Six
From lashes to ashes
And from lust to dust
In your sweetest torment
I'm lost
And no heaven can help us
Ready, willing and able
To lose it all
For a kiss so fatal
And so worn
Oh it's heartache every moment
From the start 'til the end
It's heartache every moment
With you
Deeper into heavenly suffering
Our fragile souls are falling
It's heartache every moment
Baby with you
We sense the danger
But don't wanna give up
There's no smile of an angel
Without the wrath of god
Oh it's heartache every moment
From the start 'til the end
It's heartache every moment
With you
Deeper into heavenly suffering
Our fragile souls are falling
It's heartache every moment
Baby with you
My darling with you
From lashes to ashes
And from lust to dust
In your sweetest torment
I am lost
And we sense the danger
But don't wanna give up
Oh it's heartache every moment
From the start 'til the end
It's heartache every moment
With you
Deeper into heavenly suffering
Our fragile souls are falling
It's heartache every moment, baby with you
That's right
Sunnydale, two years in the past
Only two reports sat on his desk.
Only two.
He’d expected more. Expected there to be a case file as thick as his arm, reams of paper chronicling the life of one Buffy Summers. Instead, there were only two thin reports, neither of which offered him much of anything.
Very little existed in the way of background. It struck him as odd, enough to set off warning bells in his head. There has to be more to her story . . .
Gunn knew it. Knew it the way he knew there was no way William Giles had any hand in her injuries.
What he didn’t know was who did have a hand. Or hands. And other body parts.
Flipping through the reports, Charles was suddenly determined to find out.
It was the breaths, soft and steady, on the back of her neck that woke her.
Freezing her own breaths in her chest, she clenched her eyes closed, praying silently. Please. . . not him. Anyone. Maybe it’s Darla. . . or . . .
The heavy weight of her cast pulled on her arm, the pain flashing up her shoulder and causing an involuntary shift. Her lungs expanded and she choked down some clean air.
“All right, pet?”
Her eyes flew open and she jerked, relief exploding into ungraceful movements. “What?”
“You’ve been twitchin’ and groanin’ for a bit now. You okay?”
It was only then that she realized she was sweating and shaking. Her jaw was tight, teeth clenched against the scream threatening to erupt from her throat. Buffy shook her head, unable to say anything.
The light behind him switched on, and his arm eased down slowly, even as she flinched and cowered from the action.
‘Not goin’ to hurt you, kitten. Wouldn’t do that. Just makin’ sure you can see me, yeah?”
His voice was low and very soft. His hands stayed visible, one arm holding up his head as he lay next to her.
“Bad dream?”
Her eyes drifted closed, hiding the tears.
“Do you want me to get up?”
Do I? The dreams, though she couldn’t remember them, must have shaken her. Must have scared her. Buffy opened her eyes, unaware of the tears sliding down her cheeks.
Her answer was a barely breathed “no”, which broke on a sob.
Will eased up into a sitting position, only to find himself with an armful of sobbing girl.
“Oh, kitten. ‘S all right, ‘m right here. ‘Ve got you.”
She burrowed into his arms, her good hand clutching his arm painfully. Tears soaked his shirt and he hesitated, then gave into the urge to wrap his arms around her. “Got you, baby girl, ‘ve got you.”
The sounds coming from him washed over her, spinning her a gossamer-thin cocoon of safety, woven from just his words. Buffy held on, weeping into him, trying to keep from shattering again.
She never noticed him move them. Never realized they were leaning against the headboard, practically lying in each other’s arms.
All she knew was how safe she felt, how protected.
Buffy didn’t question it.
She was safe.
He’d nearly fallen off the bed when she launched herself across the short distance separating them. His arms wrapped around her, holding her still as she sobbed into his shirt, the tears soaking into his skin.
Will hadn’t been prepared for her. Not in any way. She constantly surprised him, reacting differently than he expected.
She rocked his foundations.
Foundations he realized weren’t as rock solid as he’d thought. Especially if one little slip of a girl could shake his beliefs.
Buffy wasn’t like anyone else he’d ever met before.
So much darkness surrounded her, threatening to swallow her up and yet she still trusted, still hoped. . . still believed in the good that barely existed inside of him. Would she still believe if she knew?
Would she?
Or would the light fade and dim, never to be seen again?
Will was afraid of taking the chance, of trusting her or himself to speak the one truth he’d been holding back. The one thing that might change everything for them.
Yet he needed to confide in her. Needed to say the words constricting the air in his lungs. Needed to lay bare his soul and hope she’d still find something good inside it.
Something worth saving.
Because he was suddenly sure that he’d risk anything and everything to protect her. To keep her safe.
To keep her.
“So where are we?”
The soft whirr of the tiny refrigerator was the only distraction in the otherwise silent room. Buffy’s tears had dried, the only trace of them her salty sweet scent.
Will shifted, his arms tightening around her. “My hotel room.”
That should have scared her off. Set of warning bells in her head, pealing ‘get out, get out!’
Had he been a different man, she might have bolted. Might have run. But he wasn’t and their location merited no more than a whispered, “Oh.”
Maybe she was a fool.
Maybe he’d turn on her and destroy her completely.
Maybe.
Only Buffy didn’t think so.
There had been a horrible truth in his eyes when he’d broken down and confessed.
A truth she recognized all too well.
Truth that destroyed.
Only she didn’t feel destroyed. Didn’t think he felt that way either.
They’d been broken – shattered pieces of their souls, ragged and torn, held together by tears and determination.
Until tonight.
Until they whispered secrets and shared tears.
Her small fingers scritched and scratched over his cotton shirt, nose buried against his Adam’s apple.
“Just ‘oh’?” His tone was lazily curious, the deep sounds vibrating into her ear.
“I haven’t felt this safe since my mom died.”
His chuckle was laced with self-deprecating irony. “‘M the last bloke you should feel safe with, kitten.”
“Totally not. You’re way safer than. . . “ Her voice dropped away, both of them aware of what she didn’t say.
Will took a deep breath, his hands soothing her automatically. “Might help if you gave the baddie a name.”
Fingers twisted his shirt, bunching up the black fabric, pinching his skin. “Don’t wanna.”
“Don’t blame you there.”
He dropped the subject, worried that he’d scare her off. She seemed poised to run, to cry, to scream. . . To do anything but what she actually did.
“He’s my sister’s husband. He,” she paused, swallowing down the rising gorge in her throat. “He’s a teacher at my school.”
“I hate him.”
“I hate her.”
The vehemence didn’t shock him; nor did the revelation of his identity.
“I’m gonna run away.”
It wasn’t a surprise, he’d more than half expected to hear her say that. What did surprise him were her next words.
“You won’t narc on me, will you?”
“No. Got no reason to.”
His fingers tilted her chin up, his eyes searching hers.
“How long’s this been happening?”
She didn’t want to look at him. Didn’t want him to see the shame and ugliness that she was covered in. Her voice was small and scared when she spoke. “Since I was twelve.”
Rage erupted in his veins, white-hot and urgent. He wanted to kill the bastard, wanted to spill his blood and bruise and break him the way he’d broken the small girl in his arms. Every muscle tensed with the need to seek vengeance for her. To protect her from ever being hurt again.
Will clenched his jaw, barely able to grit out his next question. “You tell your sister?”
A derisive snicker was her only answer.
“Jesus fucking Christ, baby, ‘m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Will inhaled deeply, bracing himself for her complete rejection after he bared all his sins.
“Kitten,” His throat closed, mouth dried up and the words fought against being released. Will closed his eyes, searching internally for some strength to see him through this, to be whole even after she hated him. “Kitten, bastard. . . that did what he did to me, his name’s Liam Angelus.”
Buffy didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Somehow, she’d known the truth, known they were hurt by the same hands. She focused on his eyes, reading the guilt and pain etched within his soul.
Her heart broke.
Not for herself, but for the man who’d saved hers.
Tears pooled in her eyes, slipping unnoticed down her cheeks.
“So much pain, Will.” Her fingertips brushed over his face, gentle and sweet. “It’s not yours.”
His turn to weep. To hold onto her like a drowning man seeking a lifeline.
Sunnydale, present day
He had enough paperwork to last until the end of the year. Easily.
Case files, lab reports . . . everything he needed to fill in the blanks from before.
Paperwork on all the victims – except the two victims that had blown apart the whole story.
Not for the first time and surely not for the last, he wondered what had happened. What had happened to the last two victims of Liam Angelus?
Gunn stared down at the autopsy report, not smiling at the cause of death, but feeling a grim sort of satisfaction, nevertheless.
Bastard deserved so much more than just a knife in the throat.
He flipped over the pages. His eyes rested on the image of a young blond girl and a small infant.
Where are you, Buffy Summers?
Where is Connor?
Are you safe?
Please, God, let them be safe. . . .
Thanks for reading. . . and I know it's been a while, and I'm sorry and I hope you're still with me. If you are, please be kind and let me know what you think.