Title: Butcher's Blue
Author: hisluvpet
Series: BtVS
Genre: Drama/Romance
Part: 1 - Down The Blue
Rating: R
Started: 09/21/04
Summary: Spike's interaction with Buffy in Something Blue kicks off a hellish voyage of discovery that might just be the making of the man. Manifestly AU after that delightful episode, but I might pull bits & pieces from other eps as I go.
Pairing: Spuffy, Wara, Xanya
Disclaimer: I've got a wine cellar for any lawyers that stop by.
Posting: Let me know...then sure!
A/N: Here I gently stick my toe back into the puddle of Buffy fic. It's been years folks, and I'm a bit nervous. If you can't be kind, do just ignore me.
This plot bunny (Sorry, Ahn!) sprung out at me as I was watching "Something Blue" for the umpteenth time. I'm an unashamed/unbowed Spuffy-shipper, Riley & Peaches-basher, and am in pure and shameless denial of something called the last half of Season 6 & Season 7 of BtVS, and whenever the heck those wankers at ME altered Angel beyond all my patience and understanding. This being said - I love BtVS, and Spike is the Big Baddest of them all!
Despite starting out with a song lyric - this is not a songfic. I'm an inveterate quoter for my fics, as you'll see, and I've forever felt that Behind Blue Eyes is Spike's song. And, hey, anything written by Pete Townshend works for me:D So, consider it a general outline for the whole fic.
The beginning is a bit of a jumble of events from S4 eps generally, written with casual disregard for the actual canon timeline, cause I'm evil an' I can :D
Oh, and the title refers to the Cockney slang "Butcher's Hook" for "take a look".
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Behind Blue Eyes
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
No one knows what it's like
To be hated
To be fated
To telling only lies
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what it's like
To feel these feelings
Like I do
And I blame you
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
But my dreams
They aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
When my fist clenches, crack it open
Before I use it and lose my cool
When I smile, tell me some bad news
Before I laugh and act like a fool
If I swallow anything evil
Put your finger down my throat
If I shiver, please give me a blanket
Keep me warm, let me wear your coat
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
--The Who - Who's Next? 1971 P. Townshend
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Part 1 - Down the Blue
Down the blue night the unending columns press
In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow....
--Rupert Brooke (1887–1915)
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"Death, destruction," Spike ticked off on his fingers. "Annihilation, carnage, slaughter, havoc, massacre, murder, ravage, uh,... extermination!" he triumphed, his gaze moving up to his audience of none.
He sighed, no appreciation for his invocation of useful vampire vocabulary. His crypt was his, but it was still empty but for the bier he sat on and lots of dust and cobwebs. Even the spiders had evacuated the premises since he moved in. No one to talk to, nary a minion, not even Harmony remained.
He was alone, stranded by daylight and his own lack of initiative. He winced internally at his use of that word. Rubbing the slight scar that marked his souvenir from his time in servitude to the US Government, to wit, one behavior modification chip that bloody well kept him from hurting any one or thing, thus preventing his normal feeding patterns and all the attendant delights that went along with it.
Needless to say, all that he had been was gone. It was horrifying, still so fresh that he sometimes forgot for stretches of five to ten minutes, then, he'd remember all over again. His humiliation and fear at his descent back into mediocrity drenched him with misery. Feeding off animal blood from a container, reduced to parlor games to keep himself occupied, huddling in fear during the day in his crypt, likewise slinking around at night to stay under the radar of creatures that, no so long ago, he would have engendered the greatest fear.
"Humiliation, shame, chagrin, degradation, disgrace, humbling, ignominy, dishonor, indignity, mortification," he enumerated listlessly, laying back on the bier and putting one arm over his eyes. It lacked many hours to sundown, and he'd yet to sleep that day. Endless days of nothingness stretched out before him, with nothing to do but remember what he couldn't do and to ponder why. Well, that and think about the Slayer.
Damn, and he'd gone all of almost an hour without thinking of that bitch. He'd already spent the previous day exercising his extensive vocabulary to describe the Slayer and her Scooby pals; it had filled several hours, as he'd gotten quite creative. Anything to pass the time and to not sleep.
Sleeping had not been good since the dreams had started. He really couldn't remember not having the dreams now. They filled all of his sleeping hours, causing him to doubt his ability to tell them from his reality. Either way, it was a horror film that never ended. Relentless images of the Slayer and him kissing, touching, stroking, fondling even. Endless replays of their wedding plans and discussions about honeymoon locations. Her face, her mouth, her breasts, her eyes. The desire and need, hell love, he'd felt! And, the caring, for her, her Watcher, and even her friends in a roundabout way. Unknowing, he fell asleep and back into That Day again.
"Do you think it could just be a spell?" Buffy stopped and looked down at the sidewalk then quickly back up at him again, an odd shyness shading her affectionate gaze.
He looked at her intensely, pausing and actually listening to her words and the intent behind them. He had been doing that a lot today. He wondered why he never did it before. Always been to intent on trying to kill her or annoy her he reckoned. He concluded immediately that he was a stupid git as this was much better - better than he deserved he was sure.
The tiny voice that had always spoke up, and inevitably got him in trouble; blossomed with what he would have, just one day previously, fervently denied was caring. Same stupid voice that bugged the hell out of Peaches and had been the cause of more than one beating in the early days. Then, it had gone a bit silent during the dark days of his first abandonment. Gradually, it had returned - becoming more and more insistent. After the chipping, it had become a permanent player in the confused morass of his consciousness.
"No, luv. A spell couldn't be this intense, this real," he assured her, taking her hand as they continued down the sidewalk toward the Magic Shop for the spell ingredients. "The way I feel - I've never felt this before. Free to show how much I care, how much I feel..." he trailed off; slightly embarrassed that he was being so open with her.
"Never?" Buffy was surprised. "Not even with Drusilla?"
Spike felt a small pang about Dru, but it was overshadowed by the glorious sensation of loving and being loved by Buffy. "Well, no, not really, pet. Dru was marvelous, but not a very tender lover. She mostly liked me to take care of her, and I was happy to do it, but I'd of liked, well, you know," he smiled shyly at Buffy. "More. Like with you," he nodded.
"With me?" Buffy said happily, and squeezed his hand. "I like more, too," she replied smiling back as they went on.
Happiness filled him. Something else - contentment and purpose. Then, he slid into another scene, where the ending of the spell and the dawning of horror in the Slayer's eyes, and his own confusion about what had happened wrenched him from his joy. Moreover, his own ambivalence at the feelings the whole scenario had induced.
What exactly did he feel about her? She was a good fighter; he'd give her that. She had surrounded herself with family and friends to help, so she was smart. She was beautiful - with endless power that just radiated from her. Buffy was not a run of the mill Slayer. Spike feared that he no longer wanted to kill her, and that scared the hell out of him as he realized he'd fallen asleep and awoke with another gasp of despair and the realization that he again was hard from fantasizing about her.
Dru had been right. He was covered in the Slayer. And, he tasted of ashes from the burnt out remains of his unlife, proving that she'd been right, no matter that she'd been unfaithful or not to him. And, moreover, she wouldn't be taking him back, he knew, because forgiveness had no place in her being if it wasn't directed at her beloved Sire. Oh, fuck, now he was thinking about Peaches, and that was worse than the Slayer by a long shot. He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.
Never had been "evil" enough for Angelus, wasn't Dru's "Daddy", and was never interested much is lording over minions other than to do a specific task. Hell, he'd even been totally bored being Master of Sunnydale. There was so much to do, he didn't want to hang about, dispensing pearls of wisdom to the idiot minions and thinking up tasks for them to do. Being forever challenged by the up and coming Big Bad that came to the Hellmouth to prove itself.
He really just liked simple stuff - a match featuring Man U on the telly, spicy food for the sheer entertainment value, and the odd human for a snack should he get hungry. His hunts were that - hunts to eat. He didn't play with his food, and had never seen the point of it. Slayers were another story; they were purely about the battle and he loved every moment of each of the fights he'd had with the three he'd fought. His favorite by far was Buffy, though. Their fights were exquisite and he treasured them. Never mind he'd lost; he'd given good account of himself, and, prior to his chipping, had been certain that he'd get her eventually.
In the mean time, it'd been too much fun to give her up. That, and deep down in a place that he denied existed within him, he thought the world was a better place with her in it. Which might have been another reason he'd teamed up with her to take down Angelus to save the world. The less thought about that, the better he'd always told himself. Now, it replayed in his head along with the Technicolor comic-tragedy that had been his engagement to the Slayer and the fantasies it had inspired.
The anger hit him suddenly - relentless and churning. He had been something, a Master Vampire. Overnight, he'd become nothing again, and, again, he was powerless to change it. It was the lack of power over his own destiny that was the ultimate loss. Coupled with these strange feelings he'd been having, it served to confuse him all the more. Nothing was the same, and nowhere to go that the same situation wouldn't surround him. It felt anticipatory, but he had nothing, obliteration.
At least three more hours to sunset and a change in scenery, if not situation. Sleep pulled at him, and he succumbed. The Slayer's arms encircled him as he picked her up and kissed her, murmuring, "I love you," as he carried her to a beautiful bed piled high with pillows and satin sheets in blood red. She arched her back as he kissed her neck, whispering, "I love you, too."
He awoke with a start, panting, almost crying, unsure which horror was worse, the fact that he'd dreamt Buffy saying that she loved him, or that his declaration was not a fantasy at all.
TBC