Darkness. Cold. She blinked slowly. Saw a glimmer of weak light for a fraction of a second, but her eyelids were so heavy, she couldn’t keep them open. It was like her whole body had turned to stone. Her body? Their body. Their... no, something was strange about that. There was no they, only her.
Where was she? Cold. Darkness. It had to be outdoors. She forced her eyes to open completely and was met by a dark grey ceiling. She glanced to the right, didn’t have the strength to turn her head. Three candles standing on the... stone floor.
There was a movement on her other side. Her heart accelerated. Darkness. Cold. Stone floor. Him. No, that couldn’t... could it? Desperately she tried to look to the left, just a little.
Suddenly her head snapped back and her eyes went wide. Images flashed before her; faces, places. Spinning, round, round, round. It was all too much. Beside her she heard a low moan before blackness descended again.
When he woke the second time he could smell the sun. Slowly he opened his eyes. A short while he lay completely still, resting his head against the hard floor. The tiredness in his body had been replaced by a dull ache, but the urge to go back to sleep was great. He remembered waking up the first time, the images flashing before him... Buffy. After a short struggle he managed to sit up. For a moment his sight blurred and he blinked rapidly. The fear was still nagging at him, but right now he couldn’t remember why. As the world cleared, he saw her lying on her back, eyes tightly shut and her chest gently falling and rising. The slight pain in her face robbed the picture of its peacefulness. As peaceful as it could become when she was lying in a crypt anyway. It reminded him a little of when he’d first seen her in Angelus’ lair. God, knowing what that bastard had done to her...
Hesitantly he reached out to touch her, his hand ghosting over her hair just as her eyes opened. He snatched his hand back. For a moment she seemed completely unaware of where she was. Her eyes wandered over the place, lingering on the candles and then fixed on him. As their gazes locked, the world stilled and he searched for any sign of her thoughts, feelings; anything. Then she flinched and pulled back. Hastily he reached for her to... he wasn’t sure why, perhaps to assure himself that everything would be all right. She drew back and quickly got to her feet, swaying a little for a couple of seconds.
“You...” she whispered, staring at him.
He stared back, one hand still outstretched. “Slayer...”
“All those people you...”
Her eyes closed and she looked like she was about to vomit. His hand dropped. Not for a second did he doubt that he knew exactly what she was thinking of.
“You...” she whispered again.
She spun around and ran.
She ran all the way back home, even though she knew the sunrise would stop the vampire from following her. Her mind was a perfect blank as she climbed into bed: not bothering to undress, she pulled the covers up to her chin and just lay there for long minutes. It was her Mother’s voice that broke through to her.
“Buffy?” The bedroom door opened and Joyce poked her head in. “Did it work? I didn’t hear you coming in last night, I thought perhaps you’d stay at Giles’.” There was a hint of disapproval as she spoke the last sentence, though she tried to hide it under a neutral tone. Buffy turned to her mother, tilting her head to one side. I wonder if it’s because of the hospital that she tries to be so accepting now. You should prepare yourself for another fight. A small part of her mind realized she wasn’t being fair, but it wasn’t until a disappointed expression crossed her Mom’s face that she attempted to answer the question.
“Yes.” Buffy cleared her throat. “Yes. It worked.”
A big smile lit up Joyce’s face and stepping into the room, she sat on the edge of the bed.
“That’s wonderful, how did you do it?” she asked. “When I spoke to Mr Giles on the phone the day before yesterday, he couldn’t give me any details.”
There was a short pause before Buffy offered a tiny smile.
“Mom, I’m really tired,” she said. “And honestly... I’m not even sure if I can explain it. Can’t you call Giles again?”
There was a flash of sadness over her mother’s features, but it was so brief Buffy wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it or not. Then the older woman patted her shoulder and stood.
“I think I’ll do that,” she said. “Well, school begins in an hour, I’ll give you a lift.”
Buffy resisted the urge to pull the covers over her head. “Do I have to go?”
“You’ve already missed enough during these last weeks, Buffy.” Suddenly a teasing grin spread over Joyce’s lips. “Anyway, shouldn’t you Slayers need less sleep than us ordinary mortal?”
She disappeared out of the room with a small chuckle.
She had the perfect plan. Go see Giles minutes before first class, tell him she’d gotten her voice back and then the bell would ring and she’d be off. Three minutes to eight she pushed the library doors open.
“Giles?”
A moment later the Watcher came out from his office, smiling at her.
“So it worked?” he said.
“Yup. All is well in Buffyland again.” she said.
“And... erm... Spike?”
“Fine too.” She tried for a careless shrug.
“How are you coping with the new memories?” Giles asked, looking at her intently. “I can’t imagine what a vampire such as him has seen over the years. It surely must –“
The loud ringing of the bell cut him off.
“Sorry, Giles,” she said, giving him a half smile she hoped wasn’t overly bright.
“Of course,” he said.
She’d turned around before he finished talking and was heading for the doors when he called her name. She halted reluctantly, looking over her shoulder.
“Did something happen last night?” Giles asked.
“Nah, everything’s just... I just had a long night.”
“Oh, of course.” But a small frown was still wrinkling his forehead. “Are you going to patrol tonight?”
Buffy rested one hand on the doors, ready to push it open, as she hesitantly nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Do you want me to come with or...?”
The unspoken question rang loud in her ears and she swallowed. “Spike’s not coming with me,” she said. “I think I should go on my own, I need to learn...”
Giles nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said. “You do know that I still don’t approve of –“
“Giles, I really gotta hurry. I can’t miss another English lesson.” She pushed the doors open and hurried out before he had time to say another word.
He had felt how everything smashed into pieces as she raised her head, revealing the absolute disgust in her features, before she ran out. So simple, like a glass that fell to floor and shattered. He should’ve known, hell, he had known. He should’ve talked to her about it on beforehand. Lied to her, said that it was the past, or perhaps even promised her not to kill any more people while he was in Sunnydale. But she probably wouldn’t have bought it, not after she’d experienced his memories, anyway. If you dropped a glass to the ground you had to be very lucky for it not to break.
Spike rolled over onto his back. He would fix this. He would go over to her house tonight and... everything would turn out just fine. Hastily he leapt out of bed and started to pace. Who was he kidding? No way she’d be over this after a bit of small talk. Slayers were so righteous, she’d... a toneless laugh echoed in the crypt. Yeah, he knew what she was supposed to do. And he’d bet she knew it too.
With a deep sigh he flopped back onto the bed again. And he lay staring at the ceiling, and he recalled the nights she’d done the same as he fell asleep.
There was something very... normal about this. He remembered studying back when he’d been human. He’d loved it most of the time, burying his nose in dusty old books. William had loved...
“Oh, come on! You’re fooling no one but yourself.”
He refused to acknowledge her, but his train of thought had been broken off and he couldn’t go back. Instead he gazed around the classroom. It didn’t take long before a hand was placed on his shoulder.
“Fuck off,” he said, still not turning to her.
A small titter.
“Have I done something to anger you, William?”
He shrugged her hand off. “You will if you don’t bugger off.”
Next second the female was standing in front of him, a sly smile playing on her lips.
“Have you ever heard of alternative realities?” she asked.
Wasn’t one visit a week enough anymore? She had to show up even more often? All right, so it had been some days since the last dream, it still didn’t mean she had to appear this particualar night... day.
“I think I’m gonna wake up now,” Spike said, looking around in search of a door.
“Do you think of her, Spike?” She was close again, her breath hot against his ear. “Do you wake up at night, wondering –“
“Fuck... if you must be here - ” He span around, roughly grabbing her by the forearms. “- can’t you say something approaching sensible?!”
“Sorry.” She actually seemed to mean it. “I know you don’t think... Tell me about your new thoughts.”
She was reading his thoughts again, but this time it didn’t disturb him as much, he suspected she’d been doing it ever since they’d first met. He searched her shadow face and saw nothing. “Do you... do you think I can kill them on my own?”
Silence.
“No.”
The teacher was speaking of famous authors but all Buffy could see a woman crying out as a railroad spike was pushed through her hand. Nausea was filling her and she shook her head, lifting the pen to try and actually write down some notes.
“... was born in 1809 in Boston,” Mrs Davis said, “He is one of America’s most... ”
Buffy looked down at the blank paper. Her tongue was too big in her mouth; the taste of blood was so very clear. The middle-aged woman’s brown hair trailed down her back and the tight dress clung to her curves. The sound of her pounding heart was all they heard. It pumped the blood through her veins, called them to her. God, how could she have ignored it? She had spent time with him, talked with him, treated him as if he was a human. She knew the answer. She’d been too focused on that they had something in common, that he too had suffered under his hands.
“He is most renowned for his tales of mystery and the macabre and he is actually considered the inventor of the detective-fiction genre...”
The sensation of sinking their teeth into soft flesh, the ecstasy in the taste of blood, of life. Buffy let the pen drop and buried her face in her hands.
There was only one light on in her room. He watched her silhouette, as she moved around, for a couple of minutes before he picked up a pebble and threw it against the window. She went completely still. For a moment he almost thought she’d ignore him so he bent down to pick up another pebble to throw. The same second she opened the window.
She had dark circles under her eyes and the jacket was almost swallowing her. There was nothing fearful in her expression though, only exhaustion and the disgust he’d anticipated. Spike took a step forward.
“You coming down?” he asked.
No, it wasn’t disgust he realized.
Sadness.
“Why should I?” she asked. “You’re a monster.”
“Come on, love,” he said. “You must’ve known before that I’ve killed people.”
Now she looked away.
“I knew it, before, or I realized that you must have.” She smiled a little. “I guess I just chose not to think of it, you were there when everybody else... But I can’t ignore it now, not when I keep remembering the feeling...” Her voice died out.
“You need me!” A slight desperation sneaked its way into his tone. “What about Angelus and Dru, huh? What are you gonna do about them?”
Quickly she turned her head back to him and their gazes locked.
“I guess you’ll just have to kill them on your own.”
“And if I die instead of him?” He was yelling now. “What’re you gonna do then?”
“Go away, Spike.”
She shut the window.
“Slayer!” he called.
Nothing.
“Buffy!”
Nothing.
“Come on, talk to me!”
Nothing.
TBC