Nine drabbles (or really short ficlets) written for either the Livejournal community btvsats_love or for a drabble request I did on my own journal. ‘Untitled—Rain’, ‘Solace in the Rain’, and ‘Born of Water’ were written for the ‘rain’ prompt at btvsats_love; ‘Love You’ was written for the ‘I love you’ challenge there; ‘His Tears’ for the ‘tears’ prompt. ‘Beneath and Above’ was written for Enchantress as part of a drabble request on my LJ and ‘The Girl’ was written for Dasjessy. ‘Promises’ was written for the ‘Never Again’ prompt at btvsats_love and ‘Never Quiet’ was written for the ‘quiet’ one.
Christ had died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.
Buffy knew, she just knew that coming to church probably wasn’t the best way to get over losing Spike. It was what normal people did, wasn’t it? They went to church and prayed for the souls of their loved ones and then they felt better about it and could move on.
At least that’s what she thought they did. Somehow being the Slayer and knowing that Evil truly did exist in the world, didn’t lend itself to her being a church going girl
But doing everything she’d done in the past hadn’t worked so far. She still missed—no, missed wasn’t even strong enough a word…she still ached for Spike. To feel his arms holding her again; to feel his lips caressing her own again; to hear him call her luv just once more. To tell him she loved him and have him know she meant it this time.
None of the things she’d tried had worked so she thought that maybe, just this once, she’d forgo her old ways and try doing what those ‘normal’ girls did.
So she’d gone to church. She’d gone to church and had to leave because it didn’t make her feel better, didn’t make her know Spike was in a better place. She connected something the pastor had said…has died….is risen….will come again.
William had died. Had risen again as Spike. And now….now she was going to wait, hopelessly perhaps, for him to come again.
Solace in the Rain
Slaying in the rain just did not work. The dirt from fresh graves and dead grass became mud; the water slicked her hair to her face when she ran; the freakin’ vampire dust stuck to her face and clothing like some sort of skin mask—but one without any benefits.
She wished she could just get home already. But she didn’t really want to be there either; there involved Dawn and Willow and their pressuring glares…and….pressure. Pressure to do well, to be more than she was capable of right now.
But she needed to get out of this rain, out of the rain that was caking mud to her feet all the way up her calves; the rain that had her clothes sticking to her uncomfortably; the rain that had made her twist her ankle more than she wanted to admit; the rain that had her shivering so much that she knew she had to—somehow—get out of this rain.
It had taken him longer than usual to peel the clothes from her body—maybe because of the rain…maybe because she finally decided to let him do it how he wanted; she had the guise of the rain to hide under.
He’d stuck his arm outside to soak a towel, used it to clean her entire body of the mud and acquired dust.
Buffy had never let him be this gentle with her before. It was nice. It made her feel not so pressured; she wasn’t ready to examine the how now, it just….did.
The rain that had vexed her so just hours before, plagued her every move and brought pain to her being….That same rain now brought a sense of calm, of privacy, of solace as he held her in his arms.
Strange how Spike was able to take things and make them seem so different than they had just moments before. Even things so basic as the rain.
“I love you.”
“Spike, please,” Buffy didn’t want to be cruel, not so soon after his return but… “Don’t try to tell me you tried to rape me because you love me.”
“No, Buffy,” he explained, that fierceness that was unique to him still prominent in his voice, “That’s not…what I’m saying is that, that made me realize it.”
“That you love me?”
“Buffy I thought I loved you like I loved, Cecily, like Dru…only more. I never really understood—until that night—that I never really did love any of them.”
“Think about it, a hundred plus years with Dru, with her running around and shagging Peaches in the next room and I never once…Dru never could have gotten that reaction out of me….I’d never have gotten that desperate over Dru. Ever.”
“So because I made you desperate enough that you tried to rape me you’ve decided you love me and that you never love them?”
“It’s not coming out right, is it? And none of it is your fault, luv. I was a messed up bastard who did something unforgivable, but I just…Just wanted you to know.”
“That with all the pain and hurt…You taught me what love is.”
Born of Water
Somehow the rain pouring down in the early morning hours, the rain that gently coated the barely there blooms by the time she’d gotten up, made her realize that it was Spring. It was Spring—and it was the day of Spring that she used to look forward to so much as a little girl. The day when she got to wear her pretty new dress.
Buffy remembered how her mother used to take her to church every Easter. They didn’t go any other time of the year—not even Christmas Eve, but they were there every Easter; at least until she became the Slayer and life got complicated.
She hadn’t stepped foot in a church—at least not for worship—in at least seven year. But for some reason she found herself wanting it today. Today was Easter and…she’d been flipping though channels on TV, a bit too embarrassed to just show up at some. She’d been about to give up when she found some station playing a church service.
She was obviously tuning in late because the pastor was already into his sermon and speaking of martyrs and their sacrifices for the greater good of the world. She knew he was speaking of Jesus, that was what the day was for after all.
But for some reason it only made her think of Spike. Spike and how he had put his life on the line for so many years. How, he’d worked so hard to save her.
He’d given up his life to save the people of the world. He’d done it selflessly—for love sure, but for no reward of his own.
She couldn’t think of anyone who fit the definition of the word martyr better.
And if Buffy’d ever asked him, Spike would have gladly told her that she was his religion—his saving grace, the one that defined each and every thing he did in life. And in death.
As had happened with Jesus, Spike wasn’t one to stay dead long.
Christ had died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.
He had tried to change; had thought he’d changed. But in the end, when it came down to it, he was still exactly the same.
Still the man who hid his tears in a darkened alley way after being told by the woman he loved that he was beneath her.
All the death and destruction he’d caused, all the posturing and not one thing had changed in one hundred plus years.
He was still a man. Still capable of being hurt by love, burned by love. Even with the demon living inside him, governing his actions he was still a man. His tears told him so.
Beneath and Above
“Why, uh, why don’t you wait till all of this is over?”
“I’d really rather do it before. I might not—I’d just rather do it now, okay?”
“Not okay,” Spike argued and opened his mouth to explain why, only to come up empty.
“Okay then, so I’m going.”
“She’s not there!” Spike blurted out, “She’s not there, alright? That’s why you can’t go see her.”
”Spike,” Buffy began, sounding confused, “What do you mean my mother’s not there? I was there when we buried her and last I checked the cemetery hadn’t gone anywhere.”
“I had her moved,” he explained quietly. She wasn’t supposed to find out until this was all over.
“What do you mean you ‘had her moved’?” Buffy asked carefully.
“’From beneath you it devours’, right?”
“What’s that have to do with—What?!”
“Figured that something coming from beneath might not leave too much ‘above’ standing. And didn’t want all of good ol’ SunnyD to be uprooted—and/or disappear—and for you to have to lose your mum all over again. Precautionary measures and all that.”
“So you paid someone to dig up my dead mother’s body—without asking me? And had her moved to…where?”
“I didn’t’ want it to be something else for you to worry about, luv. And found her a nice cemetery just north of L.A. Right nice place.”
“And she’s there already?”
“Should be, yeah.”
Spike grew more and more nervous the longer she stayed silent. They’d finally developed some sort of relationship where they could finally be comfortable around each other and now he’d gone and bollocksed it all up.
“You really….I want to say I can’t believe you cared enough to do that…but the thing is, I can. You always liked my mom and…and you love me and Dawn….Thank you, Spike for thinking of the one thing that I never would have thought of but that would have killed me in the end. I couldn’t lose her again. Not like that even.”
“I know, luv, I know.”
“Will you take me there someday? Show me the place you picked?”
“You bet, kitten. Soon as this is all over and done with.”
The hug she gave him as thanks was unexpected but not in the least bit unappreciated. “Thank you, Spike.”
He’d vowed to protect Dawn until the end of the world, all for her. He’d failed at that, failed in a worse way then he’d ever imagined possible. Then when he’d promised himself that he’d always be there for her no matter what she needed, he’d done it but she’d ended up hating herself for it. He’d failed her again.
And then, in a few moments of selfish hurt, he’d done something that he should never have one—that went against all his promises to protect her, to save her. But he’d never do it again, never, ever again. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to be exactly what she did need, but he’d never be so much what she did not need. Not ever again.
“Hey, ours is a forever love,” Spike wished Angel would just leave him alone.
“I had a relationship with her, too.”
“OK,” scoffed, “Sleeping together is not a relationship.”
“It is if you do it enough times,” Spike wasn’t giving up and was hardly paying Angel any mind as he cut his way across the dance floor
“Spike.” Did the bugger just never give up?!
“What?” Spike growled, still never taking his eyes off Buffy.
“The head?” Ahh, so the poofter did have a point—albeit not one he cared about, but still he had one.
“I thought you had it.”
When Angel didn’t answer, just looked at him, Spike thought he could kill the hulking hero.
“Nope; go get it. I’m going for the girl.”
“You’re not going to help?”
“We’re here—you go get the bag. Buffy and I’ll help if need be.” Spike ignored Angel and continued walking towards where Buffy and the Immortal were dancing.
He’d made himself stay away long enough. He didn’t care if it was something that would be for her own good or any of those other bullshit reasons he’d invented months ago. It was his Buffy. And he needed her—needed her with him.
Finally he was standing just inches behind her.
“Buffy,” he breathed out, the name almost a reverent sigh as it fell from his lips.
Whether they were fucking or fighting Spike never shut up. He was never, ever quiet. Whether it was words of love or words of hate, they were always spewing from his mouth ina near constant stream.
Buffy didn’t know when she’d gotten used to it, when his words had become such a comforting sound. She didn’t know when they had, but they had.
And now? Now he was gone, had been for months. Spike was gone, burned to a crisp on the Hellmouth that bright May day. And the quiet was driving her absolutely insane.
She missed the noise.