“Five more seconds, Spike, that’s all I need. You can do it…come on! That’s…almost…and done!” Spike tiredly lowered his shaking leg, wincing at the burning pain. He collapsed back onto the bed, ignoring the wave of frustration that threatened to overtake him. He would not give in.
“You’re amazing, Spike,” Sirra murmured. “You’re way further along than we ever dreamed. You’re gaining muscle mass quickly; with any luck, we should start you on the walker soon.”
Spike simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Anger churned in his gut, and it took everything within him not to lash out. She’d been saying that practically since they started, always filled with complements—right after she demanded he push himself a little bit harder. More than three months of the same song and dance. But he still wasn’t walking. Even the exercises he did on his own weren’t helping, not that he could tell. Spike closed his eyes, blocking out his frustration and anger.
Sirrra started her muscle-building massage, trying not to wince at the anger and frustration she felt rolling through her charge. She only felt a little guilty not telling Spike she was an empath. But it let her keep Alanna, Leto, and the Seek up-to-date on the vamp, and he had some serious issues boiling underneath his calm, determined exterior. She shook her head; something wasn’t right. She’d been expecting anger and frustration, but this…what she felt in Spike had been growing for a long time. It was old rage, cold and calculating. She closed her eyes and slipped further underneath his façade.
Sirra gasped and dropped the leg she’d been working on, abruptly severing her connection. The intense pain and self-loathing…her eyes filled with tears, and she felt the pain physically.
“Pet? Are you alright?” Spike asked with concern. Sirra was usually a hard-nosed sarcastic bitch; sudden tears weren’t like her at all. And Spike had never been good with crying women.
“Yeah, fine. I…I think I’m going to be sick,” she gasped. “I’m sorry!” Sirra rushed out of the room, her world spinning. There was something dark and sinister in Spike; something very powerful. It could crush him, destroy the person they’d all come to know. It was a boiling cauldron of doubt, anger, rage, self pity, disgust, self loathing…all rolled into one, volatile package. And it was just waiting for something to make it explode.
*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***
Buffy sat on the balcony, looking over Rome. She found herself doing that a lot these days, seeking the solitude of night. A small, humorless smile etched itself on her face, a pale imitation of the once effortless, effulgent smile that had brightened rooms. To think that once upon a time she’d shunned the darkness, thought the light was where she belonged. The truth was the light held as many scary things as the dark; they were just harder to spot.
Ah, how the mighty have fallen.
Footsteps approached her haven, and Buffy braced for the intrusion, sliding back into the shiny happy persona. The door slid open and she relaxed.
Dawn settled herself next to her sister. Their view really was spectacular. But her attention was focused on her sister and her mind on the front she was putting up for everyone. In a way, Dawn could understand it. Why she was doing…this. The Scoobies were nothing if not persistent, especially when it came to how they though Buffy should act or live her life.
“Buff—“
“I know.” The words held a certainty and conviction Dawn hadn’t heard since… She shook away the tears that threatened. Now was not the time.
“It’s…it’s easy,” her sister whispered into the darkness, her eyes far away. Dawn’s heart broke at the desperation she heard. “It’s easy to just…nothing’s been easy for almost a year, Dawnie. And this—it keeps everyone quiet, it gives me the time…please. Please, you have t-t-to under—understand. I n-n-need—“
Dawn wrapped her arms around her sobbing sister, grateful that some of her heartache had found a release. God, she understood. She understood too well. And she was pissed as hell at the Scoobies on top of it. Giles and Willow wondered why she barely talked to them.
“I know, Buffy. I know. And I forgive you.”
*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***
Malach kept his attention fixed on the third floor balcony, the two figures so close they melded together in the shadows.
“Yes?” his toneless voice spoke softly into his phone. “She’s there. They’re both there.” He watched the women dispassionately, marking their movements.
“Everything is in place; we can move as soon as you give the word.” His employer chuckled, a sound that held anything but mirth.
Malach ended the call, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. Things were moving, being set in motion. He wouldn’t have to wait too much longer.
*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***
Sirra stood before the Seek, an annoyed frown on her face.
“How long?” The question hung in the air, mired in tension. She sighed, shaking her head. They weren’t listening. What was it about Spike that made everyone loose their heads?
“You don’t understand! This…this THING that’s building inside him…the anger, and rage, and the self-hatred…there’s not a timetable. But something’s going to set it off! Something small, something big, it doesn’t matter. He’s going to reach a breaking point, and all of his demons, all of his issues, everything he’s repressed…it’s going to all come flooding out. It’s going to break him. And he WILL break. But when he does, we need to be ready. THEY,” she gestured to the couple sitting beside her, “need to be read. And available.”
Murmurs flew through the chamber room, thoughts flying, the entirety of the Seek speaking and thinking at once.
“Then our only recourse,” a booming voice announced, “is to ground them. No missions until this is…resolved.” All eyes were fixed on the motionless Slayer and stoic vampire. Alanna and Leto didn't even have to consult one another.
“We accept.”
*** *** ****** *** ****** *** ***
Spike woke up bathed in sweat, breathing hard. He’d had another dream—no, another nightmare. They were getting more frequent, these dreams he could never quite remember. He always woke up in a panic, like there was something he needed to do, some pressing question he needed answered.
Colors flew through his fevered brain—red, gold, black, dark brown…almost chestnut, and eyes of green. The symbols made no sense, but they felt like they should.
He took a deep breath, calming himself. The colors faded, as they always did.
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