[Reviews - 617]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 7614 times

- Text Size +




Damn. My mistake. This was supposed to be posted before the other. Forgive me

[A/N: The title is from a poem by John Donne (1573 - 1631), English poet and sometime mystic. If you’ve never read his works, its always an interesting read. The quotes are as attributed, and standard disclaimers in full force and effect. Oh, just in case anyone’s wondering, this is unbeta’d though I suppose I could get it beta’d if I had the nerve to send it off to someone for a critique. Oh well. I’m just doing this for the sake of telling a story. With any luck it will at least be readable.]

Previously: Buffy’s back, Giles is on his way back to Sunnydale, while Spike, Tara and Dawn try to keep Buffy calm. Willow’s still out and now Xander and Anya have to be told. This picks up much later in the day, nearly 24 hours after Giles first got on the plane to head to London.

15. Resurrection, imperfect.

A ministering angel shall my sister be.
Hamlet, act v, sc. 1

However, there is a locked room up there
With an iron door that can’t be opened.
It has all your bad dreams in it.
It is hell.
Anne Sexton, Locked Doors

O, I have passed a miserable night,
So full of fearful dreams, of ugly sights
Richard III, act 1, sc 4

Dreams pursue death as winds a flying fire,
Our dreams pursue our dead and do not find.
A.C. Swinbourne, Ave atque Vale, l 94 - 95


Tara and Dawn had crept out of Buffy’s room, then stumbled their way into the room Tara shared with Willow. It was only about noon or so, and Tara needed sleep. Buffy appeared to be calm, and even if she wasn’t there wasn’t a thing either of the two of them could do for her. Neither one was strong enough to control her if she swung her fists or kicked, given the slayer’s strength. Better let Spike handle it, at least until Mr. Giles came home and they could figure out something. She looked over at the clock again. The last nightmare happened about two hours before this one. Just enough time for Buffy to sleep deeply and give over to the dream-state.

Mr. Giles was due to arrive around five, and thinking quickly, Tara made the decision to call the Magic Box for the second time that day and ask Anya if she and Xander would pick him up at the airport before coming back for dinner. Thankfully, the shop was very busy, so Anya didn’t have time to ask the questions Tara knew were forming. Right now it was easier to give her evasive answers, rather than slip up and inadvertently give Anya too much information. Settling down onto the bed, Tara tossed the sheet over Dawn, then tried to get comfortable.

There was too much to do and she couldn’t get her mind to settle down. There were soft noises coming from Buffy’s room, mostly Spike’s voice, and the occasional cry from Buffy. This was not good. In fact, none of this was good. Her mind kept circling back to what Willow had done and now, seeing the effects on Buffy, it only solidified the idea that what her girlfriend had done was wrong, even if she’d rescued Buffy from a hell dimension.

That was something else they needed to figure out, what exactly Willow had done, and how she’d managed to do it. Ignoring her tired body, Tara stopped fooling herself and got out of bed. Rummaging through her drawers, she got out clean clothes, then headed for the bathroom to shower. Dawn’s sleepy voice stopped her.

“Tara? What’s going to happen now?”

“I’m not sure sweetie. I know Spike talked to Mr. Giles and that he’s on his way back here now. Xander and Anya are going to pick him up at the airport, then head here for dinner.“
It was easy to slip into the care-taker role, easy to slide back into that than keep up the pretense that she was in control. “Do you want to help me get ready for dinner and everything?”

Thinking about it momentarily, Dawn shook her head “yeah, just give me a couple of minutes to wake up. I’m all sore and achy.”

“I know. Me too.” Tara wrinkled her nose, then indicated the bundle of clothing in her hand, “I’m gonna head into the shower first.”


******************************* *******************************


His headache was now full blown migraine of mammoth proportions, with expectations of expanding into a hemorrhage. The force air circulating through the cabin was absolutely vile and the forced smiles on the faces of the stewardesses was enough to make him want to inflict bodily harm on everyone in sight. Giles tried to unclench his jaw, but the effort was beyond him.

The thought of what might be waiting for him in Sunnydale was just too much to even contemplate. No idea what physical shape Buffy was in, or what her mental state might be like, Giles was forced to speculate and use his considerable imagination. It only made the pain in his head increase. Not to mention what it did to his heart.

He was beyond rage, beyond shock. This was quite simply the single most astounding event of his life. Willow had managed to retrieve Buffy, in effect bring her back from the dead. Putting aside his utter joy at having Buffy back, what remained was a completely dangerous ritual performed by a woman barely out of her teens. The power she’d called upon, generated and harnessed must have been staggering. Giles caught himself grinning like an idiot. Wait . . . you bugger. It had taken enormous amounts of power. Dear god in heaven. What had she done? What forces had Willow called upon – and from where – Giles’ head was rapidly filling with numerous possible scenarios – and where she’d performed the ritual. None of his visuals was comforting.

Glancing down at his watch, Giles idly noted that it was only about half past noon in California. He had another five hours before debarking. Resting his head against the back of his seat, Giles willed away the extraneous distractions, instead focusing his attention on Buffy.

His girl was alive and seemingly safe. Abruptly, Giles realised that his conversation with Spike hadn’t been very informative. Merely just a few words ‘Red brought Buffy back’ and then ‘had to crawl out. She’s not speaking yet’. He had no other indication of how other than what damned little Spike had told him. Not nearly enough information. And good gods, how the hell was he going to explain this one to the Council? First she was dead and now she wasn’t. He couldn’t formulate a plan until he had all the information and he doubted even then he’d be able to come up with something a bit more rational than what he was thinking.

Right now though, what he needed was something to drink and some painkillers. Settling his nerves for the saccharine sweetness of the flight attendant, Giles hit the call button, prepared to do anything for a double scotch and panadol.


******************************* *******************************


Between the two of them, they’d managed to put together a decent meal, move Willow upstairs without Spike’s help, and get the house cleaned up long before Xander, Anya and Giles were scheduled to arrive. The hardest part had been carrying Willow up the stairs, but they’d slung her out flat, and with Tara holding up her head, Dawn at her feet they’d carried her up that way. Willow hadn’t woken, which was good, because Tara had no idea if the binding would work if she wasn’t asleep. Given the amount of power Willow had been able to call upon, Tara sincerely doubted the binding spell would hold her very long. They’d managed though and now Willow was upstairs tucked away safely in their bed.

Which left the other two occupants of the house still upstairs. After the last nightmare, Buffy had calmed sufficiently and appeared to be sleeping quietly, if not deeply. Spike was also drifting in and out of sleep, aware every time there was a shift in Buffy’s breathing or her muscles twitched. Tara’d been up to check on them twice and Dawn had snuck up once, an unspoken agreement between the two to alternate visits. Dawn just needed to know that they were both still there, still breathing and that he was watching out for her sister.

Last time she’d been up, Buffy had been curled up next to him, his right hand on her hip, just making sure she was there. It was cute, Dawn thought, how much he was watching over her. What wasn’t cute were the tear tracks on her sister’s face or the harsh lines marking her features. What really really wasn’t cute were the nightmares that she’d had this morning. This wasn’t fair. None of this was right. Sudden anger with Willow ripped through Dawn. Buffy shouldn’t be like this . . . this beaten, this bruised and this . . scared. It just wasn’t right.

Once more she opened the door to her sister’s bedroom, peeking her head just in the door. They’d shifted positions, Spike was now on his side, nearly laying down on the bed, facing her sister, who had her head against his chest, her hand fisted in his shirt. Now his left hand was curled over her hip and as Dawn watched Buffy softly cried out in her sleep, her entire body twitching. Without waking up, Spike ran his hand up and down her side, a low rumble coming from somewhere deep. Wasn’t really a soothing sound, but it seemed to work, because the twitching stopped within seconds. About to sneak the door closed, Spike’s voice caught her.

“‘s all right Nib, c’mon in if you want. Neither one of us is really asleep.”

Almost stumbling against the door, Dawn responded without looking back. “Nah, just checking. You guys should stay up here and rest.”

An ironic chuckle sounded in the still afternoon air. “Dunno how much rest we’re gettin’ Bit. Sis keeps keening and weeping. More like just laying about ‘coz its easier than being up.”

“I get that.” She thought a moment, then whispered, “how is she really?”

Spike waited a beat, trying to formulate a response, when Buffy’s voice sounded in the air. “Tired, Dawnie. Not so good.”

The surprise was clear on both their faces and they tried to apologize for disturbing her. “Sorry pet” and “oops my bad” came at her from two directions. Buffy just shook her head, whispering ‘its okay. Can’t really sleep much anyway.”

“Do you need anything?” Dawn figured if nothing else, she might be thirsty.

“Just water. That would be good.” Buffy’s voice was harsh from long disuse and excessive crying.

Without another word, Dawn left, leaving the two of them alone. Buffy cleared her throat, absently wiping her eyes on Spike’s already soaked tee-shirt. Neither one of them had slept much, not since the last nightmare. She actually didn’t know what to say to him, didn’t know how to explain. The only thing Buffy was sure of at the moment was that being here, right now, was so hard. She was tired, drained and just plain . . . it felt like every bone in her body was blasted hollow, her skin was brittle and hypersensitive, every noise and bright light confused and startled her. How the only thing that kept her from screaming and clawing and crying and huddling in a ball and hiding and trembling and the fear at bay was his presence and hearing Dawn’s voice. They were the only things keeping her sane right now.

“Thank you. I don’t . . thanks.” Her whisper was a bare noise mostly just a soft sound spoken into his chest.

“Told you pet, no worries. S’okay.” Spike rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Buffy left her fist in his shirt, needing the contact. The only light in the room was from the partially closed curtains, but it was still bright enough to cause her problems. Her eyes watered constantly, whether from actively crying or just because she still had so much sensitivity to the light. Wiping them again with the back of her hand, Buffy tried one more time. “Spike . . .”

Just the sound of his name coming from her was enough to cause a smile. “Pet, leave it be.”

He didn’t turn his head to look, feeling the reluctant nod of her head. The last thing he wanted her to do was worry about thanking him. She didn’t need to be worrying about him at all, just herself. Sooner she realized that, better off she’d be. Sitting up, he stretched accidently disengaging her hand from his shirt. Buffy whimpered a bit, drawing his attention. “Just need to get up. Not leaving.”

Curling herself up, Buffy watched him walk around her room, tracking his every movement. “How long was I gone?”

Staring down at the cross and stakes that had been left piled on her dresser, Spike quickly calculated the time. “Too bloody long.”

Not accepting the vague answer, she questioned him again. “How long?”

“Hundred or so days.” Still avoiding her gaze, Spike paced around a bit more. “Right, exactly hundred twenty nine and a half days, give or take an hour or two.”

“You counted the hours?” her tone indicated that she almost believed he would do something like that.

“Got bored some nights, figured the time out.” Was his utterly sheepish response.

His honesty was rewarded with a very soft giggle. Turning his head at the sound, his sharp gaze softened as he looked at her. “What about you pet? How was it for you?”

Instantly tears sprang to her eyes but didn’t fall. “I don’t know. Felt like forever.” Her lower lip quivered a bit, then she got hold of herself. “It was quiet and . . . quiet.”

Buggering hell. His suspicions over her whereabouts were very nearly confirmed, and Spike wanted to rip something apart in his sudden rage. Not wanting her to see the fury he knew was flickering in his eyes, Spike lowered his gaze to the floor. “So sorry pet.” he whispered.

“Not your fault at all, none of this.” She couldn’t understand why his mood changed so quickly.

“Should’ve moved faster, done something different, yeah?” He turned away, focusing a hard stare at the wall. “Shouldn’t have had to . . .do what you did.”

Her turn now to avoid his glance. “I had too. Couldn’t let Dawnie do it.”

He huffed out his response “yeah. Neither one of you should have. Should’ve been me.“ he ran his hand through his hair, agitation clear in his stance. “Couldn’t protect her like I promised. Couldn’t save her” he paused inhaling needlessly “or you.”

This time she did look at him. “No. You did your best, its all I wanted, all I could ask for.”

“Best. No, wasn’t good enough by half.” He’d never stop blaming himself for what happened that night, his complete and utter failure to protect both of Joyce’s girls.

“I knew one of us wouldn’t make it.” Her resolute tone shocked him into really looking at her.

There was almost nothing he could say to that. At the time, he’d thought that was what she was thinking, that if it came down to it, she’d willingly die to protect Dawn. Well, she had died to protect her sister. And now she was back, telling him exactly that.

“Looked after her while you were gone, looked after all of them.” It was the only thing he could think of to say.

She smiled the first real smile she’d given anyone since last night. “Had a feeling you would.”

Grinning back at her, he thought perhaps she might recover after all. “Yeah, well, made a promise to a lady. Had to keep it somehow.”

Her next comment took him completely by surprise and effectively shut his mouth. “I expected you’d do just that and do it well.”

Bloody woman.





You must login (register) to review.