That Murky Moral Quagmire. Part Two.
Part one by mlir is at ff net
Disclaimer not mine… not even the first part of the story!
Post Gift fic
PG- make sure you ask your mummy to read it first-it could warp your fragile little minds
Note- feedback makes a happy author…
Part Two
"You?! You're William the Bloody?"
"OK. So he told you about my poetry. Look, I realise now that it wasn't that good but…" the bright head ducked to hide a semi-blush as he paused in an
awkward kind of way, an unusual mix of remorse, self pity and disgust as he remembered what he had once called his art.
Pulling downcast eyes from the contrast of his black boots on the white, he broke out of his short reverie and looked at Buffy. All he could see was shock and confusion in the lines of her face and her clouded green eyes, confusion that this was THE William the bloody, the very same guy who used to drive railroad spikes through his
victims? Talking about his poetry, something didn't add up. The fact was slowly dawning on William that she had no idea what on earth he was talking about.
"You hadn't heard about my poetry, had you." It was phrased as a question, but he already knew the answer, the dismay in his face echoed in his words.
"No, I hadn't" she answered, with a slow deliberance and certainty about that one fact which served to raise the question 'what poetry?' without it having to be said.
"Oh, nothing, nothing at all, really nothing, jus, jus, look just forget about it okay!" he managed to eke out in an ever quietening, stuttering and panicky voice, after which he turned away from Buffy's baffled gaze and stared into the limitless white expanse before him, full of regret and remorse at what had just happened.
"Okay" Buffy eventually replied, scared and bewildered at the scene that had just passed. What had happened? Where was the ever so cocky and self-assured arrogance of the Spike she knew and, well… knew. It had been there moments ago but now before her stood this quivering, self-ashamed person that seemed to only merely look like the obnoxious vampire.
There was an awkward silence in which the pity swelled inside Buffy for the poor creature, but it was soon driven out by the urgent desire to find out more about her new situation.
"So," she started uneasily, "just where in the hell am I?"
With this William seemed to pull himself together, "I think the real question, little lady, is where in the heaven are you." Once again stood before her was the Spike of old, his condescending voice sounding just as it always had complete with the spark of patronising wit in his eyes and half-smirk on his mouth. She waited for him to continue, but it didn't look like that was going to happen. With some annoyance, she tried again. "OK where in HEAVEN am I?"
"Now that, is one heaven of a question; if you'll pardon the expression, and one that
I'm not really capable of answering. You'd have to ask the big guy about that sort of thing, but not many people do. They just take whatever bit of advice they can get and settle for that. Bit sad really, but that's just the way people are." His attention drifted to the parts of death she had yet to know.
"Spike."
She'd used that tone with him before. It was that stop-screwing-around-and-tell-me what-I-want-to-know-or-I'm-going-to-dish-out-some-slayer-brand-ass-whuppage-on-you, look. The one that narrowed her features into bitchy mode, all evil glare and seething intensity. The kind of intensity Spike took to mean only one thing…
"Fine. You really want to know. You're in the underground part….the bit you sneak into via the toilet window by coz the big-ass bouncer at the door doesn't like the look of the blood on your hands." His tone was dark with an edge of pleasure.
"Huh?" Buffys voice tiny and insignificant because in the depths of her heart she knew what he meant.
"You." He motioned with his hands. "Slayer." Now he had knelt on the white at her feet with his face cast upward. "Killer."
