Title: Slayer Diary pt3
Name: Nimue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: all characters belong to JW, ME, etc...
Feedback:Yes, please
Summary: Part 3 of the diary arc - going toward a season 6 resolutions. Written from the Slayer's perspective and not meant to be what is *seen* on screen, but what is going on inside. (I=Buffy).
Hope you enjoy. Pts 1 and 2 are available if you missed them.
The Slayer Diary
March 7, 2002
I stood above myself in silence, my hands clasped in front of me,
my feet planted firmly on the floor. My head was cocked
quizzically. Everything seemed so far away. I could see and hear,
but it all seemed so terribly far away. And I could feel
myself being pulled gently, resisting just to stand there a moment
longer.
My shell was draped across his lap, still and almost peaceful. He
had pulled the sheet from off of the bed and wrapped my
body like a child, but my feet and arms and head lolled awkwardly, dangling just above the floor. His hand was on my face, brushing the tangled, dewy hair from my cheeks. He was rocking
almost imperceptibly, his movements hitching, and I could
see the tears roll off his cheeks and onto my lips. He was
muttering softly " I tried to save you, Pet. Every night I tried."
His words were catching in his throat, choking him, coming out in
awkward bunches. His face was so hurt and so furiously
angry. "Why? Why couldn't you just believe me? Why couldn't you
just... love me? Anything, " and his fist slammed into
the floor with an earth shattering crash. "My life was for you and
you bloody well wouldn't have that, " he continued angrily. "
I may not have been what...you...wanted... but I loved you," he
finished breaking down.
His head dropped, his arms clutching my shoulders, pulling my limp
body into his arms. My shadow self, the watching one,
knelt down beside him, letting my hand tentatively reach for him,
then slowly rest upon his shoulder.
He stopped for a moment, his head turning towards my shadow. He
could not see me, but he felt me. Even after...
everything... he felt me. I slid my palm to his cheek and suddenly
felt his tears and shook feeling his pain. The result of
letting me come crashing down.
I watched his eyes close and knew he could feel my hand. He cradled
his cheek into my palm, sniffing, trying to catch a
scent, a whisper. He was silent now, still clutching my shell to
his chest, gripping her so tightly, his other cheek buried in her
hair.
I leaned toward him, letting my lips press softly against his,
brushing them, feeling their soft familiarity. Tasting his sweat
and
the salt of his tears. I whispered, my lips brushing his with each
word "I believe you, Spike. And I have always loved you."
Then I felt myself extinguish. Gone in a poof of smoke. It was
dark for a long, long time. Dark and quiet and lonely. I was
not cold anymore, but I was frightfully unaware. I could not
remember what happened. I was aware of the pain coursing
through my head, crashing like waves on a rocky shore.
But I felt. Pain, but I felt.
Was I dead? Was I insane? Was I dreaming? Was this some other
reality? It was so dark. And then everything was gone
again.
*****
My eyes flickered open in a frightened stare. I was in bed and it
was dark. I gasped, pulling breath into my lungs, my hands
clutching white-knuckled at the sheets, like coming up from the
bottom of the sea. I could see the brightness of a moon
shadow, but there was only silence. And I felt terror.
I heard a noise and jumped. His boots dragged against the floor as
he pulled himself out of a chair in the darkest corner of
the room and came towards me. I clutched the bed, afraid,
disconcerted, alone. Nothing made sense.
He sat on the edge of the bed, lit by the moon, shimmering and
beautiful and silent. I shied away from him, but he held still,
finally moving to brush the hair from my face with the back of his
hand. My emotions flooded back, the dam breaking, tears
streaming in silent silvery rivers. He pulled me to him, burying
his face in my hair and I held onto him, clutching around his
chest.
"Maybe I could save you this time, Love. If you will let me."
Name: Nimue
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: all characters belong to JW, ME, etc...
Feedback:Yes, please
Summary: Part 3 of the diary arc - going toward a season 6 resolutions. Written from the Slayer's perspective and not meant to be what is *seen* on screen, but what is going on inside. (I=Buffy).
Hope you enjoy. Pts 1 and 2 are available if you missed them.
The Slayer Diary
March 7, 2002
I stood above myself in silence, my hands clasped in front of me,
my feet planted firmly on the floor. My head was cocked
quizzically. Everything seemed so far away. I could see and hear,
but it all seemed so terribly far away. And I could feel
myself being pulled gently, resisting just to stand there a moment
longer.
My shell was draped across his lap, still and almost peaceful. He
had pulled the sheet from off of the bed and wrapped my
body like a child, but my feet and arms and head lolled awkwardly, dangling just above the floor. His hand was on my face, brushing the tangled, dewy hair from my cheeks. He was rocking
almost imperceptibly, his movements hitching, and I could
see the tears roll off his cheeks and onto my lips. He was
muttering softly " I tried to save you, Pet. Every night I tried."
His words were catching in his throat, choking him, coming out in
awkward bunches. His face was so hurt and so furiously
angry. "Why? Why couldn't you just believe me? Why couldn't you
just... love me? Anything, " and his fist slammed into
the floor with an earth shattering crash. "My life was for you and
you bloody well wouldn't have that, " he continued angrily. "
I may not have been what...you...wanted... but I loved you," he
finished breaking down.
His head dropped, his arms clutching my shoulders, pulling my limp
body into his arms. My shadow self, the watching one,
knelt down beside him, letting my hand tentatively reach for him,
then slowly rest upon his shoulder.
He stopped for a moment, his head turning towards my shadow. He
could not see me, but he felt me. Even after...
everything... he felt me. I slid my palm to his cheek and suddenly
felt his tears and shook feeling his pain. The result of
letting me come crashing down.
I watched his eyes close and knew he could feel my hand. He cradled
his cheek into my palm, sniffing, trying to catch a
scent, a whisper. He was silent now, still clutching my shell to
his chest, gripping her so tightly, his other cheek buried in her
hair.
I leaned toward him, letting my lips press softly against his,
brushing them, feeling their soft familiarity. Tasting his sweat
and
the salt of his tears. I whispered, my lips brushing his with each
word "I believe you, Spike. And I have always loved you."
Then I felt myself extinguish. Gone in a poof of smoke. It was
dark for a long, long time. Dark and quiet and lonely. I was
not cold anymore, but I was frightfully unaware. I could not
remember what happened. I was aware of the pain coursing
through my head, crashing like waves on a rocky shore.
But I felt. Pain, but I felt.
Was I dead? Was I insane? Was I dreaming? Was this some other
reality? It was so dark. And then everything was gone
again.
*****
My eyes flickered open in a frightened stare. I was in bed and it
was dark. I gasped, pulling breath into my lungs, my hands
clutching white-knuckled at the sheets, like coming up from the
bottom of the sea. I could see the brightness of a moon
shadow, but there was only silence. And I felt terror.
I heard a noise and jumped. His boots dragged against the floor as
he pulled himself out of a chair in the darkest corner of
the room and came towards me. I clutched the bed, afraid,
disconcerted, alone. Nothing made sense.
He sat on the edge of the bed, lit by the moon, shimmering and
beautiful and silent. I shied away from him, but he held still,
finally moving to brush the hair from my face with the back of his
hand. My emotions flooded back, the dam breaking, tears
streaming in silent silvery rivers. He pulled me to him, burying
his face in my hair and I held onto him, clutching around his
chest.
"Maybe I could save you this time, Love. If you will let me."