Title: Strange Fate (part 9 of NA series)
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just borrowing.
Summary: The Scoobies have found out Buffy and Spike's secret. Now they have to get back to business...
Strange Fate
Spike looked at Buffy in shock, crystal eyes as wide as saucers. "Buffy, how did you know about Africa?"
"I was there, wasn't I?" she asked, looking down at the sofa cushions.
"Yes," he answered, visions of Elizabeth in the fine gown with flowers in her hair, of Buffy staring dead at the stars, of her stepping though the flames, all flooding back. " At least it seemed you were."
"Some part of me was, I think," Buffy answered, playing nervously with her fingers.
"What do you mean, Pet?"
"You said something when we were talking outside about the chip..."
"What?" he asked, sliding his hand under her chin, lifting her eyes to his. He could not get the vision of her dead stare from his mind. He blinked hard, trying to clear it.
"I am what I am," Buffy continued, "And you are what you are, William."
He could see her in his head, stepping through the flames, that angelic smile that made his decision clear.
"I said that to you, I think," she whispered.
"You did," he answered, puzzled by this. It had to have just been a vision. She was here. "You were in my mind quite a bit."
"Tell me, " Buffy asked, grabbing his hand, desperate for contact, some connection to make this all make sense. She felt there was more. She knew there was more.
"It is a difficult story. I'm not sure you will like it all, love."
"I need to hear it, Spike. I need to understand... all of this," Buffy responded, her eyes beginning to ache.
"Alright, Love," he whispered, squeezing her hand. He began to tell the story. How Riley had come back and Buffy had told him she couldn't love him. How hurt, how angry he was at her. He explained how Halfrek had come to him, as he was a lover scorned, both by Cicely and Buffy, so he was entitled to a wish. And then he was in Africa.
Spike tried to put into words, the challenges he had faced. Tried not to gloss it over. He explained to her how he had been sent back to the night he was turned and Elizabeth, Buffy, saved him. He told her about the poem. He recounted the battle with the first slayer and struggled, trying to hold back the onslaught of hot tears as he explained the slayer's metamorphosis. How he felt when he realized that it had been Buffy's throat, not his nemesis, but his love, spilled open into the dirt and darkness. He tried to put into words how that one moment had broken him, killed his spirit. Finally, he explained the last challenge, and how he had been faced with a choice. What Cicely, Druscilla, and especially what Buffy had said to him that night. And how he came back to Sunnydale and gave up his dinner for a staking and had not had the urge since.
Buffy stared at Spike in stunned silence, her fingers twining in and out of the silver chain on her neck. Finally, she spoke. " All I said to you was that I missed you?"
"That was all I really needed to hear," he answered simply.
"But Dru, Cicely..."
"Were illusions," he interrupted, " As, I thought, were you. But I suppose that I needed to hear all of their talk. I needed to face who I was. The point was the journey."
"And based on that, you decided you belonged here?" Buffy asked, incredulously.
"I suppose I did, Pet."
She was silent for a long time, staring thoughtfully at him. A debate raged in her mind about what to do next. Telling him would hurt him, but not telling him might be worse.
"I'm glad you came back," she began, "And I'm glad you knew I wasn't an illusion."
"Well, I am bloody happy that for the most part you were," he answered, thinking of the blood crawling into her hair, spreading in the thirsty dirt. It was always the blood.
She took Spike's hand and raised it to her cheek, pressing his palm against her skin. His head tilted slightly, his gaze questioning her. Slowly, she slid his hand down the side of her neck and under the piping of her shirt. In the hollow of her throat was a thin, red line.
Spike jumped, horrified, afraid to look. Buffy held his hand steady over the scar. "It's alright, Spike, " she whispered, fighting back the urge to sob, " I think I understand."
"It's not alright,". His desperation was evident. "It's...."
"You had to take a piece of me to make yourself whole again," Buffy continued, "You asked me a million times in a million ways to help you and I never understood. Now I do. What I did to you before you left made me a little more a monster. And what I gave you back that night, the blood, made you a little more human."
"Buffy, I... I'm so..." Spike tried to speak but horror choked his words off in his throat.
"It's all about the blood," she whispered. " Blood is life. You gave me yours and I had to give you mine."
His thumb traced the line, his heart breaking. The tears were flowing from his tired eyes again. "I'm so sorry, Buffy. You know I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know, William," she answered, raising his eyes to hers." I forgive you."
Spike was swimming in her, lost in her. In all his life, and all his unlife, he had never expected to hear the word 'forgive'. He had not sought it out mostly because he knew he never deserved it. There was no penance for everything he had done. He wanted her love, but in that one word, he realized that he had craved more. She handed him his life in forgiveness.
"Buffy, " he whispered, almost speechless. "How can you... forgive me?"
"I don't know," she answered at a loss. She meant it, but she did not know why. "I don't know a lot of things, Spike. When they made me, when they made a Slayer, they left a lot out. They gave me all this strength and this power and this responsibility, but they forgot to tell me how to feel and how to trust. You gave me that. So, I owe you my forgiveness. At least that's how I see it."
It occurred to Spike, for just a moment, that he had jumped again. Come to another reality, another place, another Africa, and this was just his own mind playing out his existence by his own set of rules. She looked at him and he saw himself. He saw his undoing and his making. The Slayer was everything he was and everything he was not, all in a tiny perfect shell, and she was giving him what he wanted.
Before he could find the words to utter, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Not like in the past. But a soft kiss, like a feather touching his skin, her breath caressing his mouth. She did not move away, but he could feel her lips move softly as she spoke. "I know very little about love," she whispered, "but I do feel it. And I want to know, William. It is something they left out. Can you help me, please?"
His hands were on her cheeks and he could feel her tears. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "For you, anything."
To be contd.
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.. Just borrowing.
Summary: The Scoobies have found out Buffy and Spike's secret. Now they have to get back to business...
Strange Fate
Spike looked at Buffy in shock, crystal eyes as wide as saucers. "Buffy, how did you know about Africa?"
"I was there, wasn't I?" she asked, looking down at the sofa cushions.
"Yes," he answered, visions of Elizabeth in the fine gown with flowers in her hair, of Buffy staring dead at the stars, of her stepping though the flames, all flooding back. " At least it seemed you were."
"Some part of me was, I think," Buffy answered, playing nervously with her fingers.
"What do you mean, Pet?"
"You said something when we were talking outside about the chip..."
"What?" he asked, sliding his hand under her chin, lifting her eyes to his. He could not get the vision of her dead stare from his mind. He blinked hard, trying to clear it.
"I am what I am," Buffy continued, "And you are what you are, William."
He could see her in his head, stepping through the flames, that angelic smile that made his decision clear.
"I said that to you, I think," she whispered.
"You did," he answered, puzzled by this. It had to have just been a vision. She was here. "You were in my mind quite a bit."
"Tell me, " Buffy asked, grabbing his hand, desperate for contact, some connection to make this all make sense. She felt there was more. She knew there was more.
"It is a difficult story. I'm not sure you will like it all, love."
"I need to hear it, Spike. I need to understand... all of this," Buffy responded, her eyes beginning to ache.
"Alright, Love," he whispered, squeezing her hand. He began to tell the story. How Riley had come back and Buffy had told him she couldn't love him. How hurt, how angry he was at her. He explained how Halfrek had come to him, as he was a lover scorned, both by Cicely and Buffy, so he was entitled to a wish. And then he was in Africa.
Spike tried to put into words, the challenges he had faced. Tried not to gloss it over. He explained to her how he had been sent back to the night he was turned and Elizabeth, Buffy, saved him. He told her about the poem. He recounted the battle with the first slayer and struggled, trying to hold back the onslaught of hot tears as he explained the slayer's metamorphosis. How he felt when he realized that it had been Buffy's throat, not his nemesis, but his love, spilled open into the dirt and darkness. He tried to put into words how that one moment had broken him, killed his spirit. Finally, he explained the last challenge, and how he had been faced with a choice. What Cicely, Druscilla, and especially what Buffy had said to him that night. And how he came back to Sunnydale and gave up his dinner for a staking and had not had the urge since.
Buffy stared at Spike in stunned silence, her fingers twining in and out of the silver chain on her neck. Finally, she spoke. " All I said to you was that I missed you?"
"That was all I really needed to hear," he answered simply.
"But Dru, Cicely..."
"Were illusions," he interrupted, " As, I thought, were you. But I suppose that I needed to hear all of their talk. I needed to face who I was. The point was the journey."
"And based on that, you decided you belonged here?" Buffy asked, incredulously.
"I suppose I did, Pet."
She was silent for a long time, staring thoughtfully at him. A debate raged in her mind about what to do next. Telling him would hurt him, but not telling him might be worse.
"I'm glad you came back," she began, "And I'm glad you knew I wasn't an illusion."
"Well, I am bloody happy that for the most part you were," he answered, thinking of the blood crawling into her hair, spreading in the thirsty dirt. It was always the blood.
She took Spike's hand and raised it to her cheek, pressing his palm against her skin. His head tilted slightly, his gaze questioning her. Slowly, she slid his hand down the side of her neck and under the piping of her shirt. In the hollow of her throat was a thin, red line.
Spike jumped, horrified, afraid to look. Buffy held his hand steady over the scar. "It's alright, Spike, " she whispered, fighting back the urge to sob, " I think I understand."
"It's not alright,". His desperation was evident. "It's...."
"You had to take a piece of me to make yourself whole again," Buffy continued, "You asked me a million times in a million ways to help you and I never understood. Now I do. What I did to you before you left made me a little more a monster. And what I gave you back that night, the blood, made you a little more human."
"Buffy, I... I'm so..." Spike tried to speak but horror choked his words off in his throat.
"It's all about the blood," she whispered. " Blood is life. You gave me yours and I had to give you mine."
His thumb traced the line, his heart breaking. The tears were flowing from his tired eyes again. "I'm so sorry, Buffy. You know I never wanted to hurt you."
"I know, William," she answered, raising his eyes to hers." I forgive you."
Spike was swimming in her, lost in her. In all his life, and all his unlife, he had never expected to hear the word 'forgive'. He had not sought it out mostly because he knew he never deserved it. There was no penance for everything he had done. He wanted her love, but in that one word, he realized that he had craved more. She handed him his life in forgiveness.
"Buffy, " he whispered, almost speechless. "How can you... forgive me?"
"I don't know," she answered at a loss. She meant it, but she did not know why. "I don't know a lot of things, Spike. When they made me, when they made a Slayer, they left a lot out. They gave me all this strength and this power and this responsibility, but they forgot to tell me how to feel and how to trust. You gave me that. So, I owe you my forgiveness. At least that's how I see it."
It occurred to Spike, for just a moment, that he had jumped again. Come to another reality, another place, another Africa, and this was just his own mind playing out his existence by his own set of rules. She looked at him and he saw himself. He saw his undoing and his making. The Slayer was everything he was and everything he was not, all in a tiny perfect shell, and she was giving him what he wanted.
Before he could find the words to utter, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Not like in the past. But a soft kiss, like a feather touching his skin, her breath caressing his mouth. She did not move away, but he could feel her lips move softly as she spoke. "I know very little about love," she whispered, "but I do feel it. And I want to know, William. It is something they left out. Can you help me, please?"
His hands were on her cheeks and he could feel her tears. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "For you, anything."
To be contd.
