[Reviews - 349]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 3000 times

- Text Size +




Author's Chapter Notes:
I know everyone hates Spike right now... hell, i did when i wrote it. Just let yourselves know that you hate him for a reason and trust me when i say that he will be redeeming himself. It's not just a "oh, time will heal all things" kind of redeeming, either.

Thanks for the comments, btw, even though half of them are about how much you hate Spike. I guess that means i'm just uber good at the angst. But believe me when i say i'm pretty good at the revenge and the turnabout, too.
Part Two



Chapter 9 Young Hearts

Los Angeles

The clouds were low, fog hiding everything on the trail, lingering around, heavily, like a cold screen blocking the world from an observer. He couldn’t even see his fingertips when he held out his hands. Squinting, he barely made out the path he was on and took a careful step forward.

The wind howled and blew against him, making him stumble to the side and he grabbed onto a tree, only to jump back when his hands were pricked with thorns. The stinging brought involuntary tears to his eyes and he quickly brushed them aside.

The world grew colder and the angry wind wailed louder and louder until he fell to his knees and brought his hands to his ears.

Just when he thought he couldn’t bare it anymore, the world went dark. Confused, he raised his head and stared out in the pitch blackness. Gone was the trail he was fighting to stay on, gone was the thorn-tree, gone was the hateful wind.

Hushed, a single whisper brushed by his ear…

“Kill the girl…”

Spike woke up in a cold sweat, panting.

…………

Two years later – 1997
Sunnydale

The interesting thing about young hearts is their ability to heal cleanly. The wounds made to tender flesh mend and scar, leaving in it’s place a rough edge, hardened to future rips and tears. Such was the state of Buffy’s heart. The first year had been hard; the internal aching almost unbearable. The sacred place that had been held by the man of her life was now a void. Blank. The pain had tried to fill in the empty hole, but it had been sown up and over time, had become impenetrable. Over time, the aching subsided to a throbbing hum and eventually, the fire flickered out and was replaced by ashes. Buffy’s young heart learned to forget. It was a slow, callous process, but it had worked.

Eventually, Buffy learned to laugh again. The sunshine was tired of being hidden behind clouds and it emerged once more, gracing it’s viewers with a dose of warmth and happiness. Buffy learned to dance. She no longer cried over lost love and no longer wondered where he was or how he was doing. Anyone who met her a few years after her heart was broken would never had guessed what she had been through. They would have found a smiling, happy woman, open and welcoming the world.

Until they heard her music. Her music hadn’t lost all the emotions that she had buried with her lover’s name. When she was at the piano, the lid to Pandora’s box was lifted and the passion rushed out with no limitation and no boundary. It revealed a completely different side from the seemingly carefree girl who everyone loved. It revealed a passionate and worldly woman, a woman who had once loved without abandon and had been crushed with the cruelty of a thousand deaths.

It was this side of her that Julliard had seen and the members of the board nodded their heads in approval. Yes, they wanted Buffy Summers in their conservatory.

Buffy Summer’s parents thought otherwise.

…………

“Well, they certainly think you’re very good,” Hank observed, quickly scanning the letter in his hand, then tossed it aside as if it were trash. Buffy snatched it up, tense and angry. The kitchen table was littered with various pieces of papers, bills, letters,… acceptance letters from three colleges. She could feel the rising tension through the coffee aroma and the fresh morning rays shining through the window.

“That’s because I am good,” she raised her chin slightly. Her father merely shrugged, took a sip from his coffee mug, then reached out to pull another letter out from the pile.

“That’s nice, dear,” he dismissed. “It’s always good to have little hobbies, but it’s time you start living in the real world.” He waved the letter from UCLA in front of her face. “You’re going to love UCLA. That’s where I went, so you should have absolutely no problem getting around.”

Buffy looked down, defeated, as her father started his rambling about his alma mater. She had already made her decision and it seemed like telling her parents would be the hardest part. Carelessly fiddling with the table cloth, she took a deep breath, trying to prepare herself for the fight that was inevitably heading her way. Even the chirping bird outside the window and the carefree sun couldn’t make the day better.

“I’m not going,” she stated flatly, interrupting her father’s speech. His hand stopped mid-wave and his mouth paused in the middle of a word. At first, he seemed shocked and confused, then what she said fully registered in his mind and his confusion turned to anger.

“Excuse me?” he asked, threateningly, setting the mug and the letter down on the table slowly. Buffy closed her eyes and prayed for some divine intervention. None came and only the sound of their neighbor’s dog barking cut through the silence.

“I’m going to Julliard,” she focused on the pattern of the tablecloth. Hank’s eyes narrowed and silently threw daggers at her.

“You think you can afford to throw your life out like that?” he spat out, his voice starting to rise. She looked up to meet his eyes. If looks could kill…

“Daddy,” she tried to appeal to him, “this is what I love.” She held out the letter and he glared at it. “This is what I want to do. It’s how I want to live the rest of my life. Please, daddy.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have let your mom talk you into those ridiculous piano lessons,” he was angry and there was a tight edge in his voice. “While you live under my roof, you’ll do what I say. And I’m forbidding you to even touch that piano.” He pointed to the adjoining room. “I’m selling it tomorrow. And you will go to UCLA and make something of yourself. Is that clear?”

She sighed, knowing it would come to this. If she choose to follow her dream, her father wouldn’t give her the time of day. He wouldn’t support her, wouldn’t help her, wouldn’t even acknowledge her.

“It’s clear.” she said, softly.

“Good,” he picked up his coffee mug again. Buffy turned and headed out of the kitchen. She paused at the door and turned around to look at her father once again.

“That’s why I’m moving out.”

…………

Los Angeles

Spike sat in a large, black armchair and looked around the office uneasily. He wasn’t sure what had brought him here or what exactly he was doing. When Oz had recommended this to him, he refused, adamant about people messing with his brain. Yet, here he was, sitting in an uncomfortably soft chair, staring at the numerous certificates and awards decorating the wood panel walls. To his right was a huge window overlooking the gray city. The skies were overcast – it seemed to always be around him nowadays. The overhead rain threatened to pour down at any time and he forced his eyes away from the depressing outer world.

The door opened and he quickly stood to face a short man with a receding gray hairline in a gray suit. The man walked over and held out his hand, which Spike shook.

“Dr. Travers,” the man said, then looked at the clipboard he was holding, “and William Giles, I presume?”

“It’s Spike,” he corrected him, stuffing his hands in his pockets nervously.

“Yes, of course, .. Spike,” the doctor smiled, then held out a hand towards the chair that Spike had gotten out of. “Please, have a seat.”

They both sat.

“Tell me about yourself, Spike,” Dr. Travers said, crossing his legs and looking directly at Spike’s face which was scanning the room and resting his eyes on everything but the doctor sitting across from him.

“Uh, not sure, where do you want me to start?”

“How about… how you got the name ‘Spike’” he asked.

“Funny story, that one.”

Spike laughed unsteadily, still nervous, and twiddled his thumbs as he started to talk.

…………

A/N: Dr. Travers (Quintin Travers) is a psychologist… there’s a reason why he’s seeing him, but I’d like all that to reveal slowly,.. just like the dream. Unlike how most fanfictions portray him, Travers isn’t the bad guy in this story. He’s kinda just… neutral bordering on helpful.





You must login (register) to review.