Chapter 29
She was a Potential Slayer. ‘Potential’ being the key word. She tested the words on her tongue as she entered her silent house.
No actual powers or abilities beside heightened instincts. Maybe that’s why she felt so… hunted, every time Spike would invade her personal space. Why she’d felt the instinctive urge to bolt, back when she hadn’t known he was a sucker for sweets and that his hair curled when left unchecked. That kind of spoiled the badass image he was trying to project.
“Huh,” she mumbled. “A Potential. How lame is that?”
Her mind flashed back to the conversation with Anya.
“So there is only one?”
“They say there’s only one in every generation,” Anya had said with a shrug. “Then again, it’s usually more like a handful. The demons go through them like bridezillas go through designer wedding dresses on sale.”
“When you say ‘go through’…”
“Kill, maim, drain, eviscerat—”
“Okay!” Buffy had interrupted with a nervous laugh. “I think I’ve got the visual.”
She should have known Anya wouldn’t be shy about painting the visual in very vivid colours.
“How can one girl protect the entire world? She can’t be everywhere at once.” Buffy had asked, almost to herself, her brows creasing in the middle.
“One gets called where she’s most needed. And no, they can’t protect the entire world, which is why they die so young.”
“You said if one dies, another gets called?” Dread had stirred in her stomach. “One of the Potentials.”
“Yes.”
Buffy had blanched. “C-can I? Get called, that is.”
“No, I don’t think so. You’re too old.”
“Hey! Eighteen here. Hardly in need of adult diapers.” She had said, the tension uncoiling the tightest bit.
“Well, it’s true. They’re usually around fifteen or even younger.”
How could a fifteen-year-old become a saviour of the world? Did people even know or care that there was a child risking her life facing nightmares others only faced in their dreams? That somewhere out there was a girl who was forced to give up her life, discarded and replaced like a cheap carton of milk past its expiration date?
She’d never been more glad that fate had not tapped her on the shoulder in this ruthless game of ‘tag, you’re it’. But what would happen now? Could she really afford to breathe a sigh of relief? “So if I won’t become the Slayer, what does it mean exactly? That I’m a Potential?”
Anya had shifted in her spot on the sofa, the corners around her mouth tightening as she gave Buffy a strained smile. “Nothing. Nothing at all. All you have is a really watered down instinct of a slayer, but that’s all there is.”
There had been something intangible about the way Anya’s eyes darkened, shutters tumbling down to hide… something. Something that had made Buffy swallow nervously, though she didn’t know why. Anya was her friend. Her only friend. If it had been important, she would have told her.
*******
Having to wait for the translation was making Spike even more restless. In the meantime he’d been taking any job he could get his hands on to pay for luxuries such as food and cheap rooms nestled within dingy motels stranded on the side of the road. The alarm clock on his nightstand shuffled from 3:59 am to 4:00 am and he sprawled on the mattress gratefully even though the springs mercilessly stabbed his ribcage.
Shucking off only his duster and over shirt, Spike rolled onto his back, his boot-clad feet dangling off the edge. He was out as soon as he closed his eyes.
For a disorienting second, bright light blinded him and he shielded his eyes to let them adjust.
“Psst,” sounded a giggling voice and Spike turned on his heel to find himself standing in the middle of his kitchen back in London. Back when he’d had a family.
“What? I’m—”
He spotted Eline crouching behind a sofa worn with age and remembered how the plump cushions had swallowed him when he’d watched cartoons early on a weekend morning.
“Look what I found! Isn’t this the weirdest thing?” she whispered. She looked about seven years old.
Spike opened his mouth to answer when he registered she wasn’t speaking to him but to the boy that currently ran straight through him, light brown hair bouncing, his feet clad in footsie pajamas skidding across the polished floor. He’d been like a walking nightmare with that poncey hair-do back then. Good thing he’d managed to tame those curls.
“Fucking great,” Spike muttered. “Bloody Ghost of the past life, is it? Never been a Dickens fan.”
Spike trudged closer to the two children and suddenly he was within William, no longer a bystander as Eline’s blue eyes targeted him with child-like eagerness.
“Where did you find it?” William asked, contemplating the strange item in his twin sister’s hands. Yet Spike knew what it was and inwardly groaned, remembering it now.
“In the bathroom. The cupboard thingy.” She held the narrow white tube by its string, swinging it to and fro.
“I think I’ve seen these on TV,” William piped up, leaning closer with an analysing look as though he was about to dissect a frog.
“Oh, I have too! They say you can ride a horse and ski and stuff!”
“I wonder how it works.” William looked at the tampon as though it held the secrets to the universe or would suddenly mojo them up into skiing down snowy hills.
They were just arguing about who would try it first when their mother came into the living room. Now that had led to a disturbing conversation that Spike remembered to this day. Sure enough, their mother sat them down and explained what the item was used for and how the process would turn Eline into a woman.
“But I don’t want to be a woman. I want to stay a child forever!” She fixed her watery gaze at him, suspicious and sullen. “Why doesn’t William have to get all bloody?”
William blushed and focused on his hands that were folded in his lap.
“It’s just the way it is, honey,” their mother said.
“Well, it’s not fair.”
William felt the urge to comfort her and reached out to touch her hand. Their eyes locked, a conversation passing without the need for words. It always had. They’d had a connection that went deep and now Spike wondered if their mother had ever felt like an outsider looking in.
Eline swatted him on the shoulder, not nearly as hard as William knew she was capable of.
“Boys suck.” She jumped to her feet and stormed off.
Spike blinked and found himself staring at a darkening sky, a drop of rain hitting him on the edge of his cheekbone. The pavement beneath him was cold and hard and his ribs hurt. The image of his surroundings was distorted by the broken lenses of his glasses.
Someone leaned over and took them off his face.
“Are you okay?” Eline’s face came into focus as she helped him sit up and dabbed his bottom lip with a handkerchief. “If I knew, I would have—”
“Would have what?” William said curtly, not angry at her but at himself.
“Come sooner,” she said as though he hadn’t spoken at all. “You need to stand up for yourself. I might not always be here to help.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.”
Eline rolled her eyes and rose to her feet. “Yes, you do, stupid. Who else is going to save your sorry arse if not me?”
She extended her hand and he took it before he remembered he was angry. That had been him. Always dependent on his sister to protect him from big bad bullies. To pick him up after he fell down. Spike wished he’d have been able to return the favour when it had counted.
“What did you do?” he asked with a sigh, knowing she’d understand what he was asking of her.
“I hit Thomas so hard in the head he started to cry.” She pointed at the bag she was holding by one strap and favoured him with a wicked grin. “By the way, you’re welcome. I’ve got those poetry books you asked me to pick up for you. Who knew Keats could pack such a wallop?”
“You’re vicious,” William said, hiding the words ‘thank you’ behind a tight-lipped smile.
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Her face changed suddenly, the demon visage overlapping her humanity and Spike stumbled back in shock, his feet tripping over the edge of the memory and down into the abyss. He was falling back, swallowed by a weightless state that ended all too soon as he crashed to the solid surface with a bone jarring impact.
“It’s a bad word, William,” echoed a haunting voice. “You ought not to use it.”
Spike licked his dry lips, struggling to open his eyes, to get a purchase on the cool, sleek surface of the floor beneath. Marble? His throat felt as if it had been scrubbed raw and the effort to make a sound filled his head with molasses.
“D-Dru?”
A stream of light flooded the dark room, creating an opaque canvas highlighting the shape of her body. “Have you missed me?”
Nodding, he followed her every move as she slipped closer, the white of her silk dress stained with dirt like wings of a fallen angel. Still, her face remained clouded in the darkness.
“I waited for you but you never came.” She embraced herself and gracefully sank to the floor next to him. “I’m so cold now.”
It was her, and the instincts of his past self rushed to the surface like a half-forgotten dream. Swallowing heavily, Spike reached out but his fingertips stopped just shy of making contact with her frailty. He wished he could see her face.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice rough, as though he hadn’t talked in years. “I would have—”
Her finger silenced his lips, the sensation of a winter breeze stirring a tremor in his gut.
“The timing was all wrong.” Her finger slipped away. “Like picking snowdrops in the summer. You shan’t miss the next party. Bow down when the sun reigns in the sky the longest, stretch those lovely emerald wings. Do you think they’ll melt, William?”
He knew he should be listening, could register concern in her voice, but all he could feel was the crushing weight of guilt for having left her in Angelus’ clutches. He should have known. Somehow. How could he not have known, when he’d loved her?
Drusilla suddenly sprang to her feet, frantically backing away. “No! Not that dirty word.” Her hands shook as she wiped at her stained dress, but the more she did, the more the stains spread. They were dark red now, blood oozing from her palms as she stretched them before her and pleaded, “Help me. I’m all dirty. Dirty. Dirty little girl. Hush hush, love. Gotta keep quiet. You know I love you. My special little girl.”
Her words hurt. Like the knife the mugger twisted in his belly all those years ago. “Dru.” He moved towards her but it was like swimming through honey and he gritted his teeth to make it through.
“Help me be clean again?”
He squeezed his eyes shut to regain his composure and trudged close enough to touch her. His hands closed gently around her forearms, her face a mass of black shadows lifting towards him. “Don’t let your wings melt, Spike,” she said urgently. “He will never—”
Her face transformed, colour and shape flooding in. Buffy’s heart shaped lips parted to finish the sentence. “—see me coming.”
*******
It took him a minute to stir his limbs, to separate reality from the dream. Buffy’s face was an imprinted echo behind his eyelids, rapidly fading away with every blink of his eyes. The exhaustion was rapidly fading as well.
He felt winded. As if he’d just got off one of those rides where half the kids saw their lunch for the second time and lost spare change to gravity. The remaining adrenaline in his blood propelled him across the creaky wooden floor and to the bathroom. He was surprised to see the dried blood on his face reflected on the look-alike’s face in the mirror then remembered he’d forgotten to clean up after the hunt for a Gladdah demon.
Why was it that he had trouble recognising himself nowadays?
The taps whined in protest when he twisted them to the side and cupped his hands under the stream of tepid water. Fucking nightmares. Wished this one would skitter away like the other ones, but for some reason the details were embedded in his noggin.
Should he ask Rupert about them?
Nah.
They were just dreams and dreams never meant anything.
TBC
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Author's Chapter Notes:
I suck. Not being able to update as much as I'd like to makes me feel guilty for leaving you guys hanging. Which is why I want to express my undying gratitude and give unashamed flirtatious glances to all of you who are so supportive and keep on reading. You are bloody magnificent. ;)
My undying gratitude also goes to All4Spike who is always so swift with her editing. She rocks!
My undying gratitude also goes to All4Spike who is always so swift with her editing. She rocks!
Chapter End Notes:
Thoughts? Offers to do my uni work for me? :D How about sending me chocolate ice-cream?! Or, you know, come visit and cook/massage my feet for me (and I'll have you know my feet are so nice they they make other women jealous). Preferably if you're a handsome, devious, intelligent man who likes to strut around half naked. It's not like I'm asking much! ;)