If Not Wisely
Chapter 12: The Dream
Spoilers: Begins immediately post-Wrecked, becomes AU after that.
Rating: R for swearing and some sexual situations.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Feedback: Would be highly appreciated. This is my first attempt at fanfic, and I'd like to know how I'm doing. Constructive criticism is welcome.
Distribution: So far, just here. If anyone wants it, just let me know.
Summary: Buffy continues to struggle with her feelings for Spike, and the whole gang tries to help Willow with her abuse of magic.
A/N: Here's the new chapter! A little angst and brooding for Spike with a freaky dream sequence thrown in for good measure. Quotes from William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet in italics. Please review and let me know if you like it. Thanks!
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After Buffy left, Spike had a hard time falling back to sleep. He was worried that their night together might have been a mistake. He cursed his overactive libido and the Slayer's raw sexuality. He should've known that nothing good could've come from it, and he should've put a stop to it. Any meager progress that they'd been starting to make was almost surely undone by this one night of sex. Buffy had been starting to trust him more, and most importantly, trust herself with him.
The day they'd spent in his crypt together had been almost perfect. She had confided in him, cried in front of him, and even let him try to help her with her problems. Spike sighed and tried to recall the feeling of having Buffy in his arms. Those few hours they'd spent lying in his bed had been much more intimate that anything they'd done that night. Buffy had given more of herself to him in that one, sweet kiss than she'd given in a whole night's worth of sex. Spike had finally felt like she was beginning to let him in. Now, it looked like she had shut him out once again. In the cemetery, she had told Spike that she didn't hate him, but he didn't doubt that she was probably hating him right now. If he knew Buffy—and he did—she was hating herself for what she'd done and hating him for his part in it. The never-ending dance they'd been doing since they'd met had caught up with them once again, and Spike found himself two steps back. They would never reach their destination if they kept dancing to this same tune.
Spike threw the covers back angrily and got out of bed. There was no sense waiting for sleep that he knew would not come. He stalked over to grab the half-empty bottle of Scotch from the top of his bookshelf and began hunting around for a glass. Finding none, he just shrugged and proceeded to drink from the bottle. The velvety liquid burned down his throat, infusing him with a false sense of warmth. Hmm, pretty good. He turned the bottle to look at the label and found that it was one he'd nicked from the Watcher quite some time ago. He had to hand it Giles, the man did have good taste in liquor.
Taking another healthy swig, he went back over to the bed and began rooting around in his nightstand. Finally, he came up with a ragged, old picture of Buffy. It was one of the one's he'd stolen from her house, and it showed her happy and laughing. Spike had no idea who had taken the picture, or what it was that'd made Buffy so happy, but it was his all-time favorite picture of her. He'd never seen her that happy, not before she had died, and definitely not after. His fingers roamed gently over her image, and he wished that he could be touching her for real. "What made you so happy, pet?" he murmured to himself. Why couldn't he make her that happy? In his heart, Spike knew that he could make her happy, if only she would let him. Just the other night, he'd told Buffy that he loved the way her eyes shone when she was truly happy, yet, in reality, the only time he'd ever seen her eyes shine that way was in this picture. How he wished he could see it in person, that he could be the cause of that happiness.
Spike sighed again and took another long pull from his bottle. What the hell was he doing? What good could it possibly do to sit around and mope? He was definitely starting to act like his poofy grandsire. "Sod that!" he growled. For a moment, Spike contemplated hurling the liquor bottle at the wall for good measure, but he hated to waste good Scotch. He decided to drain it instead. He absolutely refused to turn into a gloomy, broody, sorry excuse for a vampire. Heartened, he started to work on draining the bottle, only to have his eyes once again fall on the picture of his beloved. The pain that welled up inside of him was almost too much to bear, and Spike resigned himself to a long night of good, old-fashioned brooding.
An hour later, Spike was working on his second bottle of Scotch. He was completely drunk and totally consumed with self-doubt. This thing with the Slayer had to have been the stupidest thing he'd ever done, and Spike had done a lot of stupid things. What had ever made him think that Buffy could love him? He was an evil, soulless monster, eternally locked in darkness, and she was a beautiful ray of sunlight, symbolic of all that was right and good in the world. Buffy was a warrior for The Powers That Be, and Spike was evil embodied. How could he have ever thought it would work? He should be grateful for the little bit that she had already given him, but he always wanted more. Hell, he should be grateful that she allowed him to exist at all. She could've killed him a long time ago, should've killed him a long time ago. Maybe he should just let her stake him now. Loving her had already destroyed him. Those army wankers many have taken away his bite, but Buffy had taken away everything else that had made him Spike. He had turned his back on over a hundred years of existence on the slim hope that she might someday love him. Spike knew that he could never go back to the way things were before, but how could he go on this way?
Spike had once told Buffy that she had a death wish, that she was just a little bit in love with it, but maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe he was the one with the death wish. He was certainly in love with death, for that's what the Slayer was. For over five years now, she had handed out death to every demon and vampire she'd come across. What made Spike any different? He was no fool, and he knew that one of these days he might just piss Buffy off enough to actually stake his ass. Was that what he wanted? His love for her had managed to override his instinct for survival. The one thing in the world that a vampire should be the most afraid of was the one thing that he craved more than blood. Would his love for Buffy be what finally got him killed? Would he even care when it actually happened?
The massive amount of Scotch swirling around in his borrowed blood eventually overtook him, and Spike drifted off into a restless, dream-filled sleep.
Spike found himself in the cemetery with Buffy. They were kissing passionately under a full moon when Buffy suddenly broke off to look up at him. "Spike," she breathed, "I love you. I love you more than anyone or anything I've ever known. I want us to be together forever. I don't care what my friends say. I just want to be with you."
Spike was dumbfounded. He couldn't believe that Buffy was actually saying these things to him. It was all he ever wanted, for her to say that she loved him and that it didn't matter what her friends thought. It was almost too perfect; it couldn't be real. He looked down into the face of the woman he loved, and he could almost feel his dead heart start beating again. He wanted to tell Buffy how much he loved her and ask if she really meant what she said, but when he opened his mouth, the words that came out were not his.
"O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard,
Being in night, all this is but a dream,
Too flattering-sweet to be substantial."
Suddenly, the scene shifted and Buffy was gone. In her place was Angel. No, wait, leather pants; had to be Angelus. Spike looked around in confusion, trying to figure out what had happened to Buffy. To his surprise, he was no longer in the cemetery, but in the old mansion on Crawford Street. Angelus was lounging casually against a wall smoking a cigarette and sneering at him.
"Of course it's a dream, William, my boy! What else could it possibly be? You don't seriously think that Buffy could ever love an evil, disgusting thing like you?"
Spike clenched his fists in anger and glared at his grandsire. "Sod off, you pouncy wanker! You have no idea what you're talking about!"
"Oh, but I do. You forget, I was her first love, her fallen angel. I'm the guy that all other guys will be measured against, and found wanting. You don't stand a chance; you never did." Angelus flicked his cigarette away and took a few steps closer to Spike. "You're not noble enough for the likes of her. No, Buffy likes her vampires all tortured and brooding."
"You don't know shit about her anymore! You left, remember, but I've been here the whole time. She's changed, and so have I."
"Come on, Spike. Demons don't change. You said so yourself."
Spike was mildly chastened by this. He had, in fact, said that very thing to Angel not that many years before. But, that had been back when the thought of Angel batting for the white hats had disgusted and enraged him. Things were so different now. Everything had changed. "I can change!" he shouted. "I can, and I have. I love her, and I'd do anything to be with her. Buffy's the only thing that matters to me anymore, her and her little sis. I love her a whole hell of a lot more than you ever did! At least I've got the stones to stick around when things get tough. I'd never bail on her like you did. My love is stronger than that!"
From somewhere behind him, Spike heard a girlish giggle. Quickly, he whirled around, hoping that Buffy had come back. Instead, he saw Drusilla. She was spinning in circles with one arm flung out and the other clutching Miss Edith tightly to her breast. If he had been breathing, his breath would have caught at the sight of her. Spike had not seen Drusilla in almost a year, and here she was in front of him, looking exactly as he remembered her.
"Spike," laughed Drusilla. "My Spike. Come to mummy. Come to your sweet princess. Miss Edith is cross that you missed her tea party. It was her birthday. Bad dog!" Once again, Drusilla's insane laughter filled the room.
"Dru…" Spike took a step closer to his former mate. He was mesmerized by her dark beauty. She was the exact opposite of Buffy. As much as he loved his Slayer, Spike could not resist the pull of his black princess.
"The stars are singing to me, Spike. They're telling me that all is not lost. Those burning baby fishes do not swim for eternity. Come to mummy, and I will make you whole again."
"Dru…I can't…I'm not…" Spike didn't know what to say. As much as he wanted to go to Drusilla and reclaim his old life, he couldn't bear the thought of losing Buffy forever. It didn't matter that he only had a small part of her, he couldn't let it go.
"Spike!" wailed Drusilla. She had stopped spinning and was looking at him pleadingly. "The moon is angry. It's shouting at me. You don't belong in the sun! You cannot live there. You belong with your princess." She began to whimper and whine. "I need my Spike!"
The last of Spike's resolve broke upon hearing her pathetic cries. Quickly, he closed the distance remaining between them and reached out to hold her. Drusilla immediately vanished, and Angelus' mocking laughter rang out.
"You see? Do you even have any idea how extremely pathetic you are? You go on and on about how much you love Buffy, but you go running back to Dru the first chance you get!"
Spike whirled on Angelus, game face coming to the fore. "That's not true! I gave up Dru to be with Buffy! I was willing to stake her, my sire, just to prove my love. It's Buffy I love, not Dru. Dru is in my past, and it's over now. I'll love Buffy till I'm nothing but a pile of dust."
"Is that so?" sneered Angelus. "'Cause I seem to remember you making those exact same declarations about Drusilla. It was embarrassing, the way you fawned all over her, always proclaiming your undying love. Hell, you loved her enough to try and get her back after she so coldly abandoned you for me! What happened to that love? You always claimed that it was eternal, but, last time I checked, you aren't exactly a pile of dust. How could you turn your back on Drusilla? And for the Slayer of all things?"
Spike had a clever and cutting comeback all ready in his head, but, once again, when he opened his mouth, strange words came out. "Thou chidst me oft for loving Rosaline," What the fuck? Who was Rosaline? Why was he saying such strange things?
Angelus did not seem to notice the strange reply, and he continued in the same vein. "For doting, not for loving, pupil mine."
The words continued to flow, and Spike seemed to have no control over them. "And badst me bury my love."
"Not in a grave. To lay one in, another out to have."
"I pray thee, chide me not. Her I love now. Doth grace for grace and love for love allow; the other did not so."
"Oh, she knew well. Thy love did read by rote that could not spell."
As suddenly as it had begun, the spell was over. Spike looked at Angelus in confusion and was met with another sneer. "What in the bloody hell is going on here? What was that all about?"
Angelus just shook his head. "Spike, you really are love's bitch. Just one more question. What do you think would happen if my soulfull alter ego ever came back to town? You'll always be second-best, Spike. Don't you ever forget it."
Before Spike had a chance to respond, Angelus disappeared, and the scene around him began to dissolve. He closed his eyes momentarily, and when he opened them he was standing in some sort of auditorium. The curtain was drawn across the stage, and all of the seats were empty. "Great!" he muttered to himself. "What in the bleeding hell am I doing here?"
"Spike!"
He turned at the sound of his name and saw Dawn running down the aisle. She was wearing some sort of weird, old-fashioned dress, and her hair was done up in an intricate style. Something about that dress looked familiar to Spike, but he just couldn't place it. Then it came to him; Dawn had on the same dress she'd been wearing that night on the tower. The night that he'd failed to save her. The night that Buffy had died. He swallowed down the pain that came with that memory and tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
"Spike, you're late!" cried Dawn. "Where have you been? It's almost time to start."
"Start what, Nibblet?"
"The play, dummy." She grabbed Spike's arm and started dragging him toward the stage. "We don't have much time, and you still have to get your costume on."
"What play?" Spike stopped in his tracks, but Dawn just tugged him forward again. "Nibblet, I didn't sign on for any play. I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Stop playing dumb! I know that you're nervous, but you've been practicing for months, and everything will turn out fine." She pushed him up a small flight of stairs at the side of the stage. "Now, go get dressed. She'll be here soon."
"Who will?" asked Spike as he stepped through a curtained doorway and emerged backstage.
"Buffy! Who do you think?" Dawn put her hands on her hips and stared at him curiously. "That's what all this is about, right? We're going to make Buffy love you."
Spike began to panic. "Nibblet, I can't. I don't know my lines." Dawn plopped a floppy, feathered hat on his head and shoved a velvet tunic and tights into his hands. Spike looked down at his costume in dismay. "I can't let her see me like this! Dawn, she'll know. She'll see me."
"I thought that was what you wanted, for her to see you, really see you? Isn't that what you've always said?"
"No!" cried Spike. "Not like this! This isn't me; it's not real. She'll hate me!"
"She already hates you, Spike. This is going to make it better, I promise. It can't get any worse, right?"
"I guess not," mumbled Spike. He stepped behind a screen and began to change into his costume. "I guess she can't be any bigger of a bitch than she already is."
"Why do you love her when she's such a bitch to you?" asked Dawn from the other side of the screen.
"What can I say, Little Bit? Love is blind."
"If love be blind, love cannot hit the mark."
"You've been studying, Bit. Good for you. I knew you'd get it if you set your mind to it."
"Oh yeah, I know all my lines. The question is, do you know yours?"
Spike stepped out from behind the screen, fully dressed. "No, I told you, I don't know my lines. I'm not ready for this. I can't do it."
"You have to do it, Spike." Dawn's voice had a ring of finality. "It's the only way. She'll never love you otherwise. Just play the part you've been given, and you'll do okay."
"I can't. I don't have any shoes, and I look like a right poofter in these bloody tights! Please, Nibblet, don't make me do this!"
"Sorry, Spike, time's up. The curtain is about to rise. Hurry, take you place." She reached up and gave him a quick peck on the check. "Break a leg!" Dawn gave him a little shove in the direction of the stage.
Spike looked back, ready to argue some more, but Dawn had vanished. Morosely, he walked to center stage. The curtain started to rise, and he steeled himself for embarrassment and ridicule.
Before the curtain had completely lifted, the scene shifted again, and Spike found himself in the training room at the Magic Box, sparring with Buffy. He was immensely relieved to have been spared the horror of his acting debut. They fought pretty evenly for a while, until Buffy dropped her left shoulder and Spike managed to land a savage blow to her head.
Buffy cried out in pain and clutched her injured head. "Ow! You jerk!"
Spike was immediately contrite and went to comfort her. "I'm sorry, luv. Did I hurt you?"
"You could never hurt me!" spat Buffy. "Just don't be so rough, you big bully."
Spike reached out to caress the side of her face. He really hadn't meant to hurt her, and he just wanted to make it better.
"If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin in this
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
He leaned in to brush his lips softly against hers. To his delight, Buffy immediately returned the kiss, and they spent several minutes kissing passionately until Buffy broke off to catch her breath. The stared at each other in wonder, their foreheads touching, while Buffy softly panted.
"Spike," she breathed.
"Give me my sin again." Spike once again crushed his lips to hers, and they were once again caught up in their passion. Suddenly, he found himself on his back with Buffy straddling him, pressing a stake against his chest. He stared up at her, eyes wide with fear. "What are you doing? What's going on?"
"Time to die, Spike."
"No! No, you don't want to do this!" Spike could feel the point of the stake pressing into his skin, and he began to genuinely fear for his life. "Buffy, come on, luv, we're friends now. Remember? I'm not your enemy."
"Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing."
"Hey, that's not fair! You're skipping ahead. That's not how it's supposed to go. You're in the wrong act! Check the script, luv. You've got it all wrong!"
"Sorry, Spike," sneered Buffy. "There's been a re-write." She pressed the stake a little harder and Spike could feel blood welling up.
Spike was trying to force down his panic, but if the stake went a mere inch further, he'd be dust for sure. "No, this is not how it ends! There're four more acts to go. Don't you know your lines?"
Buffy just laughed. "Lines? You want me to recite my lines? Okay, how does this one grab ya? Ancient damnation! O, most wicked fiend!" Those were her last words before she drove the stake home, and Spike exploded into dust.
He cried out as the stake entered his body and woke to find himself back in his crypt. He was lying in his bed with a picture of Buffy and two empty bottles of Scotch. He sat up gingerly, wincing at the pain in his head. It was all just a dream. "Bloody Hell," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. It had all seemed so real, and what was with all the Shakespearean crap? The Nibblet's homework must have really gotten to him. Great, it looked like he had begun to fancy himself as some sort of tragic hero. Well, he really wasn't up to analyzing what it all meant. Hopefully, he'd remember it after he got some more sleep. Maybe it would give him some insight on the whole Buffy situation. Sighing loudly, he flopped back down onto the bed. "O, I am fortune's fool!" he quoted before turning over and going back to sleep.
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