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Splinters by Lilachigh



Chp 7 Someone to Lean on



Author’s note: I thought this story was finished in Season Five , but realised that being a story about trust and motherhood, I still had some ground to cover. So hope all the people who asked me to continue will be pleased! We are now in Season Seven!




“I think you’ve taught me everything I need to know!” Buffy shut her bedroom door in Giles’ face and leant against it, wondering if her legs were going to hold her. She couldn’t stop trembling; couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

Giles and Robin - conspiring to kill Spike! Okay, Robin, she could see why. A souless, unchipped Spike had killed his mother all those years ago. He couldn’t see past that to the Spike of today. Couldn’t understand that it wasn’t the same person under the black leather - which, being his mother’s coat really didn’t help.

But Giles? She felt nausea swell up at the back of her throat and grabbed for the water glass on her bedside table.

Giles knew how important Spike was. In the battle against the First, her strongest warrior. And he knew more than that. He knew she thought he could be a good man, knew that the connection between them was still there, strong and valuable to her.

How could he have done that to her? She felt bereft, abandoned in a weird way. She sank down on the bed, staring unseeing round her room. What was it about her as a person that made men treat her in this way? Her father, Angel, Riley, now Giles whom she thought would have cut off his arm rather than toss her feelings aside like this.

‘Their thoughts and feelings always come first,” she murmured out loud. “Whatever they say about loving or caring for me, at the end of the day, they truly believe that they’re right and I’m wrong. They always think they know best. Worse - they know they know best!”

Suddenly she needed so badly to talk to her mother. Even if Joyce hadn’t understood about Spike, even if she’d disapproved with every bone in her body, she would still have been on Buffy’s side one hundred and ten percent.

Buffy clutched at her stomach as a pain of longing shot through her. Oh god how she missed her. Her touch, the smell of her perfume when she kissed you, the softness of her cheek, the sparkle in her eyes when she’d had a good day at work Her voice - praising, laughing, scolding, supporting, loving.

And most of all her hands; Buffy could see them so clearly: soothing, cooking, ironing, gardening, brushing her hair, tickling Dawn, tying up Christmas presents, decorating eggs at Easter. Pretty, hard working hands.

She stared down at her own. They didn’t look like Joyce’s. Too rough, nails too short. They’d been scrubbed of blood too many times recently.

The burden of being the Slayer sometimes came bounding up out of the dark and draped itself round her shoulders like some dreadful iron cape. If her mother had been here, she would have lifted it off - if only for a little while. if she’d been here....

Running! Down the stairs, out of the door, into the dark Sunnydale night. The town flashed past her, the air cool on her face as she sped on.

There was the gate, grassy paths, up a slope to where they’d lain her to rest looking out over the town, keeping a watchful eye on all of them, as Xander had said, his voice thick with tears.

And she was no longer alone. Strangely she wasn’t surprised to find him at the graveside, kneeling, the black coat spread around him like a carpet. His hands were buried in the thick grass and he was staring, motionless at the headstone.

Buffy knelt down beside him. She could see the marks on his face that Robin had made during the fight. She winced and wondered why his pain was always hers as well.

“Heard you coming a mile away! Should have left. Sorry, Slayer. I expect you want to be on your own.”

“No. Stay. Please.”

They were silent for a few minutes, then Spike said, “Funny how much I liked your mum, pet. She was special. I needed to talk to her tonight. Tell her....Ask her.... Woods brought it all back to me with that song - my mother, how ill she was, turning her, killing her. Not a good scene.”

He laughed - it wasn’t a happy sound. “She loved me, though. That’s as clear in my mind as if it was yesterday. As Joyce loved you and Dawn.”

Buffy reached out a hand and curled her fingers into his. She felt him flinch, as if he was going to pull away, then his grasp tightened and she remembered when he’d come to find her at this same grave just after her mother had been buried.

Everyone had wanted her to be strong - for their sakes. She hadn’t been allowed to grieve properly; she’d had to be calm and in control, especially for Dawn.

Admittedly Angel had come after the funeral, but he’d gone again when her emotions had spilled over. Her father hadn’t appeared at all. And Giles had been in England. She’d needed someone to lean on, and, strangely, Spike had been there. As he was tonight.

“It helps to know that,” Buffy said at last. “But I still miss her dreadfully. So much it hurts. And tonight - Giles - you - he was deliberately distracting me, Spike. He’d planned it all with Robin. How could he do that to me? I thought he - ”

“Loved you?”

Buffy gave their linked hands a shake. “No, of course not, that’s the wrong word. But I did think he cared for me - a little, you know.”

Spike sighed. “He does, Buffy. In his stiff-upper-lipped, English way, Rupert cares for you a lot.”

“Then why did he act like that? Mum would never have gone behind my back. She would have trusted me - especially where you’re concerned.”

Spike turned to look at her, his eyes a tender silver-blue in the moonlight, his hair bleached to white. He swung round and sat cross-legged, facing her, his hand still tightly grasping hers.

He had his own private thoughts about Rupert Giles and his feelings towards Buffy. He could sense the bitterness in the older man; the never resolved conflict of Angelus who’d killed the woman he loved, Jenny Calendar.

Buffy was the daughter he’d never had, but it was that daughter’s vampire boy friend who killed Jenny. Perhaps Giles could never trust another vampire not to do the same amount of damage, given a chance. Maybe in killing Spike he was exacting a sort of revenge on Angel.

“I’ve never understood why Joyce didn’t throw me out of the house every time I turned up. She had no trouble hitting me on the head when we first met. Remember?”

‘Nobody lays a hand on my little girl?”

He smiled at the memory. “She was such a brave lady. I loved my mother, but I can’t see her wielding an axe in my defence!”

Buffy found she was rubbing her thumb over the cool skin of his palm. She stopped alarmed that she could fall back into this possessive owning of his body so easily.
“My mother always liked you,” she said slowly. “She said....”

Spike looked up sharply. “Yes?”

‘She once told me - ‘he might be your enemy, but one thing I know for certain - when it really matters, he’ll always be there. And he’ll never, ever leave you’. Yes, she liked you, Spike. Perhaps - ” she hesitated, then went on, ‘Perhaps she saw the good man you’ve become, even before I did. Even before you knew yourself you were changing.”

Spike closed his eyes and lifted his face towards the heavens. As Buffy watched, some of the tension drained away and he looked younger, boyish.

‘Oh Joyce, you were so right,’ he said at last. ‘I told her once, I would do my best to look out for her girls. And see, I’m still here, Buffy. Through good and bad, and let’s not pull any punches - there’s been plenty of bad - I won’t leave you. Ever!’

‘Promise?’

Spike jumped to his feet and pulled her up to stand next to him. He held up his hand and ticked off five words against his fingers with a reminiscent grin - ‘You - have - my - word - pet!”

Hand in hand they walked away from the grave, back towards town, back towards the First and the battle they knew would come only too soon.

And the spirit that watched over them smiled.

to be continued – I think!





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