Chapter3: Spinning From Mercy
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine. So, so sadly.
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"…uffy… Buffy?"
The stifled words stirred her senses. She grimaced as she came to. Buffy slowly opened her eyes, quickly relapsing into a tight squint when her gaze was met with small burst of light scattered throughout her apartment. She forced them open and allowed herself to adjust to the dim glow surrounding her.
She moved her hand from her side to her forehead, where she came in contact with the roughness of a cold and damp washcloth. She smiled to herself.
"Is that the best you can do?" She asked softly, rolling her head slightly to the side and making eye contact with the figure watching over her.
He smiled, "I'm not exactly wise to the world of medicine, pet."
His words were drenched in relief. They coursed through her, piercing her mind and her soul, wilting all of her strength and warming the dankest places of her heart.
It was bizarre.
She easily sat up to meet his height. She drew her eyes up to his and sighed. "Thank you."
She looked around the room, "You lit candles?"
"Well, yeah. Needed some sort of light, the power being out and everything." He responded.
"Right." She said awkwardly. "I, I didn't even know we had this many candles."
"Andrew." He told her.
"Ah, of course." She gently smiled. She put her hands on her knees, breathed in deeply, and pushed herself up. She made her way over to the window and slowly pushed aside the sheer curtains.
"Looks like most of the block is out. Or, at least I'm assuming. It's dark as far as I can see, so…"
"Buffy." Spike stated seriously.
She turned around to face him. She didn't know what he was going to say, and she didn't want to know. Chances of it being something good were slim to none.
"Buffy, I need to talk to you." He told her.
"You're sitting on my coffee table." She replied as she moved towards him.
"There's something I need to tell you." He continued, ignoring her attempt to change the subject.
"That's a very expensive coffee table." She warned, as she came closer to him.
He rolled his eyes and sighed, "I'm serious."
"So am I." She said sternly. "Get off my coffee table." She was annoyed. She didn't want to hear what he had to say. She couldn't' hear what he had to say.
"Buffy." He said firmly.
"No!" She snapped. She stood in front of him, looking down to where he was sitting. She followed his eyes as he stood up, letting himself tower slightly over her.
The space between the couch and the coffee table suddenly seemed too small. Their bodies were close and she felt herself begin to faulter. She kept his gaze as slight tears formed in her eyes.
"No." She stated again, this time gentler, more vulnerable. "I can't." She whispered.
"I can't." She repeated as she ripped her eyes from his. She swiftly removed herself from between the couch and the vampire, and headed into the open space of the apartment.
"I can't hear what you have to say." She said as she paced. "You show up here after... you show up here and you expect what from me?" She asked defensively.
Spike sighed, "Buffy, I don't want—"
"You expect me to listen to you? Gee, what could it possibly be that you have to say? It is maybe, 'Guess what? I'm alive! Oops! Sorry.'" She asked in a defensive ramble. "Well, maybe not that last part," she continued, "because I've gotta say that I'm kinda tired of all your 'sorries'. As a matter of fact, I think you've used up all your 'sorries' with me."
"So please, tell me." She pleaded sarcastically. "What is it exactly that you want from me?" She finished and she stared at him coldly, waiting for a response. She crossed her arms in front of her when she received not even a syllable, and she raised her eyebrows in frustration.
Spike clamped his jaw and took a deep breath in, trying to maintain his composure. "I need to tell you something." He said, exasperated.
"Broken record much? I heard that part." She said frigidly.
"Buffy, I think it'd be best if you sat down."
"Don't," she put her hand up, "don't try to tell me what you think is best."
"Okay, you're mad. I get that. But—"
"I'm mad?" She asked harshly. She let out a small, angry chuckle. "Fuck you." She stared at him. "Like you know what I feel right now."
Spike paused.
"Look, I didn't come here to fight." He told her.
"Oh, I believe that." She laughed sardonically, turning her back to him.
Spike stopped and looked at her hard. He slowly inhaled, "and I didn't come here to chase after you, either." He said delicately.
Buffy internally flinched as she heard the words. She forced back tears and whipped around to face him. She opened her mouth to reply, but found no words. She exhaled, bit her bottom lip, and did what she had always done best—turned her pain into anger.
"I'm ready now. Tell me what you need to tell me. And make it fast because I—"
"It's about Angel." He cut her off. She uncrossed her arms and let them rest at her sides.
"What? Angel?" She asked, confused and concerned. "What could you possibly have to—"
"The reason… where I was for… I was in L.A." He started to explain. "When I came back… it was to L.A. I don't know everything about why and about how," he continued, "but, after a while, I began working with Angel."
"You… were working with …Angel?" Buffy asked skeptically.
"Well not by choice." He scoffed.
"No?" She replied wryly.
"No." He answered defensively. "Well, yeah. Or… no." He paused to regroup.
"It's complicated." He told her.
"I'll bet." She threw back.
"Buffy!" He snapped. "Just listen to me." He said gently.
Her face softened and she realized that he really did need to tell her something. She nodded and sat in a small, country rocking chair that decorated one of the corners of the room.
"Thank you." He said. "There was a situation. End of the world and all that. Bad. Not dig into the hellmouth bad, but it was definitely a job."
Buffy listened intently as Spike gave the details of Wolfram & Hart's ugly encounter with an even uglier apocalypse. She listened to the details and knew where he was going with it. She knew what he was going to tell her.
"…and I was right there in it. Both of us, side by side. But, Buffy—"
"Spike." She silenced him. "I know what you're gonna tell me."
"I don't think—"
"It's Angel. It's about Angel, right?" She questioned. He nodded in conformation. "Then I already know."
Spike furrowed his brow in confusion and pursed his lips, he gently let them part and was about to speak once more when Buffy stepped in.
Without any hesitation, she somberly stated, "You're going to tell me that Angel is dead."
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Don't get mad. Or, get mad but keep reading. I'll explain, I'll explain. I didn't kill him because I hate him, okay?
Thanks for the reviews last time, I enjoyed them! Please keep them coming!
