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NA CRACH CROI


Chapter 16: ‘Anadas’ (Regret)


Spike was aware of the evening shadows, dancing their way about the now quiet bedroom. Quiet that is, except for the soft, gentle weeping of his wife who lay next to him, like a hurt child, facing the wall. Actually, Buffy was huddled so far away from him on her side of the bed, that she was nearly falling off of it.

‘Oh God,’ he groaned in self-disgust, ‘how could I have done this terrible thing?’

William the poet wanted to reach out, take her in his arms and comfort her. If she would allow him to, that is. Something told him that she would never ‘allow’ him to touch her again, in any way. The remaining pieces of his heart shattered completely into shards and slivers, like weak glass.

“Buffy, luv,” Spike whispered and timidly reached out and gently touched her shoulder. His earlier fears were confirmed when she shunned his hand and pulled even further away from him. Her soft crying became louder sobs and Spike felt his anger and jealousy begin to overtake him, again.

‘Why the fuck should she be crying?’ his inner Spike voice spat. ‘I’m the injured party here, the humiliated one. She’s lucky I didn’t throw her arse out on the front lawn and make her walk to Balleycastle! Run her completely out of Northern Ireland!’

Even as Spike’s anger tried to take over, his tender nature succeeded in pushing it back down, again. After a few moments, Spike felt nothing but shame, horror and revulsion at himself for the horrible words he had said to his beloved wife. Then what he’d done after, in rage? How could he ever forgive himself, much less expect Buffy to forgive him? Even if she had ever truly loved him, she would never forgive him for this. Never.

In an act of cowardice and fear, unable to face his wife, for many reasons? William the poet flung himself from the bed, grabbed his discarded clothes and raced for the bedroom door. He dressed himself as he headed to the back door of the house. Once, in the barn, he saddled his horse, Iarann, and rode hell bent for leather out of the yard and straight for Balleycastle.

‘I can’t stay there, not now, not tonight,’ he chanted to himself as he rode like a demon to town. ‘I’m afraid I’ll harm her again. Oh fuck it all, I need to talk to my priest.’

Buffy felt her husband leave the bed, his desperate actions alerted her that William was in terrible torment. She lay, frozen still, in the same position, until she heard the back door of the house slam. When the retreating hoofbeats of, Will’s horse confirmed her husband’s absence, only then did Buffy sit up on the bed. Her body was okay, not too sore from the violent sex she had just endured, but her spirit felt broken and dead.

With a heavy heart, Buffy rose from the bed and went to the kitchen to fetch some stored water there. She needed to clean herself up and pull her thoughts together, quickly. Although she was relieved that Will had left the farm, hopefully for a long while, she was worried about him.

‘That’s a laugh,’ Buffy snorted as she rinsed her flushed face with the tepid water from the basin. ‘Me being worried about Will. I hope he falls off Iarann and breaks his stupid neck.’ As soon as she thought it, Buffy was ashamed of herself. Not only did she not wish harm to her beloved William, she wanted him to be happy and safe. However, at the moment, Buffy just did not feel that either Will or herself would be ‘happy or safe’ as long as she dwelled in this house.

“I should leave, tonight, now,” Buffy reasoned with herself out loud. “With William gone, for some time, anyway, I can saddle Siucra and make my way to Balleycaslte. But what if…..”

Buffy had to accept the fact that William had probably gone to Balleycastle. It certainly ‘sounded’ like that’s the direction he headed in. If Buffy headed off to town, she might likely run right into William and the hellish nightmare of earlier might be repeated.



‘Why would Will go to town? To what?’ she wondered sadly. ‘Find out how much the good townfolk know about his whore wife? Go to a pub and get drunker? Talk to Father Giles…’

This thought struck Buffy as being the reasonable one. Father Giles was like a, well, Father to Will and it was natural that he would go to the priest to seek solace.

“Besides,” Buffy whispered sadly, “I would probably never make it to Balleycastle in the dark. Sunset is near, I’d get less then halfway before the night set in and then what? Stumble into Balleycastle like a common street whore and face off with the ones that only come out at night? Wouldn’t that be the icing on the cake for everyone if I ran into the human ‘creatures’ of the night?”

Buffy stumbled back into the bedroom and collapsed back on the bed, her heart and soul more injured then her lower body. However, she did feel quite queasy, even somewhat dizzy.

‘I was going to tell him,’ she thought sadly, little tears began again to slip down her cheeks. ‘Now, I’ll probably never tell him anything again.’

When she looked up at the ceiling, Buffy’s mind was overcome with the happy memories of all the times she and Will made love in this bed together. For some reason, this gave Buffy a bittersweet sense of comfort and she allowed the pleasant thoughts to envelope her. It was not ten minutes before she dropped off to sleep.

Spike made it to Father Giles’ parrish house just as the sun fell behind the western green hills. He tied Iarann to the hitching post and strode up to the front door of the priest’s home. After taking a deep breath, for courage, Spike pounded on the door of the house located next to the Holy Church. For the first time in his life, Spike was actually relieved that the Church sat nearly a mile outside of the town limits.

Father Giles opened the door and gave Spike a once over look, then motioned him inside. The priest’s blue eyes were full of sympathy, and some emotion Spike could not quite put his finger on. Apparently, the good priest had already heard about the fiasco a the O’Hara farm earlier in the day. And of William O’Hara’s humiliation.

“Sit, William,” Father Giles sighed heavily as he got a glass to match the one he had been drinking from. “Whiskey?” the priest asked the eldest O’Hara boy.

“Definitely,” Spike muttered in response and took the offered alcohol from the older man’s hand.

The two men sat, staring at the flames in the fireplace and sipped their drinks. They were both totally silent. For a while that is.

“You’ve heard?” Spike finally broke the silence with a soft question. He tried not to allow his voice to be too shaky from his emotions.

“Yes,” Giles sighed his response. “I’ve heard. But not from who you might think, son.”

Spike flinched and shook his head in sorrowful anger, “Jesus Christ, I should throw her out, send her away. The bitch, she…..”

“Do not speak such blaspheme in this house, boy,” the priest ordered in a deadly voice. “Do not take our Lord’s name in vain like that and I will not have you call a good daughter of our Lord by that disgusting name.”

The older man’s eyes were narrowed into slits as he perused his parrishioner. Spike was temporarily stunned by his priest’s angry tone, but shook it off quickly.

“I am the wronged one here, Father,” Spike gasped in shock, meeting the priest’s blue eyes with his own. “Are you forgetting that?” He scowled at his priest, his dark brows were scrunched together in confusion.

“Are you?” Father Giles asked the younger man, his strong mouth almost formed a slight smirk. “The wronged one that is?”

“You knew,” Spike gasped again, now in total shock of some realized betrayal. “How long have you known about my Buffy?” His voice betrayed his own pain and he felt weak, even in front of this Holy man.

“I cannot discuss another’s confession, boy,” Father Giles responded as he sipped his drink. “Not even ‘your’ wife’s.” The old man looked so very tired, suddenly, like he held the world on his shoulders.

Spike’s emotions swung, instantly from anger of betrayal from everyone about him, to compassion for this man next to him. What the priest must have heard? Time and again from every wicked or tormented soul that passed his way? That confided in him their own personal Hell, just so they could gain entrance to Heaven, eventually.

“So, you’ll be puttin’ her out then?” Father Giles asked in a choked, angry voice. He looked at this member of his flock as if the young man had grown devil’s horns.


“I don’t want to, Father,” Spike hung his head, sadly. “I love my Buffy and I want to keep her with me. No matter how much hell we put each other through, but…..I am afraid.”

“Afraid?” the priest asked with puzzled, raised brows. He did not seem to understand, at all, Spike thought.

“Afraid,” Spike continued with a shamed voice, “that I’ll do my Buffy harm again and……”

Father Giles leapt up from his chair and yanked Spike from his own. The old man pushed the younger one up to the nearest wall of his house, succeeding in banging the back of Spike’s head, neck and shoulders against the unforgiving hard tack.

“You bloody fool!” Giles cried in a strangled voice. “What have you done to that poor girl?”

Spike found himself flung against the wall of his priest’s house, where he realized that Father Giles was still a strong man. Even for a middle aged one.

“I, well I…” Spike tried to answer the Holy man, but found it difficult. Mainly because, at the present, the Father had his left hand clutched about Spike’s throat and he was finding it rather hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“I forced myself on her, Father,” Spike rasped, nearly unable to breathe, still. “I took her against her will. I raped my own wife,” he began to weep great tears of remorse and self-shame.

“If I were twenty years younger,” the priest growled with menace, “at my full pride and strength,” he continued in his deadly tone. “I would beat you to one inch of your worthless life. You’re a bloody monster, William O’Hara, you are. An evil demon of a man.”

“Your parents were my best friends, William, or should I call you Spike now,” Father Giles snorted in disgust. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad they’re dead and gone to dust. Your folks that is. Glad they didn’t live to see the disgusting, self-pitying losers their two sons have grown to be. Evil, bitter, miserable men, both you and your so called Angel.”

The priest did not let up on Spike’s shoulders, although he had released his stranglehold on his throat. Presumably to allow the O’Hara man to speak, at least.

“My Buffy, she broke my heart,” Spike choked out through fresh tears, “with her deceit and lies. She broke my heart and soul and near killed me!”

“Sweet Buffy brought you to life!” Giles roared like a dangerous lion. “You were a mere shell of man, for years, boy. Until your blond angel came into your miserable life. Don’t you think ‘I’ remember you? Your young years? When you became a man? Always a hard, bitter man, not so much like your stupid brother, but harsh and angry still.”

Spike started to respond to Father Giles, but he decided to hold his foolish tongue. It had brought nothing but trials and sorrow on everyone around him since that morning.

“Tell me, stupid lad,” the priest panted, mere inches from Spike’s shocked face. “When you were runnin’ with the Fein? What services did ‘you’ perform for them? Did you just cook their meals? Wash their shirts and clean their rooms?”

William O’Hara hung his head in shame, once more. His guilt showed on his face, of that he was sure. No, he had not just done the things that Father Giles named, that was for certain.

“No, I’m willing to bet my own soul that you did more then that, Spike O’Hara,” the priest hissed. “You’ve harmed men, have you not? Killed a few, I’d wager and all in the name of what? The Cause? The good of Ireland? Your damnable pride?”

“You think your sins are any more forgiveable then your wife’s William O’Hara,” Giles hissed through gritted teeth.

“What do you want from me Father?” Spike asked in a surprisingly subdued voice.

“I want you to act like a man!” Father Giles roared again, shaking Spike, slightly with his strong hands. “I want you to defend and protect your wife and behave like your own father would have behaved. Like a man!”

The priest finally let go of Spike and stumbled back to his chair, shaking his fair head as he went. He sat back down and began to stare into the fire before him, morosely, once again sipping his whiskey.

Spike stayed pressed up against the wall, as if some invisible power kept him there. He stood for what seemed like hours and then finally spoke in a hushed, shamed voice.

“I love Buffy,” Spike admitted quietly, “I’ll always love her. Her staying,” he hesitated then continued strongly, “it won’t be easy. She wants to leave me, especially after today and what I’ve done to her. It’ll kill us both, for a while anyway. I don’t know how she’ll forgive me, or me her, but I want to. I want her to. What do I do Father? How do I fix this?”

“I am not sure, son,” Father Giles admitted honestly, “it will be difficult and all, that’s for certain. However, I think you can fix it, someday. You love your wife, I know this. She loves you, boy, that I also know.”

With a heavy sigh, Father Giles stood up and placed his massive hands behind his back. He was deep in thought, that much was obvious to Spike, so the younger man did not say a word again until asked to.

Finally, Father Giles spoke, “I think you should stay here, in this house, for tonight William. You can sleep on the divan and clear your mind. Tomorrow, first thing, go home to your wife. However,” the priest turned to the young man, his stern blue eyes fell upon him. “Stay away from each other, for a while anyway. Let this cool down and keep a calm head.”

“She’ll leave me,” Spike whispered, painfully, “first chance she gets she’ll up and leave me. I can’t…..”

“Have Tara or better yet, Angel keep an eye on her. Her first instinct will be to flee, of course, you’ve harmed her. In many ways, boy. You’ve harmed each other, really, but, just let her have some time. Let yourself have some time. In a few days? You two can talk, work out some things.”

“Yes Father,” Spike murmered respectfully as he watched his priest go to a linen shelf and pull some extra bed clothes from it.

“Here,” Giles said as he tossed Spike the blankets, “get to sleep. You’ve had too much to drink and if you go now? You’ll just fall off your horse and break your foolish neck.”

“Father,” Spike rasped, his voice still tinged with bitterness, “I’m still angry, you know. At my Buffy,” he tried not to let the tears betray him. “I don’t know how long it will take. To forgive her, or have her forgive me?”

“Maybe a long time, maybe not,” Father Giles shrugged. “But forgive each other? You shall, son. It’s in your loving natures to.”

Spike made up his makeshift bed, but watched the old priest leave the front room and go into his own bedroom. He shook his head, a little puzzled by the priest.

‘You’re a strange one, Father,’ Spike thought to himself. ‘You speak of piousness and sin on Sunday, but tell me to forgive my own wife for her whoring past and…’

Spike’s reverie was broken when his eyes fell upon a parchment of white paper that set on an end table, by the divan where he was to sleep. There was a couple of paragraphs on the paper and he could not help but to pick it up and read the writings there.

His blue eyes shot up, wide in disbelief and shock when he read the quotes written on the paper:

John 8: verse 7:

‘He who is without sin among you? Cast the first stone…’

Alexander Pope:

‘To err is human; to forgive? Devine…’


‘Be devine, William O’Hara. You are already so very human, you and your darling wife. Now it is time to be devine.’


“He knew,” Spike whispered in awe of the priest. “He knew I’d come here, to see and talk with him.”


A/N: Forgive me, for the religious references in this chapter and the whole fiction. I am not really religious by nature, however, I have always loved these two quotes and felt the need to write them into the story.

There is still much angst for our couple, in the next couple of chapters. I will give this much of a hint: Buffy does something desperate. That’s all I can reveal for now. Thanks for reading, please review. Luv always, Spuf





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