TITLE: Child of the Light.
AUTHOR: Drusilla (One Crazy Gal).
SUMMARY: Buffy is resurrected, but she isn't the same.
RATING: PG-13.
FEEDBACK: Please!
SPOILERS: Um... Season Five, I guess
DISTRIBUTION: Yes! Take it! Just let me know and credit me please. :)
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, they belong to Joss Whedon.. blah, blah blah.. you know the drill
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is kinda dark.. if you don't like dark stories
then it's a good idea to skip this one
CHILD OF THE LIGHT
------------------
It was hard, to see her like this.
She sat at the edge of the couch, staring straight ahead, eyes unblinking,
as if in a trance. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap and her
ankles were crossed demurely.
Spike looked at her. He didn't dare speak, or move, as though if he did,
this portrait of his love would break into a million shards of glass.
Her blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of liquid
gold and he wondered whether the sun had ever envied her glow. Her lips
were parted slightly. She was dressed primly, in a modest cotton blouse
the colour of the sky that he never saw, buttoned fully to her throat.
Her black skirt reached below her knees. Her outfit left no skin bare,
and she wore no makeup or jewellery, save a thin gold bracelet that slid
on her slender wrist. But lord, she was still beautiful.
He sat opposite to her.
He couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes, because what he knew he
would see scared him. Her eyes were dull, haunting, like those of a
freshly dead corpse. It seemed her spirit had left her for the moment,
leaving only her body, the shell, behind.
He wanted to reach out, touch her, but he didn't have the nerve.
She didn't remember.
She didn't know who he was, save his name. And that he was a vampire she
once trusted in the care of herself and her sister.
He opened his mouth to speak but his words lost themselves in a tangle of
inexplicable emotions. Language was useless as his tongue choked on
itself.
She looked up slowly. She had been conscious after all. She stared at
him for a second, gathering thoughts, gathering strength. "Spike," she
whispered, eyes shining with tears.
It killed him, that she was in such distress, and he could not save her.
He wanted to rip the Powers That Be apart for doing this to her, bringing
her back like this against her will. She deserved so much better. She
deserved peace after she had coped with a life of violence. She deserved
heaven.
"Spike," she repeated quietly. "Thank you."
He shrugged. "It's nothing, love."
"Why do you do it?"
"What can I say? The Summers women have always had a sort of power over
me." He answered simply, and she nodded.
They sat like that for another minute.
Slowly, she got up and walked to the door. "Where are you going?" He
asked, attempting to not sound authoratative.
"Just out for a walk." She smiled ever so slightly, the corners of her
lips just barely pinching upwards. "Would you like to come?" She asked,
after a beat.
"Yeah." He replied carefully. "Sure. Just let me grab my jacket." He
disappeared into the livingroom momentarily and then returned with his
old black duster.
They walked out together into the night air.
They strolled along slowly, side by side, in total silence. "You know,"
she said softly, "you miss a lot, being a vampire." He looked at her
quizzically and she continued. "Like right now. This air. Just being
here, breathing in the essence of summer. It's beautiful."
Their footsteps continued to click on the asphalt beneath their feet,
echoing into the darkness.
"Sometimes," she faltered. "Sometimes I think that it's all worth it,
you know? Just for breath. Just for air. And sometimes I wish that I
never have to breathe again."
He didn't respond. He couldn't, because he didn't know how. He wanted
to comfort her but he knew he was the one person that couldn't.
"Buffy--" He began, but it hurt him, the way she winced when he touched
her. She was different now, but he still loved her with the same fire
he had before. She had changed but his love for her would forever remain
the same.
She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. "It's hard," she
said, hiccupping, "when death greets you at every corner and you don't
even want to run anymore, because you've been there, and you're not afraid
of heaven."
"Buffy, when you.. are alive," Spike said, trying to make his words sound
reassuring, "you can't.. um.. think about death. Because there is no
time for that. Right. You have to live *now*, because.. because when
you get to heaven you'll stay there eternally, and you've only got a few
years to .. be.. i mean to actually *live*."
She was quiet.
"Hey, um, what do you say we go somewhere? Like for coffee... or
something." He asked, trying to take her mind off of death and darkness.
"Okay." Her tone was spiritless.
They walked to the local doughnut shop, the only shop open at 2 a.m. in
the morning. There was no one inside, so Spike ran the silver bell by the
counter, and a yawning young man came out of the back, his hair a mess.
He looked at them, waiting for the order.
"Um, we'll take two cups of coffee and a half dozen doughnuts.. " Spike
said. He turned to Buffy. "What kind?"
She shrugged. He sighed and ordered three chocolates and three jellies.
He took the tray of goodies and sat down with Buffy. "Here." He said,
handing her the coffee in a cardboard cup and a doughnut. She took them
obediently and put them down in front of her, but she didn't touch them.
Instead she stared out the window at the sky that was dotted with the gold
of distant stars.
"What is it like, to be a vampire?" she asked quietly.
He stared at her. "It's not too different from being a human, I guess."
"But?"
"Well all your senses are heightened, and you don't get hungry for food.
You get hungry for blood instead. And, well, since you don't have a
conscience, well, you don't worry about anything." He said delicately.
"Do you feel alive?"
"More or less." He replied.
She was silent for a while, in deep thought. Her fingers traced the edge
of the coffee cup unconsciously. "Spike." She said. "Can you make me
a vampire?"
He nearly knocked over his coffee. "Buffy, are you crazy??" He demanded.
"You can't be thinking like that! You're, you're the Slayer! Why the
on earth would you want to become a vampire?"
"Everything you've just said makes it sound like paradise." She said
coldly.
"Bloody Hell!" He couldn't believe it. "No! Of course not!"
"No." She repeated, nodding. "Didn't think so." Her tone was hurtful.
He sipped his coffee sadly.
She would have made the sexiest, baddest vampire on earth, but he couldn't
do it. They had been caught in so many desperate situations before, and
every time, he had asked her, and she had refused it flatly.
"Let's go." She said quietly, standing up and pulling her jean jacket
over her shoulders. Spike followed her out the door with the paper bag
of doughnuts.
When they reached her house she went upstairs immediately. He could hear
her crying from downstairs. It broke his heart, that she could feel such
despair that she would ask him to sire her.
He took a bottle of blood from the refrigerator and heated it in the
microwave. When it was warm he took it and sat down onto the livingroom
couch to sip it while watching TV.
He didn't hear a word that the actors said. He was busy listening to the
sounds of the Summers girls sleeping upstairs.
After an hour, he went upstairs to check on them. He peeked into Dawn's
room and she was there, snug under her comforters and a smile on her lips.
He stood at her doorway, listening for her breathing. He smiled when he
heard Dawn's steady breath and walked towards Buffy's room, closing the
door gently behind him with a click.
He walked through the upper hall, trying not to make the boards creak.
When he reached Buffy's door, his heart went cold.
A note.
Spike,
Thank you for looking after us.
I know you will take good care of Dawn.
Don't worry, because I am not the old Buffy.
Buffy died long ago. I am not the Buffy you loved,
but I believe you when you say you loved her,
or you would never have stayed to look after
Dawn, or put up with me... or her, I mean.
She was a fool if she didn't love you.
Even I love you.
But I would be deceiving you if I let you
love me like you loved her.
Yours truly,
the Slayer.
He was afraid to open the door. He was afraid of what he would see. He
rested his hand on the silver door knob, and its coolness seemed to give
him strength. He drew an unneeded breath and he walked in.
The scene in front of him was so beautiful and yet it was from a
nightmare.
She lay on top of her white sheets, dressed in a white camisole. White
for purity.
But they were all dipped with red.
Her eyes stared at the ceiling, unseeing, and her hair spanned out like
spun gold, sweeping across her face and her bed like a veil.
It was magnificent, sickening, and horrific.
Spike closed his eyes, in case he was only dreaming, but when he opened
them again she was still lying there, in a swathe of blood, her life
seeping into her white sheets like rosebuds growing from clouds.
Somehow, he was not surprised.
When Dawn came in that morning he was still standing there, staring at the
corpse of his love in front of him.
He did not cry. She was meant to be in heaven. She was a Child of the Light.
*****
(end)
*****
AUTHOR: Drusilla (One Crazy Gal).
SUMMARY: Buffy is resurrected, but she isn't the same.
RATING: PG-13.
FEEDBACK: Please!
SPOILERS: Um... Season Five, I guess
DISTRIBUTION: Yes! Take it! Just let me know and credit me please. :)
DISCLAIMER: The characters aren't mine, they belong to Joss Whedon.. blah, blah blah.. you know the drill
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is kinda dark.. if you don't like dark stories
then it's a good idea to skip this one
CHILD OF THE LIGHT
------------------
It was hard, to see her like this.
She sat at the edge of the couch, staring straight ahead, eyes unblinking,
as if in a trance. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap and her
ankles were crossed demurely.
Spike looked at her. He didn't dare speak, or move, as though if he did,
this portrait of his love would break into a million shards of glass.
Her blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of liquid
gold and he wondered whether the sun had ever envied her glow. Her lips
were parted slightly. She was dressed primly, in a modest cotton blouse
the colour of the sky that he never saw, buttoned fully to her throat.
Her black skirt reached below her knees. Her outfit left no skin bare,
and she wore no makeup or jewellery, save a thin gold bracelet that slid
on her slender wrist. But lord, she was still beautiful.
He sat opposite to her.
He couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes, because what he knew he
would see scared him. Her eyes were dull, haunting, like those of a
freshly dead corpse. It seemed her spirit had left her for the moment,
leaving only her body, the shell, behind.
He wanted to reach out, touch her, but he didn't have the nerve.
She didn't remember.
She didn't know who he was, save his name. And that he was a vampire she
once trusted in the care of herself and her sister.
He opened his mouth to speak but his words lost themselves in a tangle of
inexplicable emotions. Language was useless as his tongue choked on
itself.
She looked up slowly. She had been conscious after all. She stared at
him for a second, gathering thoughts, gathering strength. "Spike," she
whispered, eyes shining with tears.
It killed him, that she was in such distress, and he could not save her.
He wanted to rip the Powers That Be apart for doing this to her, bringing
her back like this against her will. She deserved so much better. She
deserved peace after she had coped with a life of violence. She deserved
heaven.
"Spike," she repeated quietly. "Thank you."
He shrugged. "It's nothing, love."
"Why do you do it?"
"What can I say? The Summers women have always had a sort of power over
me." He answered simply, and she nodded.
They sat like that for another minute.
Slowly, she got up and walked to the door. "Where are you going?" He
asked, attempting to not sound authoratative.
"Just out for a walk." She smiled ever so slightly, the corners of her
lips just barely pinching upwards. "Would you like to come?" She asked,
after a beat.
"Yeah." He replied carefully. "Sure. Just let me grab my jacket." He
disappeared into the livingroom momentarily and then returned with his
old black duster.
They walked out together into the night air.
They strolled along slowly, side by side, in total silence. "You know,"
she said softly, "you miss a lot, being a vampire." He looked at her
quizzically and she continued. "Like right now. This air. Just being
here, breathing in the essence of summer. It's beautiful."
Their footsteps continued to click on the asphalt beneath their feet,
echoing into the darkness.
"Sometimes," she faltered. "Sometimes I think that it's all worth it,
you know? Just for breath. Just for air. And sometimes I wish that I
never have to breathe again."
He didn't respond. He couldn't, because he didn't know how. He wanted
to comfort her but he knew he was the one person that couldn't.
"Buffy--" He began, but it hurt him, the way she winced when he touched
her. She was different now, but he still loved her with the same fire
he had before. She had changed but his love for her would forever remain
the same.
She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. "It's hard," she
said, hiccupping, "when death greets you at every corner and you don't
even want to run anymore, because you've been there, and you're not afraid
of heaven."
"Buffy, when you.. are alive," Spike said, trying to make his words sound
reassuring, "you can't.. um.. think about death. Because there is no
time for that. Right. You have to live *now*, because.. because when
you get to heaven you'll stay there eternally, and you've only got a few
years to .. be.. i mean to actually *live*."
She was quiet.
"Hey, um, what do you say we go somewhere? Like for coffee... or
something." He asked, trying to take her mind off of death and darkness.
"Okay." Her tone was spiritless.
They walked to the local doughnut shop, the only shop open at 2 a.m. in
the morning. There was no one inside, so Spike ran the silver bell by the
counter, and a yawning young man came out of the back, his hair a mess.
He looked at them, waiting for the order.
"Um, we'll take two cups of coffee and a half dozen doughnuts.. " Spike
said. He turned to Buffy. "What kind?"
She shrugged. He sighed and ordered three chocolates and three jellies.
He took the tray of goodies and sat down with Buffy. "Here." He said,
handing her the coffee in a cardboard cup and a doughnut. She took them
obediently and put them down in front of her, but she didn't touch them.
Instead she stared out the window at the sky that was dotted with the gold
of distant stars.
"What is it like, to be a vampire?" she asked quietly.
He stared at her. "It's not too different from being a human, I guess."
"But?"
"Well all your senses are heightened, and you don't get hungry for food.
You get hungry for blood instead. And, well, since you don't have a
conscience, well, you don't worry about anything." He said delicately.
"Do you feel alive?"
"More or less." He replied.
She was silent for a while, in deep thought. Her fingers traced the edge
of the coffee cup unconsciously. "Spike." She said. "Can you make me
a vampire?"
He nearly knocked over his coffee. "Buffy, are you crazy??" He demanded.
"You can't be thinking like that! You're, you're the Slayer! Why the
on earth would you want to become a vampire?"
"Everything you've just said makes it sound like paradise." She said
coldly.
"Bloody Hell!" He couldn't believe it. "No! Of course not!"
"No." She repeated, nodding. "Didn't think so." Her tone was hurtful.
He sipped his coffee sadly.
She would have made the sexiest, baddest vampire on earth, but he couldn't
do it. They had been caught in so many desperate situations before, and
every time, he had asked her, and she had refused it flatly.
"Let's go." She said quietly, standing up and pulling her jean jacket
over her shoulders. Spike followed her out the door with the paper bag
of doughnuts.
When they reached her house she went upstairs immediately. He could hear
her crying from downstairs. It broke his heart, that she could feel such
despair that she would ask him to sire her.
He took a bottle of blood from the refrigerator and heated it in the
microwave. When it was warm he took it and sat down onto the livingroom
couch to sip it while watching TV.
He didn't hear a word that the actors said. He was busy listening to the
sounds of the Summers girls sleeping upstairs.
After an hour, he went upstairs to check on them. He peeked into Dawn's
room and she was there, snug under her comforters and a smile on her lips.
He stood at her doorway, listening for her breathing. He smiled when he
heard Dawn's steady breath and walked towards Buffy's room, closing the
door gently behind him with a click.
He walked through the upper hall, trying not to make the boards creak.
When he reached Buffy's door, his heart went cold.
A note.
Spike,
Thank you for looking after us.
I know you will take good care of Dawn.
Don't worry, because I am not the old Buffy.
Buffy died long ago. I am not the Buffy you loved,
but I believe you when you say you loved her,
or you would never have stayed to look after
Dawn, or put up with me... or her, I mean.
She was a fool if she didn't love you.
Even I love you.
But I would be deceiving you if I let you
love me like you loved her.
Yours truly,
the Slayer.
He was afraid to open the door. He was afraid of what he would see. He
rested his hand on the silver door knob, and its coolness seemed to give
him strength. He drew an unneeded breath and he walked in.
The scene in front of him was so beautiful and yet it was from a
nightmare.
She lay on top of her white sheets, dressed in a white camisole. White
for purity.
But they were all dipped with red.
Her eyes stared at the ceiling, unseeing, and her hair spanned out like
spun gold, sweeping across her face and her bed like a veil.
It was magnificent, sickening, and horrific.
Spike closed his eyes, in case he was only dreaming, but when he opened
them again she was still lying there, in a swathe of blood, her life
seeping into her white sheets like rosebuds growing from clouds.
Somehow, he was not surprised.
When Dawn came in that morning he was still standing there, staring at the
corpse of his love in front of him.
He did not cry. She was meant to be in heaven. She was a Child of the Light.
*****
(end)
*****