After the Life
Author: Wyndchyme, #1 Keeper of the Screaming Angst E-mail: guineagirl@hotmail.com Rating: Nothing you wouldn't see on the show. PG-13-ish? Disclaimer: I own Spike and Buffy and Co., but only on alternate Tuesdays of a full blue moon when Mercury is in retrograde. Distribution: If someone wants this, I'd be orgasmic. Spoilers: You need to have seen Bargaining 1 & 2, and After Life. Feedback: I'll send you a pretty picture if you send me a word of praise. Finish date: 12/30/01
"I was warm and I was loved and I was finished. I don't understand theology or dimensions, any of it really, but I think I was in Heaven. And now I'm not. I was torn out of there, by my friends. Everything here is hard and bright and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch...this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment and the one after that. Knowing what I've lost. They can never know. Never." ~After Life
A hand slammed into the granite that lined the basement of the crypt.
"Christ," Spike swore, cradling his bleeding knuckles. He glared balefully at the stone, all sharp and edgy, now stained with his blood. "I need a bloody punching bag," he muttered and shook his hand. He sat down heavily on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. His words kept coming back to mock him, "If there's anything I can do..." God, how fucking pathetic was that? The girl had been in Heaven and that sure as bloody hell wasn't something that a nice bouquet or night of demon ass-kicking was going to make all better.
He absently snagged a bottle of Jack Daniels from under the bed, tipping his head back and pouring the liquid down his throat. It burned pleasantly, but didn't take his mind off her words. "I was torn out of there, by my friends." He could see again the calmly blank look she was wearing, and could hear the venom behind the words, and knew how it must torment. Her bestest buds, thinking they'd be all high and mighty, the Witch lording over it all, summoning powers she had no business to meddle in. He was a vampire, close to a century and a half, and he wouldn't touch the bloody business with a ten foot - no, make that a ten mile pole.
Emptying the whiskey into his gullet, he kicked the bottle into a corner, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. She sure as hell must resent the fact that she was back. She'd had no damned choice in the matter. One minute, she was sitting on a cloud, all wings and halo and strumming a bloody harp, and the next she's fighting her way out of a coffin buried six feet underground.
Spike ground his heels into his eyes. Resent just wasn't a strong enough word. She had to hate it. She must absolutely be fucking screaming inside that pretty head of hers. How maddening could it be? Knowing that your friends had messed up the thing that you'd been longing for for years now? The end to her Slaying days, the ability to just rest...and all with her best interests in mind. Right. Bloody fucking marvelous.
He took a swing at the wall again. It hurt just as much as the last time, and he winced, licking at the blood coming from the re-opened wounds. He heard a soft click and lifted his head. The noise came from upstairs. He picked up a baseball bat leaning against the wall; he'd found it on one of his regular dumpster forays and had retrieved it for just this sort of thing. He smiled viciously. He was in the mood to hurt something.
He crept up the ladder, bat at the ready, straining to hear a sound. He poked his head over the edge of the floor and nearly fell back down when he saw Buffy staring down at him. "Bloody hell! Give a bloke some warning, would you?" He pointed the bat at her accusingly. "I'm going to put a bell around that pretty neck of yours so you won't always be creeping up and giving me the willies..." he trailed off. Buffy was standing there, just gazing at him. He set down the bat and hoisted himself up to sit on the lip of the hole. "Slayer?"
"Vampire."
He peered at her. "You all right, luv?"
She had that blank look on her face again. He was learning to recognize it; she felt something and she felt it strong, but she wasn't about to let it out. He stood up carefully and made his way to her side. "Buffy, are you alright?"
Her eyes were stricken when she looked at him. He cursed himself for being ten times a fool; of course she wasn't all right, you bloody wanker! He put a hand tentatively on her shoulder. She flinched and he drew back.
"Come down, Slayer." He followed her down the ladder and stood by awkwardly as she looked about. "Welcome to the pad."
Her hands rose to rub at her upper arms. "It's cold," she whispered.
Spike shrugged out of his duster and draped it around her. "Sorry sweet, the central heating unit's on the fritz."
Buffy's hands caressed the black leather that was swallowing her. "Thanks."
Spike coughed and moved past her. "So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? I'm pretty sure this wasn't just a social call?"
"Actually..." she subsided. "It was...kinda. Just sort of a stop by, harass the vampire, talk about torment..."
"Want the harassing or the talk first?"
Buffy shifted inside his coat. It looked good on her; or rather she looked good in it. It gave him a strange feeling of possession.
"Spike-" she broke into his thoughts.
"What?"
Buffy studied the floor intently. "You said, today...if I ever needed something..."
Spike came to stand in front of her and ducked his head to look her in the eye. "Anything."
She raised her head and tears fell from her glistening eyes. She bit her lower lip. "Could you...just...hold me?"
Spike's lips parted in shock and he stared at her.
"It hurts here, and I just need it to stop for a little bit, let me find my feet..."
Spike blinked and tried to get his voice to work. "Buffy-"
Buffy wiped quickly at her eyes and backed away. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking..."
"Buffy," he said more insistently
She hiccoughed and looked back. Spike smiled gently and opened his arms. She hesitated and Spike lowered his voice. "It's alright, pet. You can stop being strong for a little while."
Buffy stumbled into his arms and he gathered her close. Her face was buried in his chest and he could feel her tears scalding him though the thin material of his shirt. Her knees weakened and she shook. Spike scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He settled against the headboard, Buffy curled against his side, her hands clutching at his shoulders.
"Easy there, Slayer," he soothed. He smoothed back her hair and rested an arm over her. He looked up at the ceiling and grimaced. He knew enough now to be careful of what he wished for; he noted that he should have added a clause to the one that Buffy be in bed with him.
She shuddered and quieted. Spike looked down to find her gaze resting on his face. "Hey," she murmured, smiling hesitantly.
"Hey yourself," he replied hoarsely. He hugged her to his side. "All better?"
She looked away and smoothed the rumples she'd made in his shirt. Spike closed his eyes and thumped his head back. What, had his bloody foot taken up residence in his damn mouth? "I'm sorry, Buffy," he said.
She looked surprised. "What for?"
"For not stopping them. For not making sure you got to rest in peace. For not saving your sister in the first place. For the whole mucked up mess of the world."
"I didn't think that was your fault. See, I hear there's this religious movement behind this guy they call God; has the corner on the global responsibility market."
He smiled wryly. "Seriously-"
Buffy pressed her fingers to his lips. "You apologized all ready. And you're forgiven." She shrugged. "Maybe it's the way it was meant to be."
Spike pressed a kiss to her fingers, and took her hand in his own. "It'll be alright."
Buffy sniffed. "How can it possibly?"
"Because it has to be."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Ten points to logic boy."
Spike sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. His arms tensed as he pushed off from the bed and paced to the high table. He fidgeted with the candles there, striking a match and lighting one of the tall pillars. He absently watched the flame catch as the match burned down to his fingers.
"Ow!" he cursed, dropping the match and blowing at his fingers.
Buffy's small hand crept to his fist and turned it to look at his fingers. The candlelight glinted off the silver bangles of her earrings. He stared at the top of her head and the fall of her hair. Buffy stroked his hand and he winced involuntarily. Curiously, she turned it over and stared at his torn knuckles.
"What's this?"
Spike shrugged and pulled away. "Oh, you know, one too many hardheaded demons," he moved surreptitiously in front of the part of the rock wall that was colored with his blood.
"Does it hurt?" He frowned. "Well, yeah."
She sat on the edge of the bed. "Tell me how it feels?"
"It bloody well hurts, Slayer. What are you on about?"
She looked down and smoothed the skirt over her lap. "I can't remember what it feels like."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "You can't remember pain?" He blinked. "What is the bloody hell is wrong with that?"
Buffy turned and drew the leather duster from where it lay pooled on the coverlet to her. She held it to her chest and rubbed her face in the tobacco-scented leather. "So cold," she whispered.
A light dawned in Spike's eyes. This wasn't about the chill temperature in the crypt. He moved slowly to her side. The mattress dipped as he sat, but Buffy cradled the duster and didn't look up.
"You're having trouble feeling things again, pet? Is that it?" Spike chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. "I imagine it's got to be disorienting - "
"Disorienting?" Buffy's head whipped around. "Disorienting? Oh yeah, it's disorienting. I die, and when I'm suddenly miraculously resurrected, I'm missing three months, Anya's picking out bridesmaids' dresses, Willow is on a major mojo power trip, my baby sister is being babysat by a vampire - " her volume rose with each word and she stood and flung the duster back in his face. "Yeah, you could say I'm a bit disoriented, Spike."
He surged to his feet. "Well excuse the bleedin' hell out of me, Slayer, for trying to be helpful like."
Buffy threw her hands in the air. "That's all anyone's tried to be: helpful! And look what it's gotten us! My mom is still dead, I'm the next Lazarus, Willow made a joyful little demon and I lost an entire summer off my life!"
Spike grabbed her arms. "But we got you back."
She twisted away. "I didn't want to be back!" she cried. "Can't you understand? You decided that." She lashed out and backslapped him. "You all decided you couldn't handle the Hellmouth." She spun and kicked, her blow landing square on Spike's chest, shoving him back. "You all had your little powwow and dark rituals and brought me back!" She screamed the last word and threw herself at him, pummeling her fists into his middle.
He swept her feet with his leg and was straddling her before she hit the floor, his hands holding her face. "I didn't fucking know!" he bellowed. "They didn't tell me! I didn't get let in to the special circus ring, me or Dawn. I wouldn't have let them! Do you hear me, Slayer?" He knocked her head against the floor. "I wouldn't have bloody let them!"
He paused in his rant. Buffy stared up at him with big melting eyes. He rose and stepped away from her, watching her closely, as she got to her feet, hugging herself again. She gave a shuddering sigh, and hen she spoke, her voice was thick. "It's hard, Spike. Too hard, and I'm not even interested in trying any more."
Spike slouched against a wall. "But you're the Slayer."
"That's right. I'm the Slayer. I have the eternal duty. 'Until death does us part.'" Buffy laughed hoarsely. "And now even that isn't true anymore."
"Look, pet, if you're looking for a pep talk, you've about worn me out. There's nothing I can say." Buffy stiffened and he hurried on. "But there is this." He pushed away from the wall and stood behind her. "I will help you." Spike watched as his hands rose seemingly of their own volition to hover above her shoulders, not quite daring to touch her. "I will be here."
Buffy's right hand rose and her fingers wrapped around Spike's wrist, pulling it down and across her chest. She leaned back into him, and his left arm came across her naturally, holding her within a protective circle, cuddling her fiercely closer. Her lithe little hands were kneading his upper arms, keeping him wrapped around her. His head dropped toward her and his cheek met her forehead as she turned her head. His eyes closed and he rocked her slowly.
"Thank you," she whispered softly.
He half-smiled against her. "My pleasure."
Author: Wyndchyme, #1 Keeper of the Screaming Angst E-mail: guineagirl@hotmail.com Rating: Nothing you wouldn't see on the show. PG-13-ish? Disclaimer: I own Spike and Buffy and Co., but only on alternate Tuesdays of a full blue moon when Mercury is in retrograde. Distribution: If someone wants this, I'd be orgasmic. Spoilers: You need to have seen Bargaining 1 & 2, and After Life. Feedback: I'll send you a pretty picture if you send me a word of praise. Finish date: 12/30/01
"I was warm and I was loved and I was finished. I don't understand theology or dimensions, any of it really, but I think I was in Heaven. And now I'm not. I was torn out of there, by my friends. Everything here is hard and bright and violent. Everything I feel, everything I touch...this is Hell. Just getting through the next moment and the one after that. Knowing what I've lost. They can never know. Never." ~After Life
A hand slammed into the granite that lined the basement of the crypt.
"Christ," Spike swore, cradling his bleeding knuckles. He glared balefully at the stone, all sharp and edgy, now stained with his blood. "I need a bloody punching bag," he muttered and shook his hand. He sat down heavily on the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. His words kept coming back to mock him, "If there's anything I can do..." God, how fucking pathetic was that? The girl had been in Heaven and that sure as bloody hell wasn't something that a nice bouquet or night of demon ass-kicking was going to make all better.
He absently snagged a bottle of Jack Daniels from under the bed, tipping his head back and pouring the liquid down his throat. It burned pleasantly, but didn't take his mind off her words. "I was torn out of there, by my friends." He could see again the calmly blank look she was wearing, and could hear the venom behind the words, and knew how it must torment. Her bestest buds, thinking they'd be all high and mighty, the Witch lording over it all, summoning powers she had no business to meddle in. He was a vampire, close to a century and a half, and he wouldn't touch the bloody business with a ten foot - no, make that a ten mile pole.
Emptying the whiskey into his gullet, he kicked the bottle into a corner, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. She sure as hell must resent the fact that she was back. She'd had no damned choice in the matter. One minute, she was sitting on a cloud, all wings and halo and strumming a bloody harp, and the next she's fighting her way out of a coffin buried six feet underground.
Spike ground his heels into his eyes. Resent just wasn't a strong enough word. She had to hate it. She must absolutely be fucking screaming inside that pretty head of hers. How maddening could it be? Knowing that your friends had messed up the thing that you'd been longing for for years now? The end to her Slaying days, the ability to just rest...and all with her best interests in mind. Right. Bloody fucking marvelous.
He took a swing at the wall again. It hurt just as much as the last time, and he winced, licking at the blood coming from the re-opened wounds. He heard a soft click and lifted his head. The noise came from upstairs. He picked up a baseball bat leaning against the wall; he'd found it on one of his regular dumpster forays and had retrieved it for just this sort of thing. He smiled viciously. He was in the mood to hurt something.
He crept up the ladder, bat at the ready, straining to hear a sound. He poked his head over the edge of the floor and nearly fell back down when he saw Buffy staring down at him. "Bloody hell! Give a bloke some warning, would you?" He pointed the bat at her accusingly. "I'm going to put a bell around that pretty neck of yours so you won't always be creeping up and giving me the willies..." he trailed off. Buffy was standing there, just gazing at him. He set down the bat and hoisted himself up to sit on the lip of the hole. "Slayer?"
"Vampire."
He peered at her. "You all right, luv?"
She had that blank look on her face again. He was learning to recognize it; she felt something and she felt it strong, but she wasn't about to let it out. He stood up carefully and made his way to her side. "Buffy, are you alright?"
Her eyes were stricken when she looked at him. He cursed himself for being ten times a fool; of course she wasn't all right, you bloody wanker! He put a hand tentatively on her shoulder. She flinched and he drew back.
"Come down, Slayer." He followed her down the ladder and stood by awkwardly as she looked about. "Welcome to the pad."
Her hands rose to rub at her upper arms. "It's cold," she whispered.
Spike shrugged out of his duster and draped it around her. "Sorry sweet, the central heating unit's on the fritz."
Buffy's hands caressed the black leather that was swallowing her. "Thanks."
Spike coughed and moved past her. "So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit? I'm pretty sure this wasn't just a social call?"
"Actually..." she subsided. "It was...kinda. Just sort of a stop by, harass the vampire, talk about torment..."
"Want the harassing or the talk first?"
Buffy shifted inside his coat. It looked good on her; or rather she looked good in it. It gave him a strange feeling of possession.
"Spike-" she broke into his thoughts.
"What?"
Buffy studied the floor intently. "You said, today...if I ever needed something..."
Spike came to stand in front of her and ducked his head to look her in the eye. "Anything."
She raised her head and tears fell from her glistening eyes. She bit her lower lip. "Could you...just...hold me?"
Spike's lips parted in shock and he stared at her.
"It hurts here, and I just need it to stop for a little bit, let me find my feet..."
Spike blinked and tried to get his voice to work. "Buffy-"
Buffy wiped quickly at her eyes and backed away. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking..."
"Buffy," he said more insistently
She hiccoughed and looked back. Spike smiled gently and opened his arms. She hesitated and Spike lowered his voice. "It's alright, pet. You can stop being strong for a little while."
Buffy stumbled into his arms and he gathered her close. Her face was buried in his chest and he could feel her tears scalding him though the thin material of his shirt. Her knees weakened and she shook. Spike scooped her up and carried her to the bed. He settled against the headboard, Buffy curled against his side, her hands clutching at his shoulders.
"Easy there, Slayer," he soothed. He smoothed back her hair and rested an arm over her. He looked up at the ceiling and grimaced. He knew enough now to be careful of what he wished for; he noted that he should have added a clause to the one that Buffy be in bed with him.
She shuddered and quieted. Spike looked down to find her gaze resting on his face. "Hey," she murmured, smiling hesitantly.
"Hey yourself," he replied hoarsely. He hugged her to his side. "All better?"
She looked away and smoothed the rumples she'd made in his shirt. Spike closed his eyes and thumped his head back. What, had his bloody foot taken up residence in his damn mouth? "I'm sorry, Buffy," he said.
She looked surprised. "What for?"
"For not stopping them. For not making sure you got to rest in peace. For not saving your sister in the first place. For the whole mucked up mess of the world."
"I didn't think that was your fault. See, I hear there's this religious movement behind this guy they call God; has the corner on the global responsibility market."
He smiled wryly. "Seriously-"
Buffy pressed her fingers to his lips. "You apologized all ready. And you're forgiven." She shrugged. "Maybe it's the way it was meant to be."
Spike pressed a kiss to her fingers, and took her hand in his own. "It'll be alright."
Buffy sniffed. "How can it possibly?"
"Because it has to be."
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Ten points to logic boy."
Spike sat up and threw his legs over the side of the bed. His arms tensed as he pushed off from the bed and paced to the high table. He fidgeted with the candles there, striking a match and lighting one of the tall pillars. He absently watched the flame catch as the match burned down to his fingers.
"Ow!" he cursed, dropping the match and blowing at his fingers.
Buffy's small hand crept to his fist and turned it to look at his fingers. The candlelight glinted off the silver bangles of her earrings. He stared at the top of her head and the fall of her hair. Buffy stroked his hand and he winced involuntarily. Curiously, she turned it over and stared at his torn knuckles.
"What's this?"
Spike shrugged and pulled away. "Oh, you know, one too many hardheaded demons," he moved surreptitiously in front of the part of the rock wall that was colored with his blood.
"Does it hurt?" He frowned. "Well, yeah."
She sat on the edge of the bed. "Tell me how it feels?"
"It bloody well hurts, Slayer. What are you on about?"
She looked down and smoothed the skirt over her lap. "I can't remember what it feels like."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "You can't remember pain?" He blinked. "What is the bloody hell is wrong with that?"
Buffy turned and drew the leather duster from where it lay pooled on the coverlet to her. She held it to her chest and rubbed her face in the tobacco-scented leather. "So cold," she whispered.
A light dawned in Spike's eyes. This wasn't about the chill temperature in the crypt. He moved slowly to her side. The mattress dipped as he sat, but Buffy cradled the duster and didn't look up.
"You're having trouble feeling things again, pet? Is that it?" Spike chewed thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek. "I imagine it's got to be disorienting - "
"Disorienting?" Buffy's head whipped around. "Disorienting? Oh yeah, it's disorienting. I die, and when I'm suddenly miraculously resurrected, I'm missing three months, Anya's picking out bridesmaids' dresses, Willow is on a major mojo power trip, my baby sister is being babysat by a vampire - " her volume rose with each word and she stood and flung the duster back in his face. "Yeah, you could say I'm a bit disoriented, Spike."
He surged to his feet. "Well excuse the bleedin' hell out of me, Slayer, for trying to be helpful like."
Buffy threw her hands in the air. "That's all anyone's tried to be: helpful! And look what it's gotten us! My mom is still dead, I'm the next Lazarus, Willow made a joyful little demon and I lost an entire summer off my life!"
Spike grabbed her arms. "But we got you back."
She twisted away. "I didn't want to be back!" she cried. "Can't you understand? You decided that." She lashed out and backslapped him. "You all decided you couldn't handle the Hellmouth." She spun and kicked, her blow landing square on Spike's chest, shoving him back. "You all had your little powwow and dark rituals and brought me back!" She screamed the last word and threw herself at him, pummeling her fists into his middle.
He swept her feet with his leg and was straddling her before she hit the floor, his hands holding her face. "I didn't fucking know!" he bellowed. "They didn't tell me! I didn't get let in to the special circus ring, me or Dawn. I wouldn't have let them! Do you hear me, Slayer?" He knocked her head against the floor. "I wouldn't have bloody let them!"
He paused in his rant. Buffy stared up at him with big melting eyes. He rose and stepped away from her, watching her closely, as she got to her feet, hugging herself again. She gave a shuddering sigh, and hen she spoke, her voice was thick. "It's hard, Spike. Too hard, and I'm not even interested in trying any more."
Spike slouched against a wall. "But you're the Slayer."
"That's right. I'm the Slayer. I have the eternal duty. 'Until death does us part.'" Buffy laughed hoarsely. "And now even that isn't true anymore."
"Look, pet, if you're looking for a pep talk, you've about worn me out. There's nothing I can say." Buffy stiffened and he hurried on. "But there is this." He pushed away from the wall and stood behind her. "I will help you." Spike watched as his hands rose seemingly of their own volition to hover above her shoulders, not quite daring to touch her. "I will be here."
Buffy's right hand rose and her fingers wrapped around Spike's wrist, pulling it down and across her chest. She leaned back into him, and his left arm came across her naturally, holding her within a protective circle, cuddling her fiercely closer. Her lithe little hands were kneading his upper arms, keeping him wrapped around her. His head dropped toward her and his cheek met her forehead as she turned her head. His eyes closed and he rocked her slowly.
"Thank you," she whispered softly.
He half-smiled against her. "My pleasure."