Spike:
I messed up. Big time. We're talking a cock-up of epic
proportions here. Hitler's invasion of Russia was probably a better tactical
manoeuvre than the one I pulled last night. I complain bitterly about the pouf
always thinking things through too much, always agonising over every little
detail. But now I wish I was a bit more like him, that I actually thought
before I acted instead of just rushing headlong into whatever stupid plan takes
my fancy. I am such an arse. A fucking brainless wanker.
When those demons removed that chip it was the most
incredible feeling in the world. Suddenly, I was free. I could do whatever I
bloody well liked and best of all I could get revenge upon those fucking
Scoobies for treating me like their pet puppy for so long. I was on a high.
Finally, I had an outlet for that pent up aggression and rage and evil
inside me. It was like being a kiddie in a sweetshop – so many lives to take,
so much blood and carnage to create, where to start? I had a glimpse of what
Angelus must have felt after being freed from 100 years of domination by his
poncey soul. Unfortunately, we all know how much of a prat Angelus Mark II was.
And I fell into the same trap. The Slayer. Beautiful,
powerful, untouchable. Angelus' obsession with her used to mystify me. After
all, she's just another piece of meat, right? She's just another walking meal,
albeit a more irritating one, since she's constantly ballsing up a bloke's
dinner plans. But the more I see of her, the more I realise Angelus wasn't
quite the nutcase he appeared. Well, okay, he was actually a complete schizo,
but there were a few things he was right about. Or maybe one thing in
particular: the Slayer – she is bloody magnificent.
For a start she's completely hot. That tight, muscular
body, those big, red, pouty lips, all that blonde hair. It's enough to give a
guy a hard-on just thinking about her. Then there's the possibility of what she
could do with that body (something Angelus knew intimately, the lucky bastard).
She's so strong and lithe and supple and goddamn athletic. She's such a fiery
little thing too, always running her mouth off, and boy, would I like to stick
something in that mouth to shut her up. I would do anything, and I mean anything,
for one night in the Slayer's bed. Stake me the next morning and I would die a
happy man – in fact I'd be more than happy, I'd be fucking ecstatic. I'd be
bouncing off the walls and begging for more. I'd be the most cheerful bloke in
Hell.
But that's not going to happen now, largely because of my
aforementioned utter stupidity. I had it good, an honorary place in the white
hats' group, Slayer-sponsored protection from all sorts of demon nasties,
regular source of cash from the Watcher, unlimited access to the chit herself.
And now I've gone and blown it all, just because I couldn't think past the next
twenty seconds of my eternal existence. I wanted Buffy so badly I thought I
could take her by force and of course there was the added bonus of getting one
up on my beloved Grandsire at the same time. I don't know how I thought the
evening was going to end, at the very least I'd wanted a chance to get my rocks
off, possibly with a little gratuitous torture thrown in there. I have to admit
too, I'd hoped for a decent taste of Slayerblood (quite an addictive little elixir
it is) and even for the chance to wake up the next day with a brand new childe.
How much of a coup would that have been? Turning a slayer, having her as my
eternal companion. Mmm, yes please.
But there I go thinking with my dick again and experience
has already proven how much trouble that can get me in. After all it did lead
me to spend over a century trailing around after that insane bitch, Drusilla.
Angelus taught her well, I'll give him that much, shame he had to drive her
round the twist first, though. It's difficult to believe that I spent a good
twenty years under the tutelage of that wanker, judging by my behaviour last
night. Angelus' byword was always patience. Plan and plan and plan some more
then wait for precisely the right moment. Drive your victims slowly over the
edge and savour every sweet moment of it. Last night I rushed in like your
proverbial bull in a China shop. I bashed the Slayer over the head and dragged
her down to my cave to have my wicked way with her in a scheme about as
sophisticated as your average Neolithic man's. Then when this highly elaborate
plot failed spectacularly I got mad.
I
lashed out at the nearest victim, which just happened to be some tough guy mate
of his grand poufy-ness. Only it turns out the guy wasn't so tough after all,
not when he was begging me for mercy, anyway. I wanted to show Angelus that he
hadn't beaten me, that I could still hurt him in other ways, but I suspect the
only thing I will have accomplished is to guarantee my Final Death. I'm gonna
get staked for this, no two ways about it. And I've just lost all chance I ever
had of shagging the damn Slayer. She was just starting to come around to it as
well. Another couple of months and I would have been right in there. And now
I've fucked it up royally.
"Bugger!"
I hurl my empty beer bottle into the air and it smashes against the stone wall
of a nearby mausoleum. The sound of breaking glass echoes throughout the
graveyard, making the ensuing silence all the more eerie. As I listen to
nothing in particular my sensitive hearing catches the faraway sound of
weeping. Suspiciously, I head towards the noise, now unmistakeably that of a
weeping female. My first thought is 'dinner' – distraught mourners always make
for easy pickings. Then the weeping turns into hoarse screams and panicked yelling
and instinctively I begin to run in that direction.
The
screams form into words the closer I get. "Do you know who I am? I'm going to
kill you!" And I recognise the voice. Summers. In trouble. I hesitate for a
second, wandering what to do. The last thing I want is to see her killed by
some fledging. It's gonna be me finishing her off or nobody. Reaching in my
pocket for the stake I now routinely carry (there's nothing like being an
electronically-rendered impotent vampire to put you at the bottom of the food chain),
I hurry to confront the three vampires that have the Slayer surrounded. Unarmed
and clearly in pain, she is desperately trying to fight them off, lashing out
ineffectually with her feet and fists to no effect but the vampires' obvious
amusement.
"Oi,"
I yell. "Get away from her!"
The
entire group turns in response to my demand and Buffy, immediately recognising
me, lets out a string of expletives explicit enough to shock even me. I raise
my eyebrows and attempt a smirk. "Somebody been teaching you naughty words,
Slayer?"
"Shut
up!" She shrieks. "How dare you even show your face here again! If I had a
stake then you would be dust right now!"
I
look down at the weapon in my hand and toss it to her and automatically she
catches it, a puzzled frown on her face. "There you go love," I shrug. "You
wanted a stake – now you got one."
The
other three vampires, looking distinctly more nervous now that their so called
'victim' has turned out to be an armed slayer, back away slightly. Buffy casts
me a wary and hostile look then turns back to the immediate problem in hand.
She manages to stake one of the vampires, but the other two finally show some
common sense and leg it in the opposite direction.
Not
wanting to chance my luck in the vicinity of the Slayer any further, I follow
the fledglings' example and make a hasty retreat myself. As I take refuge in a
nearby crypt I cannot help but remember the crying that first alerted me to the
Slayer's presence. However much I tell myself I don't care, I still can't help
but wonder whether that was her weeping and if so, what the hell managed to get
her so upset?
Buffy:
I limp home, a weak and confused mess. It feels like
everything inside me is broken. My body, my heart, even my mind probably. Did
Spike really save my life this evening after trying to end it twenty-four hours
ago? Obviously, this is some new Hell he's cooked up for me. The results of
some course in mind-games and psychological torture he took from Angelus.
Arriving back at the house it occurs to me to get Willow around to do the
de-invitation spell and, of course, Dawn will have to be told as well. She
liked Spike, she trusted him, this is going to crush her. God, why is
everything so hard, so difficult all the time.
I evade Mom, telling her I'm not hungry and I won't be
having any of the dinner she lovingly prepared four hours ago. I don't want her
to see me in this state, cheeks hollow, eyes red, clothes covered in grass
stains. She'll know something's wrong immediately, then she'll want to know
what it is. She'll want to know the whole story of the apocalypse, and Angel
tearing my heart into tiny shreds, and Spike sliding his cold fingers over my
breasts, and Giles in the hospital, and Gunn's blood everywhere and
Dawnie not being real… And I can't tell her it all, she's sick, she has enough
to worry about already. I'm the Slayer, I'm supposed to take on these things,
I'm supposed to protect everyone else from the horror that really exists in
this world.
I strip off my soiled clothes and stand in front of the
mirror, staring at my reflection. This is who I am. Buffy Summers. Sometimes I
have to keep saying over and over again or I won't recognise the person who
stands before me. I already don't recognise the world she lives in.
My belly hurts again, a dull, nauseous ache, like
somebody is reaching inside with long fingers and methodically squeezing my
womb. I stare and stare at my body in the mirror, gazing at the colour
contrasts. Pale skin, dark purple smudges beneath my eyes, plush, rosy nipples
standing proud from my chest. And I know. I see into myself to the foreign
presence that I suddenly realise is there and silent tears roll down my cheeks.
Every hope I had for a better future disappears and with it goes every dream I
had of Angel and I ever, finally, being together.
Once again, my fate is sealed and I get no choice in the
matter.
Riley:
I am awake when Buffy knocks on my door at one in the
morning. Probably something to do with spending half the day unconscious. I am
not expecting anyone at that hour, however, so immediately my concern is
raised. I worry that something else has gone horribly wrong, that there's
another dead body to contend with. When I see Buffy standing there, looking
pale and drawn, my heart leaps into my throat.
"What happened?" I ask anxiously.
She looks at me strangely, alarm in her eyes, like maybe
I know something she doesn't, or worse, something she does know but I'm not
supposed to. Then she relaxes slightly. "Nothing happened," she shrugs.
"Earlier you wanted to talk and we never got the chance, so I thought I'd come
over."
"It's a bit late don't you think?" I protest, gesturing
towards the digital display on my clock.
"Oh," she answers sounding a little dejected. "I hadn't
really noticed."
I frown a little. Of course she hadn't noticed. That's
one of Buffy's failings, she works on a different time span to everyone else.
To her time is a foreign concept, something that affects the rest of the world
and not her. She always behaves as if things like punctuality and lateness
don't matter and she doesn't even wear a watch. I couldn't live like that, too
much army training, I guess. I'm forever checking and rechecking the hour of
the day, the day of the week, the week of the year. I have to have that
precision, that routine governing my life. I couldn't bluster through vaguely
as Buffy does.
"Do you want me to go?" She asks and I am suddenly struck
by my rudeness. Putting it down to the surprise nature of her visit I quickly
collect myself.
"No, no, not at all, come in," I step away from the
doorframe and admit Buffy into the room. She paces around a bit, while I sit
down, following her nervous movements.
"You know, you're gonna wear a hole in the carpet if you
keep doing that," I joke. "You're already making me dizzy."
"Sorry," she stops in the middle of the room. "Riley,
about that question you asked me…"
I take a deep breath in, suddenly nervous myself. So,
this is the reason for Buffy's visit. She wants to answer my proposal. I am a
little blown away by the abruptness of it – this morning she didn't seem
decided at all and now she just turns up out of the blue with an answer. "What
about it?" I reply.
"Well, I've been thinking," Buffy moves and sits down
next to me. "And thinking and thinking, and talking to a few people," her face
contracts into a frown as she says this and her eyes seem to fill with a
wistful sadness. But the look is gone so quickly I'm not sure if it was ever
there at all. When she looks back at me it is with a forced smile on her face.
"And I made my mind up."
There is a long pause following her words, until
eventually I cannot stand it any longer. "Buffy, you know, it's not just enough
for you to decide you have to tell me the decision too."
"Yeah, sorry," she apologises again, wringing her hands
in her lap. She looks down, studying something on her finger. Following her
eyes, I catch a glimpse of silver, a ring of some sorts that she is anxiously
twisting around. I notice it is on the third finger of her left hand and wonder
whether this is a good or a bad sign. My grandmother used to have a
superstition, she said if that finger wasn't kept only for wedding rings then
you would never get married. Obviously, this is not something Buffy believes
in. Or is it? I just can't tell anymore, her behaviour is so strange this
evening.
I reach over and grasp her hands in mine, stopping her
fidgeting. "Well?"
She bites her lip and all at once a terrible certainty
hits me. She's going to say no. I see it in her wild eyes filled with a haunted
expression I can neither define nor explain and in her posture as she leans
away from my touch, her shoulders tense and hunched. In that single second I am
filled with an utter clarity of the like I have not known for months. Ever
since I met Buffy I have seen the world in fuzzy shades of grey, but now
everything is black and white once more. She doesn't love me. Doesn't need me.
Doesn't want me. All of a sudden it is so completely obvious that it makes me
laugh to think I never saw it before. Then she speaks, her voice scratchy and
shaking.
"Yes. The answer is yes. I think we should get married."
Confusion crashes down on me like a wave once more and
for a minute I think I have misheard. Did Buffy really just accept my marriage
proposal? Is this really, truly happening? Then I realise that it actually is.
Clearly, by instincts were totally wrong back then, Buffy does love me, she
must do if she's going to be my wife.
"That's fantastic!" I draw her tightly into my arms. "I can't
wait to tell everybody. My folks will be so pleased. I can't wait for you to
meet them – "
She pulls away from me. "Uh, Riley, could we just keep
this quiet for a little while. You know, at least until all this end of the
world stuff has been sorted out."
I frown. "You mean until your ex-boyfriend has left
town."
She turns her face away from me, speaking in no more than
a whisper. "It's-it's just…difficult, that's all."
I am about to make some flippant remark when I see her
wipe fiercely at her eyes. "Buffy, are you crying?" I grip her chin gently,
turning her back to face me and see the tears glistening on her cheeks. "What's
the matter?"
She shrugs, trying to smile, her bottom lip trembling as
she does so. "Nothing's the matter. I'm happy. We're getting married. This is a
good thing."
I break out in a grin. "It's a great thing. And I'm happy
too. The happiest I've ever been." I pull her into a hug again and we stay like
that for a long time as her silent tears soak through my shirt, dampening my
chest. At first they puzzle me, but then I remember it's Buffy and everything
about her is a little strange, her weird behaviour now is just par for the
course. All that really matters is that she said yes and we're getting married
and it's going to be forever.
A/N ~ I know what you're thinking, but Buffy and Riley
actually getting married – would I do that to you? Okay, probably I would, but
just not this time. Again I must stress there is a happy (B/A) ending in sight,
our heroes just have to face a little bit of angst first. Also if Buffy's 'illness'
seems a bit cryptic and confusing to you, it's because it's supposed to. It won't
take a huge inferential leap to work out what the problem is, though. Thanks
once again for reading, bye now!