[Reviews - 147]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 2093 times

- Text Size +




NA GRACH CROI


Chapter 13: ‘An a Brig Anois Carraid am Amhas’
(What a Piece Of Work Is Man)


A/N: This chapter will begin with a little ‘Shakespearean’ themed monologue by Buffy. (Mostly in her head that is). Although this is somewhat based on Romeo’s foreboding in that tale, the text of the monologue will contain quotes from The Bard’s ‘Hamlet’ Act II; Scene II.

Also, the loosely translated title is a little weird, and long. I know. The Irish Gaelic word ‘amhas’ actually translates loosely into; mad man, wild man, forceful man or more literally, a mercenary/mercenaries. Believe me, in future chapters, it will make sense, sadly. Since I always felt that this particular phrase from Shakespeare was ‘sarcastic’ in meaning, I thought this olde word would be suitable.



A warm wind blew across Buffy O’Hara’s sweet face, as she hung the day’s washing on the simple, strung line of string behind the O’Hara house. She savored the sweet warmth of the breeze, that blew her honey colored hair about her. As she went about her simple labor, she hummed to herself and thought about the last few months on her husband’s farm.

Buffy had never been happier, more content or more sure of her life’s situation. Things ‘seemed’ to be fine, for once in her existence and she thanked God, daily for it.

Her days were filled with hard work, yes, but toil that provided her with a true sense of accomplishment and contentment, well earned. The nights, her’s and Will’s, together, were filled with love and passion, such that she had never known before in her short life.

Distracted from her work, Buffy accidently dropped a silken blouse, one of hers, in the dirt below her feet. For some reason, the sight of the simple white material, lying there, already filthy in the muck, caused her to be suddenly saddened.

Before she could bend down to retrieve the now dirtied blouse, Buffy was reminded of her sad, broken Mother, Joyce. She had died too soon, in the dank, filth of a poor man’s hospital in New York City, over four years before this.

‘The cough’ is what the those old fools at that nasty place had called it. ‘The filthy, dirty, ugly cough’ of the lungs. It was that very night, the night of her Mama’s death, that Buffy stumbled upon Anya Jenkins and her ‘gentleman’ and became what she had been for the past four years. A woman of the night, a creature of darkness and sin.

All those years, all four of them, Buffy never felt the joy of true love, or hope or any feeling of humanity that might have existed in the world.

As Buffy stared at the now soiled little white blouse, upon the ground, she remembered something her Mama used to read to her.
For some unfathomable reason, Buffy chose to recite the words, out loud, but softly:




‘What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form, in moving, how express and admirable? In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a God!’

‘The beauty of the world; the paragon of animals. I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth…..’

“Do not ever lose faith in the world, Buffy, my darling,” Mama had told her, time and again. “Always hold out hope, never give up.” But she had, Buffy had that is. She gave up on the world and mankind years before. In the filthy waiting room of a poor man’s hospital, just after her beloved Mother had died of the cough. Not once, not in the four years since, had Buffy ever wistfully hoped to regain her faith in mankind or the world again. But, then William O’Hara had entered her life.


“Mama thought reading me Shakespeare, that it would class me up, make me something I was not. Nor ever could be,” she sighed sadly.

‘But, then again, maybe she was right to think it,’ Buffy reassured herself, hopefully. ‘I am here, now on my Will’s farm. And I love him, and he loves me. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing.’


“Buffy?” Will’s deep voice brogue broke her painful rememberances, “are you all right darling?”

Spike looked at his wife, her face was closed and distant, something he was not used to. His Buffy had been open and honest, loving and warm, from the moment they had met in Belfast.

“My blouse,” Buffy whispered, sadly, “it’s soiled now and I…..”

William bent to retrieve the blouse, then wrapped his unencumbered arm about Buffy. He kissed the side of her warm, slightly damp cheek, lovingly.

“It’s fine, lass,” he purred, taking the wash basket from her tiny hands. “Let’s go in now, have our lunch together and talk. I’ve missed you today, out there in that lonely potatoe field. Even Angel and Xander together’ll for hours will never replace a minute with you, my sweet.”

They ate their simple lunch, the one Buffy had prepared and talked quietly together. Will and her.

Buffy savored these quiet moments together, when they were totally alone with each other. Somehow, these times were more intimate, in some ways, then when they were making love in their bed together. Or, in the barn, together, or in the creek, or….

Spike loved these moments with Buffy, alone together. They were right up there, almost, that is, with the time they spent making love together in their bed. He smirked, silently, remembering the other places that he and his Buffy had made love.

“Will,” Buffy smiled up at her husband, “I’m so very happy here. With you, your family. I love you so much and….” She burst out into tears, burying her face in her hands.

“Buffy, baby,” Spike jumped up from his chair and joined her at hers. Wrapping his arms around her, he began to rock her genltly, almost cooing to her.

“What is it, luv,” he murmered, “stroking her soft, golden head, lovingly.”

Her muffled response was barely a whisper, “I just worry. That something will try and hurt us. Take us away from each other, Will. I could not bear it if that happened. I could not,” she wept the words to him.

“Neither could I,” Spike rasped in response, “and it’s not going to happen Princess. I promise that nothing, or no one will ever split us apart. I love you too much.”

Buffy wiped her tears and smiled, finally into Will’s now damp shirt front. She grinned up at him and he kissed her lips, gently.

“Will,” she began, carefully, “I have something I need to tell you.”

Suddenly, a loud, heavy knock sounded at the O’Hara front door. Followed by a deep, familiar voice.

“Spike,” came Xander Harris’ booming, welcome greeting. “You need to get out here, now, man.”

Spike gave Buffy a puzzled look and hurried to the front door. The look on his friend and worker’s face gave him an uneasy feeling.

“What’s wrong, Xander?” Spike asked anxiously.

“It’s that fool Ethan Finn-Rayne, riding this way. I spotted him coming up the road. He’s got that worthless piece of dung, sorry Buffy, of a son with him, that Riley. Him and some equally stupid looking others along for the ride. I recognize a couple of them, they’re the idiots that follow Riley around like puppies, but the third? He’s a new face to me.”

Buffy suddenly felt faint. A wave of fear, no make that terror, swept over her. ‘Parker Abrams,’ her mind taunted her. At that moment, she decided to stay in her home, not venture out again until after these horrible men left this farm.

“Stay inside, baby,” Spike ordered his wife, sternly. “I’ll take care of this. Xander,” he continued, “go get Angel, have him tell Tara to keep indoors, too.”

Now, Buffy was truly terrified with these turn of events. She watched as her husband went to the closet and pulled a rifle and a gun out of it. That’s when she remembered seeing Xander with a rifle also. ‘Oh God,’ Buffy began to shake in fear, ‘the Raynes, they’ve come to try and persuade Will to sell them our farm.’

Spike loaded his guns, glancing at his wife, a serious expression on his face. ‘I knew this fucking day would come,’ he reasoned, ‘just didn’t know it’d be today. Fucking Raynes, I hate their fucking guts.’

“I mean it, baby,” he repeated, seriously, “you stay in this house and don’t step outside. Understand?”

Buffy nodded, too afraid to say a word in response. Finally she asked, anxiously, “do you think they have guns Will?”

Spike shruggred nervously, though he doubted that Rayne would be so stupid to bring armed men to his home. Fact of the matter was, Ethan Rayne was not stupid, just corrupt and well, evil. No, Spike figured this was just a little call from the Raynes, to try and talk him into selling the O’Hara farm.

‘Cold day in bloody hell,’ he snorted to himself. He walked, slowly over to his wife and took her in his arms again.

“It’ll be fine, sweet,” he murmered in her ear. “The Raynes and me, we’ll talk and then I’ll run their worthless arses off our land, for good. Angel and Xander will be with me. You’ll see, it’ll be fine. Promise.”


A/N: Sigh…I began this chapter with the full intent of having Spike find out about Buffy’s past (in one way or another), but…I decided, no. Next chapter. I wanted to explore the motivations, on Buffy’s part, for her past life. Just a little more, that is, to drum up a little more sympathy for her character in this fiction. I brought the Joyce card in for drama…Promise, next chapter, Spike will find out about Buffy. How will he react? Well, this is Spike, right? Thanks for reading, please review. Luv, Spuf





You must login (register) to review.