[Reviews - 163]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2790 times

- Text Size +




Never Ever Tell by Lilachigh


No.4 part 2 Fighting On


Buffy had left him at the corner of Main Street. He’d held her tight and all the things they couldn’t say and couldn’t do were there between them.

She walked on home, the snow crisp under her boots. Angel was staying in Sunnydale, for now. He wasn’t going to let the sun do its dirty work on him after all.

She was so glad, really pleased, couldn’t have been happier. She tried a joyful skip in the snow and slid over onto her backside.

Grumbling she stood up, brushing off the snow, wondering why the joyful skip had seemed so difficult. As she looked up, she realised she was standing outside a church. The Christmas crib had a layer of snow on top of the figures surrounding baby Jesus in the manger.

Then she stiffened. There was a light flickering inside the church. Someone robbing a church, just before Christmas? Well, it wouldn’t surprise her.

She crept up to the door and pushed it open. It creaked violently and she winced.

‘Come in if you’re coming in, Slayer. God, woman, you’re letting in all the cold air!”

“Spike?” Buffy stepped up the aisle to where he knelt besides the font. He’d lit a couple of candles and his blonde hair gleamed almost gold in the light from their flames. “How did you know it was me?”

He glanced up from where he was sitting on the black and white tiled floor. ‘Smelt you and heard you, Slayer. Vampire, remember? You should do, you’ve got Peaches pong all over you. It’s the hair gell, you know. He didn’t top himself, then?”

She stared at him, horrified. “How did you - no, he’s OK. It - it started to snow.”

Spike shrugged. “Word gets around, pet. I never thought he’d go through with it, mind, otherwise I might have wandered up and put in the odd word of encouragement myself.”

Buffy tried to ignore him. “You still haven’t said what you’re doing here.”

She took another step forward, then stopped. “Oh!” In front of Spike on the floor lay a china doll, her head smashed into a myriad pieces. From somewhere in the church, Spike had found a tube of glue and was trying to stick the bits back together.

“It’s Miss Matilda,” he said desperately, trying to hold one china cheek still whilst he pressed a piece of forehead against it. “She was up in the bell tower, like Dru said, but I slipped in the soddin’ snow coming down the steps and dropped her.”

Buffy knelt down beside him. “Spike - stop. She’s in too many bits. You’ll never get her back together. She’ll look - well, she won’t look good.”

“Promised Dru I’d find Miss Matilda. She’s relying on me.”

“She’ll understand.”

The sapphire eyes stared straight at her and for a weird moment she felt herself lost in his gaze. “She’s not herself, Slayer. She’s...well, I have to be strong for her. I have to fight for her. It’s hard and it’s painful and it’s every day. But it’s what I have to do. I won’t let her down.”

Buffy sat back on her heels and stared at him, her cheeks burning. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She’d said almost the same thing to Angel, only an hour or so ago. And even as she’d said it, she’d known in her heart that he didn’t really understand. Angel had thought he was saving her from a dreadful future, but all he wanted to do was escape from the problem, escape from the world.

Spike was kneeling in a church, trying to mend a china doll because his mad partner was relying on him. He would never give in, no matter how hard it was. Buffy tried to picture Spike waiting for the murderous sunrise and knew it would never happen. He would fight to the end, find a way, somehow. Because strong meant fighting. This vampire knew that — but not her one.

But that was impossible. Angel had a soul. He had to understand. Spike was just a - a thing! An evil, dead, thing. How could he fight for love when Angel couldn’t?

Without saying another word, she lurched to her feet and ran from the church, sliding and slipping in the wet snow, desperate to get home, to push these thoughts from her head and pretend everything was all right in her world.

Behind her, a slim figure in a black leather coat walked out of the church and paused to watch her go. Then he stopped, stared at the broken pieces in his hand and threw them into a snow bank.

He gazed round, lit a cigarette, then saw the crib. A slow, triumphant smile crossed his face and being careful to avoid all crosses, he gently lifted the doll like model of Jesus from the manger.

Sod it, so it wasn’t Miss bleedin’ Matilda, but he had the feeling he could persuade Dru it was a good alternative. It was worth a try, anyway. And stuffing the doll inside his duster, he strode off into the night to continue his fight.

Meeting Six coming next.





You must login (register) to review.