TITLE: Darkest Before Dawn
# 46 "Admissions"
AUTHOR: Nmissi
PART: 46/50
DISCLAIMER: I own Nothing
and No one. Especially not Spike. If I did,
what makes you think I'd
share him with you?
DISTRIBUTION: Anybody, just
credit me and let me know where it's
going.
Feedback: Please.
Nmissi@aol.com
SUMMARY: The way the world
would work if I wrote the Buffyverse.
Buffy sat quietly in the seat alongside the bed. The
magazine in her hand only nominally held her attention; she'd reread the same
paragraph on spring flowerbed arrangements twice already, and still didn't know
what it said. In the corner of the room, perched on the heat register, Dawn
painted her toenails with black polish inside their brown sandals. At the foot
of the bed, Angel paced.
Irritated at him, Buffy glared. He ignored her.
"Would you please stop that? It's not helping anything."
He gave her an apologetic half-shrug.
"Okay."
He stopped, and stood sentry at the foot of the bed.
Things had been tense between them every since she'd arrived
this morning, and they didn't look like they were going to get much better.
Initially, she'd argued with him, but he failed to give her the answers she was
looking for. Finally she'd settled upon cool disdain. It seemed to be working-
She certainly felt better, and the shame in his face everytime he looked her
way mollified her.
"Why don't you go on home, Angel?' she asked him again.
It was the third time. Again he shook his head no. He'd been here since they'd
brought Spike in, and he would not leave before his boy woke up. Angel cared a
great deal for Buffy. But he owed this to Spike, owed him his presence, and
whatever comfort he might derive from it. Buffy didn't realize the familial
bond, but he did. Spike was no longer a vampire, but he had more than a
lifetime's experience as one. He still carried much resentment over his
"abandonment". Angel was determined he not feel abandoned again.
Buffy resumed her reading. Moments later, Dawn cursed
quietly as she knocked over the polish.
"Shit."
"Dawn!"
Buffy gave her a shocked look, but it failed to move the
girl. She scooped up the bottle quickly, before the liquid could run out. As
she bent, the leg of her jeans creeped up, and Buffy could see a small tattoo
peeking out at her.
"What is that?" she asked coldly.
Dawn gave her a blank look.
"What?"
Buffy pointed.
"On your leg. That thing."
Dawn lifted her brows nonchalantly.
"It's a tattoo, Buffy."
Her sister continued to stare at her.
"I know that, Dawn. But what is it doing on your leg?"
Dawn grimaced. She'd hoped Buffy wouldn't find out, and
she'd been very careful so far. It was just bad luck this should come out right
now, at a time like this.
"It's just a tattoo, okay? Lots of people have them."
Buffy looked slightly uncomfortable, but not enough to
let the matter drop.
"Did I SAY you could get one? I don't think so. And where
did you get the money for it?"
"It was my birthday money from Dad. You said I could
spend it on whatever I wanted. So I did."
Buffy got up, and edged past Angel, who smirked a little
at their exchange.
"Let me see it."
Dawn grabbed the fabric at her left knee and gave it a
tug upwards, exposing the picture on her calf. Buffy leaned over to look at it.
It was a small key, with an ornate handle, very Victorian
in design. It was in three colors; blue, red, and indigo. Very pretty, if it
wasn't defacing her little sister's body.
"I can't believe you did that to yourself."
Dawn just shrugged.
"I dunno- thought it was kinda cool. Sorry you don't like
it."
She left off the words, "too bad," but her tone implied
them.
"We'll discuss this when we get home, Dawn."
"Yeah. Okay- Whatever." She resumed painting her toes.
Buffy stood next to the bed, watching Spike sleep. The
bruises on his face were turning to a pale yellow, and preliminary x-rays
suggested his bones were healing at the same accelerated rate.
He was healing like a slayer. The irony was not lost on
her.
Angel watched as Buffy traced a hand over Spike's cheek,
along the lengthy bruise. Her gesture was tender, and answered many questions
for him.
"You love him, don't you?" he asked.
She stared up at him, annoyed.
"That really is none of your business, is it, Angel?"
In the back of a van moving inexorably along the highway,
three captives traveled under the watchful gaze of minions.
"Are we there yet?" asked Willow of the one referred to
as Moog.
His warty face shifted into a warm and childlike smile.
"No, Miss Willow. We are still many miles from our
destination. The magnificent Glorificus commands us to observe the speed
limits."
She edged a worried glance over to where Xander lay,
bound and unconscious, beside her.
"I don't think he should lay like that, really. I mean,
it looks uncomfortable."
"Yeah! It's not bad enough you three beat him to a pulp,
but you've tied him up badly. And he even was knocked out at the time. Can't
any of you do a halfway decent job of a kidnapping? I mean, when I was a demon,
I'd have-"
The second minion smiled apologetically at Anya, and
lifted the sleeping boy into a sitting position, propping him against the side
of the van. He stuffed Xander's jacket underneath his arm to keep him upright.
"Is that better, Miss Anya?"
She sniffed slightly.
"A little."
Dawn flipped through the pages of People magazine, trying
hard to ignore the Springer show segment unfolding in the room with her.
"For the last time, Buffy. I don't have a problem with
it. You chose Spike- Fine. I get that. But I don't-"
"You don't what? Like it? Tough."
He sighed wearily.
"No, Buffy. I wasn't going to say that. What I don't get
is WHY you chose him."
He shifted uncomfortably. There was a good possibility
Spike was hearing every word they said in here. If he could just get her to say
it, maybe it would help.
She glared back at him.
"Why wouldn't I?"
He shook his head.
"Buffy, the way things are now, it makes sense. He's
human, he's as strong as you are. But you were with him when he wasn't human.
And I don't understand why."
She laughed at him, an ugly laugh with none of the warmth
he used to love in her.
"You think you're pretty special, don't you Angel? I
mean, The Powers that Be chose you, out of all the vampires in the world, to
have a soul. They sent you back from hell they liked you so much. But you know
what? Spike got "Redeemed" all by his lonesome. Nobody gave him a soul. Nobody
sent him visions to tell him what to do. There was no Special Prophecy to guide
him. Only his heart. He fell in love with me, and decided to be a better
person."
She looked at him squarely.
"Isn't that reason enough to choose him?"
Angel relaxed. Even if she couldn't say it out loud, her
answer was crystal clear about how she felt for Spike.
But she went on.
"What do you think happened to him, Angel? Do you wonder
why he became human again?"
He looked back at her. What was she intimating?
She continued.
"Here's what I think. So you're supposed to be the "Good"
vampire. You get chance after chance to get it right, and still you fall off
the wagon occasionally. What? You think I don't know about Kate? Or Darla?
Please. Cordy's faster than a fax. I know it all, Angel. But I think maybe that
God got himself a new "good" vampire. I think about all the decency and
kindness Spike is capable of, and I think that Maybe you won't get to be human
after all. 'Cos Spike's already done it. He's already "Shanshu'ed or whatever.
He got your prize, because he's a better person than you."
Angel stepped forward, close enough to nearly touch her.
Nothing she said was anything he hadn't already thought
of.
"Tell him that you love him," he said quietly.
She scoffed.
"Why? So you can believe it?" she asked.
He shook his head at her.
"No. So he can."
They unloaded Xander with the utmost care, and Anya felt
just a little bit better. If not for the goddess, she thought maybe she and
Willow could take them- the little scaly minion guys were fairly peaceable
acting.
She and Willow stepped out into the sunlight, blinking a
little.
"Oh, Wow." Said the witch.
They were faced with a long line of armed guards. Men in
nice three piece suits raised large guns and pointed them in their direction.
Glory stepped up to them, positively radiant in a Norma
Kamali number with spaghetti straps.
"Guys! Long time no see!"
She gave Willow a sympathetic grin.
"Gee, sorry about your girlfriend. She put up a good
fight, though. Real Butch, that one."
Willow bit her lip tightly, and wondered where Tara was
right now. In the melee, she'd gone down mumbling when Glory grabbed her head.
It was too much to hope she was alright, but she could not let this bitch see
her cry.
The bitch in question snaked a hand out to rub the
knotted cord wrapped around Willow's neck.
"Looks so simple, doesn't it? Braided rope and twine. But
it works well enough, doesn't it?"
Willow tried not to think about it. Whatever the item
was, it made her slow and groggy; it made it almost impossible to concentrate.
If she were clearer headed, she might could figure out what sort of magic it
was, but unfortunately all cylinders weren't firing right now.
She looked up, and realized they were in the parking lot
of a hospital.
"Let's go get my key!" Glory bubbled.
They headed for the front entrance.