Title: La Maison Rouge
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, please
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy etc... Just borrowing.
Summary: Spike is gone, but where did he go?
La Maison Rouge
The last thing he remembered was seeing her face.
She wasn't supposed to be there. She wasn't supposed to be in danger everagain. At least not while he was around. That plan didn't pan out. 'The best laid plans of mice and men,' he thought.
She shouldn't have seen him draining Willow. That's burned into her mind now. One step forward, ten steps back. 'I hope I didn't kill the girl', he thought. Not only because of Buffy, but because he knew the power of grief and rage. Couldn't really say he wouldn't have done the same thing.
The redness had closed in and blocked his vision. Didn't matter. He still saw her face. 'Cept now it was her peeking over the back of the couch, locking eyes with him. 'She never did *say she loved me,' he thought. He knew.
"I love you, Spike," Her voice was rhapsody. He turned in the red haze and saw her sitting on the edge of their bed, writing. She was crying. Then it clicked off like someone hit the off button on a remote. Back to red haze.
Spike floated in the redness forever. Monotonous, eye-glazing redness. It was not a pleasant, cloud like float either. More like a canoe in a lava sea during an earthquake. His skin stung from it. His eyes burned. The taste of blackness stuck in his mouth. Funny, he wasn't sure he would've noticed it had he not tasted the sweetness of her lips.
He was jolted, then plummeted downward, hitting the ground with a thunderous thud. "Bloody hell," he uttered, rubbing the back of his head where it had met with a rock. Slowly, he pulled himself up, sitting on the soil, and looked around. Acres and acres of rocks. Red and grey. Every shape and size. "Not one for the bleeding scenery," he said, standing and taking a few awkward steps forward.
Then he noticed it. The faces emerging in the rock. Screaming, animate
visages, banging against the stone. Spike jumped back, trying to avoid the captured spirits, but they were everywhere. Acres and acres of screaming bloody rocks.
He gathered himself, cutting out the noise, replacing it with the patter of rain in his mind. He laughed at himself. Five years ago, the screams would have been music, a symphony, to his ears. Now the sound of her heartbeat, their heartbeats, quieted his spinning mind. "Lousy sodding demon I am."
"I love you, Spike." He heard it again. Her voice. He knew her every
utterance from agony to ecstasy. It was her. He wheeled around, staring at the rocks.
"Please don't be here," he whispered to himself, frantically scanning the screaming faces. But she wasn't there. He glimpsed her on the edge of the bed again, writing. Then she was gone.
"Torture, is it?" He screamed at the air. "That what this lot's about?
Penance?"
"Not exactly," a well dressed man answered. Cute when Buffy was snarky, but not when some stranger appearing from thin air in a Calvin Klein suit and cowboy boots tries it.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" Spike asked, searching his jacket for a
cigarette. None.
"Looking for these?" the man asked, crushing the pack in his palm. "Sorry *William*, guess you quit."
"How the hell do you know my name?" Spike asked, a mixture of anger and
confusion flitting across his face.
"William, *baby*, we're almost family," the man exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Spike's shoulder. Spike hastily disentangled himself from the hold. " I started the whole vamp movement. Well, it was supposed to be a prank, but kinda grew on me, so it became a *movement*. You get the picture."
"Bloody well don't," Spike snarled.
"Name is Mephistopheles. Most people call me Luke. But you can call me
whatever you like, " the man stated, holding out his hand. Spike brushed the gesture off. "Well, we *were* family," the man continued, swiping his hands on his pants, "but I forgot, you're the 'black sheep'". He gestured those annoying quotation marks in the air.
"Walk with me, Willie," Luke said, beginning to stroll forward. Spike
reluctantly followed. "There was a time, not so long ago, when you would've liked this place. Lots of brawls and torture and bloodshed. You know, fun stuff. Never quite as perfect for it as Angelus and *whoa*, that Darla. She was a babe...."
"The point, perhaps?" Spike interrupted, attempting to avoid treading on as many screaming faces as possible.
"'The Point'," Luke said, again with the air quotes, "is that at one time, you would've been very happy at La Maison Rouge," He gestured and an enormous red mansion appeared in front of them as quickly and oddly as Luke himself had appeared. "But now you've gone all soft, Willie."
"I'm hardly soft," Spike replied with indignation, trying to puff his chest out.
"Oh, *please*, Willie. Poetry. Love. Little blonde mortal enemies to whose every whim you cater? Bouncy toe headed babies in little pink onesies and pushing prams in the harsh light of day?"
"Wait a bloody minute, " Spike angrily retorted, "There are no.... What the hell is a onesie? And I'm a vampire. Burst into flames and the like," he gushed.
"May have gotten a little ahead of myself there but you get the picture. So now, what would've been... well.... Heaven... to you, is now your hell."
"I'm not following, mate?" Spike questioned, baffled by the man's constant spiral of logic.
"Do I have to spell it out?" Luke whined, grabbing Spike by the neck and
tossing him what Spike thought to be a good thirty yards to the steps of the manor house. "You're a traitor to your breed, man. A sell out. Nobility? Love? Fatherhood? *Please*. You're a pansy."
"I'm no sodding pansy," Spike huffed, standing up and running at the man.
"And I'm not evil," Luke replied, eyes glaring a piercing ruby red. Spike stopped in his tracks. "Anyway," the man continued, back to his normal human face, normal brown eyes, "I'm the resident hell god around here and, well, we can't have nancy boy formally evil vampires running all willy nilly around my perfectly nasty dimension. So," he continued," gonna hafta lock you up."
Next thing Spike knew, he was chained to a stone wall in what looked to be the basement. Luke appeared in front of him with a flash.
"What? Can't even plead my case?" Spike complained.
"I love you, Spike". He heard her again. Instinctively he spun his head at the sound of her voice, searching for her.
"Case closed," Luke said with disgust, snapping himself out of the room.
To be contd.
Author: Nimue
Rating: PG-13
Feedback: Yes, please
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy etc... Just borrowing.
Summary: Spike is gone, but where did he go?
La Maison Rouge
The last thing he remembered was seeing her face.
She wasn't supposed to be there. She wasn't supposed to be in danger everagain. At least not while he was around. That plan didn't pan out. 'The best laid plans of mice and men,' he thought.
She shouldn't have seen him draining Willow. That's burned into her mind now. One step forward, ten steps back. 'I hope I didn't kill the girl', he thought. Not only because of Buffy, but because he knew the power of grief and rage. Couldn't really say he wouldn't have done the same thing.
The redness had closed in and blocked his vision. Didn't matter. He still saw her face. 'Cept now it was her peeking over the back of the couch, locking eyes with him. 'She never did *say she loved me,' he thought. He knew.
"I love you, Spike," Her voice was rhapsody. He turned in the red haze and saw her sitting on the edge of their bed, writing. She was crying. Then it clicked off like someone hit the off button on a remote. Back to red haze.
Spike floated in the redness forever. Monotonous, eye-glazing redness. It was not a pleasant, cloud like float either. More like a canoe in a lava sea during an earthquake. His skin stung from it. His eyes burned. The taste of blackness stuck in his mouth. Funny, he wasn't sure he would've noticed it had he not tasted the sweetness of her lips.
He was jolted, then plummeted downward, hitting the ground with a thunderous thud. "Bloody hell," he uttered, rubbing the back of his head where it had met with a rock. Slowly, he pulled himself up, sitting on the soil, and looked around. Acres and acres of rocks. Red and grey. Every shape and size. "Not one for the bleeding scenery," he said, standing and taking a few awkward steps forward.
Then he noticed it. The faces emerging in the rock. Screaming, animate
visages, banging against the stone. Spike jumped back, trying to avoid the captured spirits, but they were everywhere. Acres and acres of screaming bloody rocks.
He gathered himself, cutting out the noise, replacing it with the patter of rain in his mind. He laughed at himself. Five years ago, the screams would have been music, a symphony, to his ears. Now the sound of her heartbeat, their heartbeats, quieted his spinning mind. "Lousy sodding demon I am."
"I love you, Spike." He heard it again. Her voice. He knew her every
utterance from agony to ecstasy. It was her. He wheeled around, staring at the rocks.
"Please don't be here," he whispered to himself, frantically scanning the screaming faces. But she wasn't there. He glimpsed her on the edge of the bed again, writing. Then she was gone.
"Torture, is it?" He screamed at the air. "That what this lot's about?
Penance?"
"Not exactly," a well dressed man answered. Cute when Buffy was snarky, but not when some stranger appearing from thin air in a Calvin Klein suit and cowboy boots tries it.
"Who the bloody hell are you?" Spike asked, searching his jacket for a
cigarette. None.
"Looking for these?" the man asked, crushing the pack in his palm. "Sorry *William*, guess you quit."
"How the hell do you know my name?" Spike asked, a mixture of anger and
confusion flitting across his face.
"William, *baby*, we're almost family," the man exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Spike's shoulder. Spike hastily disentangled himself from the hold. " I started the whole vamp movement. Well, it was supposed to be a prank, but kinda grew on me, so it became a *movement*. You get the picture."
"Bloody well don't," Spike snarled.
"Name is Mephistopheles. Most people call me Luke. But you can call me
whatever you like, " the man stated, holding out his hand. Spike brushed the gesture off. "Well, we *were* family," the man continued, swiping his hands on his pants, "but I forgot, you're the 'black sheep'". He gestured those annoying quotation marks in the air.
"Walk with me, Willie," Luke said, beginning to stroll forward. Spike
reluctantly followed. "There was a time, not so long ago, when you would've liked this place. Lots of brawls and torture and bloodshed. You know, fun stuff. Never quite as perfect for it as Angelus and *whoa*, that Darla. She was a babe...."
"The point, perhaps?" Spike interrupted, attempting to avoid treading on as many screaming faces as possible.
"'The Point'," Luke said, again with the air quotes, "is that at one time, you would've been very happy at La Maison Rouge," He gestured and an enormous red mansion appeared in front of them as quickly and oddly as Luke himself had appeared. "But now you've gone all soft, Willie."
"I'm hardly soft," Spike replied with indignation, trying to puff his chest out.
"Oh, *please*, Willie. Poetry. Love. Little blonde mortal enemies to whose every whim you cater? Bouncy toe headed babies in little pink onesies and pushing prams in the harsh light of day?"
"Wait a bloody minute, " Spike angrily retorted, "There are no.... What the hell is a onesie? And I'm a vampire. Burst into flames and the like," he gushed.
"May have gotten a little ahead of myself there but you get the picture. So now, what would've been... well.... Heaven... to you, is now your hell."
"I'm not following, mate?" Spike questioned, baffled by the man's constant spiral of logic.
"Do I have to spell it out?" Luke whined, grabbing Spike by the neck and
tossing him what Spike thought to be a good thirty yards to the steps of the manor house. "You're a traitor to your breed, man. A sell out. Nobility? Love? Fatherhood? *Please*. You're a pansy."
"I'm no sodding pansy," Spike huffed, standing up and running at the man.
"And I'm not evil," Luke replied, eyes glaring a piercing ruby red. Spike stopped in his tracks. "Anyway," the man continued, back to his normal human face, normal brown eyes, "I'm the resident hell god around here and, well, we can't have nancy boy formally evil vampires running all willy nilly around my perfectly nasty dimension. So," he continued," gonna hafta lock you up."
Next thing Spike knew, he was chained to a stone wall in what looked to be the basement. Luke appeared in front of him with a flash.
"What? Can't even plead my case?" Spike complained.
"I love you, Spike". He heard her again. Instinctively he spun his head at the sound of her voice, searching for her.
"Case closed," Luke said with disgust, snapping himself out of the room.
To be contd.