Title:
Author: Primadonna
Rated: R ( I don't know why yet, just giving myself a little liberal space as far as censoring myself.)
Summary: Set at the end of season five, except instead of Buffy dying, Dawn died. Story is set directly after death, tells about the event through flashbacks and will all eventually be clear if it isn't right away, so don't worry.
Pairings: Spike and Buffy are together, just sort of. under odd circumstances. You'll see what I mean
Please, please, please REVIEW. I swear, this story I will be updating as much as humanly possible, because this is actually a challenge me and my friend are doing. When she puts her story up, I'll let you guys know. She's an excellent writer.
Dedicated to Es, who introduced me to the world of fan fiction, especially fanfiction.net, has encouraged me, listened to all of my half-baked plans about EVERYTHING, and has listened to me ramble on about my obsession with Spike forever. You Rock, luv.
*^^^*^^^*^^^*
Grief, grief, I suppose and sufficient
Grief makes us free
To be faithless and faithful together
As we have to be.
D.H. Lawrence, Hymn to Priapus (l. 57-60).
Spike found her on the apartment's balcony, staring out on a horizon that would not light for hours yet. Her legs were tucked primly under her, hands splayed over her thighs. She didn't hear him approach, so lost in her thoughts. Sometimes she would wake him up when the dreams came, maybe crawl into bed with him when she thought he was still asleep. Other nights she would distance herself for days, itching for a good spot of violence, numb from all feeling otherwise. There was never any pattern, or at least none he could pick up on. The dreams were just as frequent as they had been since the beginning, she still saw her sister die again, albeit she had stopped screaming somewhere down the road, he wasn't sure when. She simply just took the memory of what she considered her failure as penance for not being as quick as she should have been.
He sat down beside her on the wrought iron bench, and gingerly placed his hand over hers. She did not recoil as she once would have, so he kept it there. They sat in silence like this for awhile, until he was completely sure that she knew he was there, then he broke the silence.
"The watcher called."
Buffy barely acknowledged, simply nodded. Spike pressed on.
"Where'd you figure he picked up the number? I made sure it was bloody difficult to track us down this time."
"You didn't speak to him, did you?" Buffy looked at him finally, her eyes dark from lack of sleep.
"No, luv, he left a message. I didn't erase it, figured you would want to listen to it." Again she nodded. "Maybe later." She nodded a third time, then changed the subject abruptly.
"Let's go out for breakfast. We have a few hours until you're, you know," she gestured smoke around her.
"I don't know, pet, we'd be cutting it a little close. Especially after seeing that bloke from the council just a few days ago."
"Spike. I need to leave. I can't be here right now. Are you coming with me or not, is what I'm asking." She raised her chin defiantly, now fully in the present, which made him thrilled beyond belief.
"All right," he shrugged. Not like he could or ever had denied her anything he could give her. That's why they were there now, wasn't it?
****
Despite the late, or, as the case may be, very early hour, the café just a block away from the apartment had a steady number of patrons, all stopping in on the way home from the night on the town. A couple was dressed black and white formalwear, with opera programs in hand. Young lovers searched for the privacy the booths offered.
Buffy chose a small table beside a full-length window, a striking view of the canals with the dozen of sleeping gondolas tied to poles.
Spike returned with two mugs and a tray full of food. It became a familiar act; she would drink dangerous amounts of espresso (sugar) while he would lay our all the shop's pastries in front of her, coaxing her to eat. Today he lined up a cheese scone, a blueberry muffin, and two or three other provisions.
"You can't really call it breakfast if you don't eat anything," spike reminded her, drumming his fingers on the cherry oak table top. She rolled her eyes.
"If I was hungry, I'd eat," she answered sourly, though they both knew how successful that was; her previously slender frame had become skeletal; had it not been for her Slayer strength Spike very much doubted she would have been able to gather enough energy to move. Spike said nothing, but he watched her pick at the muffin. Trying to hide his great relief at his minor victory, he began to eat a croissant, although he could never understand why anyone would ever eat a croissant outside of France. Maybe Buffy would like Paris.
"Do you ever miss it?" Buffy asked him quietly, her face turned to the water.
"Miss what- Sunnyhell?" he scoffed. "Not bleedin' likely."
She snorted back, "Could've fooled me- you came back often enough."
He knew now after much reflection why- it had always been because of her. First to kill her, then out of drunken depression, then by the intense need to annoy her even when he couldn't kill her. When he'd fallen into lust, and then love, with her, he knew it must have been in his subconscious. He was always a wanker.
He didn't answer because he was pretty sure she knew why, or she didn't want it articulated. Things like that just went unsaid now, died somewhere between him and her. She'd always demanded a certain amount of obliviousness around her, and for her friends to follow suit. She needed that more than the typical person, the impression on the surface that everything was as it should be. He wasn't her vampire lover that had spirited her away from her old life and duties after the death of her sister. They were two young people out for café in Venice, like all of the other couples around them.
They finished their coffee in silence.
**** I'm really in love with this story idea and will be updating as much as my crazy concept allows. I really need suggestions though, if you have any, or if you can point out any major continuation flaws. Also, does anyone have the script on-line of "The Gift"? It would really help me out with the next chapter.****
Author: Primadonna
Rated: R ( I don't know why yet, just giving myself a little liberal space as far as censoring myself.)
Summary: Set at the end of season five, except instead of Buffy dying, Dawn died. Story is set directly after death, tells about the event through flashbacks and will all eventually be clear if it isn't right away, so don't worry.
Pairings: Spike and Buffy are together, just sort of. under odd circumstances. You'll see what I mean
Please, please, please REVIEW. I swear, this story I will be updating as much as humanly possible, because this is actually a challenge me and my friend are doing. When she puts her story up, I'll let you guys know. She's an excellent writer.
Dedicated to Es, who introduced me to the world of fan fiction, especially fanfiction.net, has encouraged me, listened to all of my half-baked plans about EVERYTHING, and has listened to me ramble on about my obsession with Spike forever. You Rock, luv.
*^^^*^^^*^^^*
Grief, grief, I suppose and sufficient
Grief makes us free
To be faithless and faithful together
As we have to be.
D.H. Lawrence, Hymn to Priapus (l. 57-60).
Spike found her on the apartment's balcony, staring out on a horizon that would not light for hours yet. Her legs were tucked primly under her, hands splayed over her thighs. She didn't hear him approach, so lost in her thoughts. Sometimes she would wake him up when the dreams came, maybe crawl into bed with him when she thought he was still asleep. Other nights she would distance herself for days, itching for a good spot of violence, numb from all feeling otherwise. There was never any pattern, or at least none he could pick up on. The dreams were just as frequent as they had been since the beginning, she still saw her sister die again, albeit she had stopped screaming somewhere down the road, he wasn't sure when. She simply just took the memory of what she considered her failure as penance for not being as quick as she should have been.
He sat down beside her on the wrought iron bench, and gingerly placed his hand over hers. She did not recoil as she once would have, so he kept it there. They sat in silence like this for awhile, until he was completely sure that she knew he was there, then he broke the silence.
"The watcher called."
Buffy barely acknowledged, simply nodded. Spike pressed on.
"Where'd you figure he picked up the number? I made sure it was bloody difficult to track us down this time."
"You didn't speak to him, did you?" Buffy looked at him finally, her eyes dark from lack of sleep.
"No, luv, he left a message. I didn't erase it, figured you would want to listen to it." Again she nodded. "Maybe later." She nodded a third time, then changed the subject abruptly.
"Let's go out for breakfast. We have a few hours until you're, you know," she gestured smoke around her.
"I don't know, pet, we'd be cutting it a little close. Especially after seeing that bloke from the council just a few days ago."
"Spike. I need to leave. I can't be here right now. Are you coming with me or not, is what I'm asking." She raised her chin defiantly, now fully in the present, which made him thrilled beyond belief.
"All right," he shrugged. Not like he could or ever had denied her anything he could give her. That's why they were there now, wasn't it?
****
Despite the late, or, as the case may be, very early hour, the café just a block away from the apartment had a steady number of patrons, all stopping in on the way home from the night on the town. A couple was dressed black and white formalwear, with opera programs in hand. Young lovers searched for the privacy the booths offered.
Buffy chose a small table beside a full-length window, a striking view of the canals with the dozen of sleeping gondolas tied to poles.
Spike returned with two mugs and a tray full of food. It became a familiar act; she would drink dangerous amounts of espresso (sugar) while he would lay our all the shop's pastries in front of her, coaxing her to eat. Today he lined up a cheese scone, a blueberry muffin, and two or three other provisions.
"You can't really call it breakfast if you don't eat anything," spike reminded her, drumming his fingers on the cherry oak table top. She rolled her eyes.
"If I was hungry, I'd eat," she answered sourly, though they both knew how successful that was; her previously slender frame had become skeletal; had it not been for her Slayer strength Spike very much doubted she would have been able to gather enough energy to move. Spike said nothing, but he watched her pick at the muffin. Trying to hide his great relief at his minor victory, he began to eat a croissant, although he could never understand why anyone would ever eat a croissant outside of France. Maybe Buffy would like Paris.
"Do you ever miss it?" Buffy asked him quietly, her face turned to the water.
"Miss what- Sunnyhell?" he scoffed. "Not bleedin' likely."
She snorted back, "Could've fooled me- you came back often enough."
He knew now after much reflection why- it had always been because of her. First to kill her, then out of drunken depression, then by the intense need to annoy her even when he couldn't kill her. When he'd fallen into lust, and then love, with her, he knew it must have been in his subconscious. He was always a wanker.
He didn't answer because he was pretty sure she knew why, or she didn't want it articulated. Things like that just went unsaid now, died somewhere between him and her. She'd always demanded a certain amount of obliviousness around her, and for her friends to follow suit. She needed that more than the typical person, the impression on the surface that everything was as it should be. He wasn't her vampire lover that had spirited her away from her old life and duties after the death of her sister. They were two young people out for café in Venice, like all of the other couples around them.
They finished their coffee in silence.
**** I'm really in love with this story idea and will be updating as much as my crazy concept allows. I really need suggestions though, if you have any, or if you can point out any major continuation flaws. Also, does anyone have the script on-line of "The Gift"? It would really help me out with the next chapter.****