They traveled, they partied, painted the towns they visited red—in some cases more literally than he cared to remember. And in that time, he learned all there was about being a vampire, about being a man. But he’d matured during that time as well and slowly began to realize that the life he’d thought so wonderful at first wasn’t so.
After only a few years, he tired of the life of parties and chaos, of sharing his wicked lover with any man or demon that took her fancy and started missing his parents, the home he’d grown up in, painting, even writing the bloody awful poetry only his dear mother would enjoy. That’s when the man took control of his life once again and the demon receded, his conscience mastering it, controlling it. Dru noticed the change and decided they should return to England to which he gladly agreed. What she hadn’t told him was they were going back so he could cut all ties to his prior life. What she didn’t count on was those ties were more important to him than she ever could have dreamed they were.
It had been a surprisingly easy choice for him when the time came. An automatic choice and in his mind, the only one he could have made, no matter how much he’d thought he loved his dark princess.
Drusilla made her intentions clear the same night they arrived to his familial estate by grabbing his mother, holding her by the chest, her fangs dangerously close to her throat and asking him to do the same with his father. Horrified he heard what she’d been planning all along, that she wanted them to kill his family, to sever all ties to his past. He didn’t need anyone else but her, she’d claimed. And while at the beginning of their liaison that might have been true, so many things had happened afterwards for him to question that. He still loved her, but it would never compare to the love he felt for the persons who raised him, who had bestowed anything other than love and kindness upon him. And before she even imagined he would never choose her, he’d taken the wooden spade his father kept over a table, a memento from his childhood, tore his mother away from her grasp and rammed the spade through Drusilla’s undead heart before she had time to retaliate, her eyes wide and filled with sorrow as she realized what he’d done.
Her death had been hard for Spike, perhaps more than he’d thought given the quickness in which he reacted to her threat. He’d mourned her, immersing himself in his paintings, in his life inside the manor. In the meantime, his father had taken care of matters as best he could to ensure his sole heir would remain being so for the time he lived, or unlived as the case might be, no matter how long it was. After a little investigating, it was amazing what fortune such as the Wellington’s could buy. He’d contacted a firm, Wolf, Ram and Hart and they had solved everything then and still continued to now, providing Spike with all sorts of services throughout the years that ensured no one would ever contest the validity of his father’s will or his rights as his legal heir, regardless of his undead state.
He’d been mostly alone since his parents had passed; a few of their loyal employees remaining with him after, their sons and daughters carrying on after they too died and so forth. Every once in a while, he would emerged from his solitude, his need for human contact and his desire to share his work with the world to see how it would be received being the driving force. They were the sole motives that generally drew him out, but while still keeping his anonymity a priority.
Until the moment Buffy came into his life and illuminated everything in her path. He hadn’t been able to stay away from her, and when the opportunity arose he didn’t even think of not taking hold of it with both hands, even if it meant losing that anonymity he’d prized so much before. He’d compared himself to Icarus when he saw her that first time, wondering if his wings might melt away under the heat of her radiance if he dared to come too close.
And perhaps that’s what happened, his wings melted and he’d fallen, but instead of dying because of it, he felt more alive than ever before... because she caught him. He didn’t know what would happen when they would have to part ways, but he was determined to enjoy the time they still had together and make it count.
Because no matter how much he wished to keep her with him, or how much she wished to remain with him, he couldn’t dream of subjecting her to a life without light. She belonged in the light, in the sun, and he loved her too much to risk her well-being for him.
He still had a few more days until he had to give her up though, and he was determined to enjoy those days to the fullest, the consequences to his heart be damned.
Lulled by the soft rise and fall of her chest as she breathed and the steady beat of her heart, he finally allowed sleep to claim him.
*******
Meanwhile, at a hospital nearby The Mandeville Hotel…
“Edwards and I found him in an alley a few meters away from The Mandeville, bloodied, bruised and reeking of alcohol,” Officer Williams told the man who’d been sent to replace him at the hospital. “According to the head nurse he’s way over the legal BAC limit and seems to be experiencing some kind of paranoia.”
“Paranoia?” the younger man asked, wide-eyed and curious.
“Yes. You see when we interrogated him earlier he started… well, raving about monsters that were coming after him.” He rolled his eyes, clearly stating he didn’t believe any of it. “Now if you ask me, I think he pissed the wrong man or men off at a pub, judging by his wounds. You know how those Americans can be.”
Officer Richards nodded. “Yes, I do know. Always trying to create some trouble.”
“Exactly. And this one takes the cake. Really, who would believe a word of what he’s saying, especially with as drunk as he is?”
“And you’d probably be right not to, young man,” a voice confirmed from behind them.
Officer Williams started, turning towards the older, very distinguished looking man who’d spoken. “Doctor Ethan Rayne, may I introduce my co-worker, Officer Richards.”
“How do you do, young man?” Ethan offered his hand to the youngster now looking at him in awe.
“Doctor Ethan Rayne? Renowned Doctor Rayne, Director of Bedlam? The Doctor Rayne?” Officer Richards asked, unable to mask his admiration as he shook the older man’s hand.
“One and the same.”
“Doctor Rayne sometimes performs consultations in this hospital, Officer Richards, and since he was here when we brought Mr. Finn in, he kindly offered to examine him. I imagine you’ve finished your examination of him, Doctor?” Officer Williams questioned.
“Yes, I just did.”
“And?” Williams pressed.
“I think it would be for the best to relocate him to a more suitable facility.” Best for whom though, was the true question. Ethan smiled inwardly. When his old mate, Rupert Giles, contacted him earlier that night, he never expected the ‘favor’ he asked of him would be of this nature—or this much fun for that matter. Just thinking of the experiments he’d be able to perform on the ‘big oaf’, as dear old Ripper had referred him as, had him feeling thoroughly giddy.
“A more suitable facility?” Richards repeated. “Like Bedlam, you mean?”
“Precisely, although we prefer to be called Bethlem Royal Hospital nowadays,” Ethan answered with a smile. “Surely you understand; we prefer to distance ourselves from the atrocities committed there in other times.” And the ones we still commit with certain select patients, such as Mr. Finn, he added to himself.
“Of course, Doctor Rayne,” Richards nodded.
“I still don’t understand why you need to relocate Mr. Finn,” Williams intervened.
Perhaps not as easy as he thought with Officer Williams in charge, however he was nothing if not resourceful. “Well, Officer, the man is suffering from a very strange form of Delirium Tremens; due, I presume, to the heavy amounts of alcohol he consumed. I suspect he’s an alcoholic and if he’s already in the stages where Paranoia is manifesting—as his ramblings of monsters pursuing to kill him suggest—he’s clearly a danger both to himself and to others. It’s a very sad case actually, but I’m quite confident we can help him at the Bethlem Royal Hospital.”
“Well, I’m still not sure—”
“Williams, I hardly think your opinion should matter. He…” Richards pointed at Ethan. “…is an authority in break-through treatments for mentally-disabled patients. I’m sure Chief Brown will agree with him and me that we should do what’s best for Mr. Finn and at the moment, following Dr. Rayne’s advice is the best for him.”
“Oh alright, do with him what you think is best.” Williams conceded with a defeated sigh. It was not like he cared what happened to the American anyway.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Williams. I promise we will take excellent care of our new patient.” Ethan grinned in a way that could only be described as evil. Very good care indeed.
tbc
So, *shuffles* I know the majority (if not all) of you wanted a gruesome death for Riley, but I’ve always thought there are worse fates than death. *wide evil grin*
Also, the Bethlem Royal Hospital of London, which has been variously known as St. Mary Bethlehem, Bethlem Hospital, Bethlehem Hospital and Bedlam, is the world's oldest psychiatric hospital and became famous and infamous for the brutal ill-treatment meted out to the mentally ill in several periods throughout history.
I’d love to know what you thought of the chapter, if you feel inclined to tell me. *bats eyelashes*
Hope you have a wonderful rest of the week!
Hugs,
Mari
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I’m so sorry again for the long wait in between postings, but this time it couldn’t be helped. My dad was sick all last week and between that and having to take care of the office, I just couldn’t write at all. Dad is all better now though, so finally I could whip another chapter into submission for your viewing pleasure. As always, a thousand thanks to all of you who keep reading and reviewing. It truly makes my day to know you’re still enjoying this story. I promise I'll respond to the ones for the last chapter tomorrow. And a special thank you to my darling IBE, without your help, enthusiasm and motivation this story wouldn’t be what it is. *smooches*
Just a reminder: Voting is open at The Feeling Love Awards, so if you feel inclined to vote for this story or whichever of the wonderful stories nominated, you can do so at: http://thefeelingloveawards.blood-desires.co.uk/Voting%20Form.html until Midnight GMT on November 30th.
Just a reminder: Voting is open at The Feeling Love Awards, so if you feel inclined to vote for this story or whichever of the wonderful stories nominated, you can do so at: http://thefeelingloveawards.blood-desires.co.uk/Voting%20Form.html until Midnight GMT on November 30th.