Title: be here now
Author: wintercreek
Disclaimer: No matter how hard I try to convince ME, none of them are mine. Yet. Joni Mitchell is not mine, nor is her song "River."
Spoilers: Through the Season 6 finale.
Dedication: For my sisters. You give me back my joy.
A/N: Spike/Buffy friendship/hints of something more. Follow up to "God Breathing." This time, Spike's the one wrestling with his past and his future. Buffy's there to help.
This one's inspired by the following quote, from Lucy Grealy who began her battle with jaw cancer at the age of 9:
...in the clinic where she received chemotherapy. "There were two pieces of graffiti in the bathroom stalls. One said 'God is near'. The other said 'be here now,'" she remembers. "I'd sit there when I was sick from treatment, wondering what those sentences meant. It helped me to look more deeply at things—and the search for meaning leads to strength."
Italic text denotes thought or song lyrics.
**************
"Shhhh."
Buffy had been, understandably, alarmed to find Spike just outside her window and weeping uncontrollably. He was alone, his nightly talks with Willow having stopped in November when it grew too cold for the red head to spend the night outside. It was mid-December now. At first, she'd thought that Spike was shivering from cold. Then she dismissed that idea as ridiculous. Vampires don't get cold. But I do. So she'd grabbed a thick blanket and climbed out the window.
"Spike, what's wrong?" He hadn't answered, so she'd decided on rubbing his back and making shushing noises. That wasn't doing much for him either.
"Shhhh. Spike, come here." No response. So Buffy gathered him in her arms, pulling him over until he was leaning on her. She half wrapped him in the blanket with her, for comfort rather than warmth. Leaning low over the vampire's ear, she began to sing softly.
"It's coming on Christmas / they're cutting down trees / putting up reindeer / and singing songs of joy and peace / I wish I had a river / I could skate away on."
He lifted his head a little, giving Buffy a puzzled look.
She reached out, hesitantly, and smoothed a tear away. "Do you know this one? But it don't snow here / it stays pretty green / gonna make a lot of money / then I'm gonna quit this crazy scene / and I wish I had a river / I could skate away on. Mom used to sing it to me."
Spike smiled wistfully, remembering Joyce. "Yeah, Joni Mitchell."
"She always left out the middle verses. You know, the 'naughty' part."
"Right."
"So what's going on?"
"I just . . . Buffy, it's so bloody hard sometimes!"
The Slayer barely stopped herself from making an innuendo-laden remark. Serious, Buffy. Serious now. "What is? Living?"
"Yeah. Some days it's all I can do not to stake myself."
"Would it help to talk?"
"No. Me telling the whole sordid story never makes anyone feel any better."
"Do you want me to talk to you?"
"Yes. Might help."
"Then let's go inside. I'm freezing!"
~*~
They'd moved into Buffy's room, the Slayer nearly carrying the vampire, and on to her bed. Buffy, feeling very much like Joyce, insisted that Spike join her on the bed and rewrapped him in the blanket. Cradling his head on her chest, Buffy began to speak.
"I can't stop thinking about Mom lately. This is the second Christmas since she died. Sometimes I put on that Joni Mitchell song and just cry. It's different now, though. I know the whole song, and those middle verses? They make me think of you. It was wrong of me to treat you the way I did. I'm sorry, Spike."
Spike lifted his upper body, turning to look at Buffy.
He seemed to need to hear it again, so she repeated, "I'm sorry."
The vampire settled back into her embrace, ever so slightly more relaxed. The soft vibrations of Buffy's voice throughout her ribcage and the thump of her heart were lulling him into a daze.
Buffy let the moment stretch, then shook Spike gently. "Hey," she whispered.
"What?"
"You need to hear this. Really hear this. Here, sit up with me."
So Spike found the motivation to move, scooting back until his back was to the wall. Buffy sat beside him, her knees drawn up.
"When . . . when Mom was in the hospital . . . getting treatments . . ." The Slayer let out a shaky sigh. "Why can't I say this?!"
Spike was mute, waiting.
"Ok. Let's try this differently. I know you're feeling guilty for the things you did when you didn't have a soul. I'm proud of you. The way you're dealing, how you helped Willow—really proud. So's Dawn. And I wanted to help you. Give you something like you gave Will. Dawn and I talked, and this is what we came up with.
"When Mom was getting chemo, they had this little bathroom directly off of the doctor's office. You know, for patients who felt sick. Dawn and I were in there one day, looking around. I was in one of the stalls, looking for graffiti scratched on to the walls. I only found two things written there. One thing said 'God is near.' So I thought, 'Ok, people looking for strength in religion. Nothing new.' But the other one said 'be here now.' And that one took a long time to figure out.
"After I died and came back, I couldn't find much meaning in anything. I just knew that nothing was what I wanted it to be. This past summer, I found my old journal from that awful time when Mom was sick. I found where I'd written down those things from the stall.
"I guess when you have cancer, there's no point in living in the past or the future. It doesn't help to remember how healthy you used to be. It doesn't help to plan for things that might never happen, 'cause you might not be there anymore. But you can't just live in the moment, either. That winds up being kind of irresponsible. So what the stall said—that's what you have to do. 'Be here now.' Take care of this day, this evening, this hour. Look forward, but don't get ahead of 'now.'
"That's what you should do, too. You can't change the past, Spike. And if you worry about the future, you'll
still get bogged down in your guilt, 'cause you'll be worrying about how you
acted in the past. So just don't. Don't fret about what's to come, and think a
little less about what happened in the past.
Be here now."
Buffy slid out from under the blanket, kissed Spike's forehead, and whispered,
"Go to sleep."
He shook his head, but still laid down on the bed. "Sing to me?" he asked.
The Slayer smiled and sang, "I wish I had a river / I could skate away on."