[Reviews - 16]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2978 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
I'm a new author here and this is my first fic. I have to warn you I am a slow writer sometimes so bear with me :)
Sometimes, in times like these, she wished time would just slow down. Or not move at all. Be still. Because she didn't want to get up right now; she wanted to stay in this exact position and savor the moment. She wanted more time to appreciate this minute, because it would pass too fast. Like those last couple of nights before the battle.

Everything else was much too stressful to deal with--stressful being an understatement, when you had a bunch of potential slayers fighting the biggest battle Sunnydale's ever seen--or even think about. She just wanted to procrastinate for a little bit longer.

Now it was the same feeling. Buffy's hand still rested on the keys of her BlackBerry. She was suddenly glad she wore her aviators that day, because the sun seemed too hot, too bright to stand. Sitting outside at a cafe in a piazza, when it was springtime in Milan, was stifling. But then she realized she wasn't feeling that way at all a minute ago. A minute ago, the May air was warm but breezy, just right. A little bit like California actually. A minute ago, she was just enjoying her minuscule espresso (because those Italians drank nothing else), watching the busy city streets with the tall, model-esque women and men in dark suits on vespas. It was tranquil in a way that calmed her. A minute ago, she was just on a shopping trip with Dawn on via Montenapoleone, in the Prada store to be exact. Buffy was thinking of this season's turbans--which she was not a fan of--and nothing of a dead vampire lover.

Then Angel called. She didn't recognize his number at first, except she could identify the area code as Los Angeles. She had a hint of suspicsion right before her finger pressed the green button. It was a feeling that hadn't plagued her thoughts in almost two years. During the first year after leaving Sunnydale--the crater--every phone call, every person bursting in with news had her heart jumping to thoughts of Spike. Hope was a dangerous--and hurtful thing. She tried to shake the feeling away; after all, she had gotten over it years ago.

"Hello, Buffy."

"Well hello. Long time no talk." She knew from the moment she heard his voice it wasn't good news. And it also wasn't a call for help.

"I have some ahh, news."

"Uh huh."

"Have you talked to Andrew lately?"

She was puzzled. "What's Andrew got to do with this? Of course I talk to him. He lives near us in Rome, helping us with some potentials."

"Has he...mentioned anything about an old friend?"

"...and what old friend is this?"

"One named Spike?"

So it was sort of a shock when Angel told her the story of the other souled vamp, the one who came back from the supposed dead and fought for good again. And died again. Six months ago.

There is still the mystery of Wolfram & Hart, but Angel and his people had adverted another apocalypse, except that Fred and Spike were now dead.

He answered all her questions patiently except for one.

Why didn't anyone tell her? Why didn't he tell her? Could it have killed him to pick up a phone?

"I--" he faltered, "I told him you didn't love him."

Why? Why would you do that? She choked and wanted to cry. But instead she asked, "When?" Like it would've mattered when. The moment he came back? After he was done being a ghost? Before he died? Spike never even believed her in the first place.

He was reluctant. "All the time."

If she listened hard, she could imagine his voice was laced with guilt. Damn you. But she couldn't say that to Angel. She closed her eyes, her heart squeezing hard.

Angel, listening to the beats of silence, continued, "I did what I thought was right. I felt it was right. Maybe I was wrong, Buffy. I know that now. I didn't want Spike for you...though you had better choices in life. Thought it was just a thing. I'm sorry."

Buffy struggled with an answer. "Ok. I understand." But I don't. Now she was getting angry. She shook her head. That was no use. Spike was a long time ago, not worth getting shirty over. Especially on her vacation. Get over it. Got over it. A long time ago.

He had heard the shaking in her voice though. You had no right, you had no right to tell him that. Yeah, he didn't. It was a lie. She didn't have to say it, but he knew it.

"I was sure you'd moved on. You always moved on." He was referring to himself in that particular, that he was once the greatest love of her life, that if she could move on from that, she could move on with anything.


"We went to see you once, you know. In Rome. While you were with the Immortal. Actually, we bumped into Andrew. So he knew all along, but we asked him not to tell you. For good reasons."

Buffy groaned internally, mostly in embarrassment. "That was a decoy Buffy. We have a couple of those now. One partying it up in Rome, and one patrolling demons underground." She explained, exasperated.

"Oh. Right, yeah. You told me about that last night. But neither of us were aware of the situation at the time, and we decided to stop and leave you alone."

He was still fighting over her at that point?

And Spike. Oh Spike. Spike, who thought she had already moved on. (She was trying, but she hadn't at the time. Yet.) Spike, who died again thinking she never loved him. She really did too, but then she got over him. It. "Wait. I can't get over it." Well that was hasty.

Her angry couldn't handle being repressed anymore. She could tell he was going to say more so she interrupted. "I don't understand. Never mind. I don't understand. Let's get back to your earlier point. What the fuck gives you the right to tell him that?" She hissed quietly into the phone, not wanting to attract the attention of the current server hovering over her.

Angel got defensive. "When does he fucking listen to me anyway? He trailed around you like a sick little puppy begging to be kicked for years and died before he gave up. You had told him you couldn't love him, could never love him--that's gotta hurt more than anything I ever told him. But he takes my words to heart?" He spat out.

He knew his words hit home. Her silence was answer enough.

Because he was right. He wasn't responsible for pushing Spike away; she was. Her. Only her. But she didn't know what to say, because it wasn't okay, and because she didn't have a right--or a reason, to be mad...right?

"Listen, I'm truly sorry, alright? Whatever you and Spike had...I guess it was more than I imagined. I guess he was important to you. Anyways, I just thought I should let you know. Even after six months...alright. Take care, Buffy."

Yeah he was important. More than important.

And she couldn't believe it happened again. To lose him again...even though she didn't know he had been alive (or undead) for a while.

So she imagined it not happening at all, that instead Spike came to her a year and a half ago instead of Angel. And she told him she loved him over and over again until he believed her--then they were together. She could imagine him being with her, here in Italy. And she wished time could just slow down, let her cherish the fantasy in her head, let her pretend for an instant.

------------------------------------------------------------------

When Dawn came back to the hotel that night, it was almost four in the morning. She was giddy and drunk, but at least she was alone.

Buffy was cleaning up some of her clothes, strewn around the room.

“Whatcha doing that for? We have room service.” Dawn giggled, coming over and flopping down on her kind-sized bed. The room was part of a two-bedroom suite in an old rustic-Victorian hotel--a gift from Giles as a much needed vacation for the girls.

Buffy shrugged. “Can’t sleep.”

“Oh?”

Should she tell her? She deserved the right to know. Aside from herself, Dawn was probably the closest friend to him before he died.

She fluffed the blankets on her bed once more as she said, “I got a call from Angel today.”

“Errr, bad news? Another apocalypse slash end-of-the-world-coming?”

“No.” Pause. “It was about Spike.”

Dawn sat up quickly. Her giggles faded and her face wrinkled in curiosity--or was it grief? Was it too soon to bring him up? Buffy knew it was too soon for her, but how long had Dawn mourned him--it couldn’t have been as long as Buffy had.

She recounted the details of the final battle Angel had told her. Dawn, emotions flying across her face, gasped and cried at the right intervals. And then she wanted to go to LA

"What for, Dawnie? Spike's long gone..and they never found any remains."

"Well duh! He's dust! But we have to do something, go pay our respects or some other shit to remember him by. I mean, this is Spike we're talking about...he died twice to save the world. He died a hero. And--and"

"Ok, ok. We'll go home. We'll go to LA."





You must login (register) to review.